Page 16 of Reign of a Billionaire

My chest clenched as I watched a guard carry out a dead boy’s body. He had the mangled form thrown over his shoulder like he was taking out the trash. Would that be me next?

I cracked my knuckles.

“I hate this fucking place,” I muttered to myself, then winced at the foul language that seemed to have sprouted in me overnight. My brothers would have my head if they heard me.

Something clogged in my chest, remembering the last time I saw them. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I missed them and my little sister. Was she okay? Or did these assholes get her too?

“Remember, boy.” Ivan Petrov’s snarky voice came from behind me. “Win this one and I’ll let you know where your baby sister is.”

You’re a survivor, my little Kingston. You were born to reign in every life.

My mother’s voice, which I hadn’t thought of in so long, came back to me, renewing my strength. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t home. I would reign over this fucking arena and kill anyone who tried to end me.

Including my own father, who was the reason I was here.

He owed these criminals a debt that he didn’t pay, so they’d gone after Rora. Instead, they got me. At least Ihopedthey’d only got me.

Without acknowledging the man, I made my way into the ring, determined to give them a show they’d never forget.

I stood at the center, my eyes locked on the boy at least five years older than me. Judging by his expression, he had something to prove. Not that I could blame him. Whispers claimed that he’d been born here and never knew anything or anyone but the people in this facility.

His cheek was bruised; his eyes blank.

At ten, I was bigger than the average kid, but this guy dwarfed me. I was weak. Unprepared.

The punch to my face came out of nowhere. I heard the crunch, then felt the searing pain in my skull as the blood gushed out of my nose.

Ignoring the blood, I cracked my jaw, keeping my attention on my opponent. Then I pulled back my fist and released it into the boy’s ribs with all my might. I didn’t stop there. Alternating fists, I punched nonstop. All the pent-up frustration and anger from the last two weeks boiled over.

The boy’s eyes widened, his breaths coming in ragged pants, but I was too far gone to consider his fear. It was kill or be killed.

Fury surged. At my opponent. At this fucked-up place. At the vermin surrounding this wannabe-gladiator arena.

A crimson haze crept along the edges of my vision, pushing everything and everyone out, and leaving me alone with a boy like me. We were both victims.

Another punch and he fell to his knees, blinking in confusion before falling over. The dust cloud around him. Gurgling sounds filled the air.

I froze, my mind finally falling silent, as I stared down at the body. The red fog of rage lifted, and I braced for the consequences of my actions.

A man appeared out of nowhere with a black bag while I stood immobile, unable to comprehend what just happened.

“Punctured lung,” a man muttered as the boy choked on his own blood, his eyes showing life for the first time in the two weeks I’d known him. He spit out blood, but something solid hit my boot.

I lowered down, wiping at the blood on my shoe, and spotted a tooth. I reached for it, along with a fistful of sand. As it moved through my fingers like an hourglass, his life slowly faded away.

That day, I became a ghost.

Chapter 9

Kingston, 11 Years Old

My defenses cracked like lightning across the sky.

With each passing day, I descended deeper into hell. Every passing night, I slipped into madness. There were hours when breathing alone was intolerable.

I was desperate to escape this hell. The escape seemed impossible. My reality became a fight. Became another struggle to survive.

“You,” the guard called out, and every fiber of me knotted. His eyes focused intently on me. Bile rose in my throat, my skin crawling with revulsion. But I hid it all behind a blank expression filled with nightmares.