Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Epigraph

Raze

Prologue

Chapter One: Kisa

Chapter Two: Kisa

Chapter Three: 818

Chapter Four: 818

Chapter Five: Kisa

Chapter Six: Kisa

Chapter Seven: Kisa

Chapter Eight: 818

Chapter Nine: Kisa

Chapter Ten: Raze

Chapter Eleven: Kisa

Chapter Twelve: Raze

Chapter Thirteen: Kisa

Chapter Fourteen: Raze

Chapter Fifteen: Raze

Chapter Sixteen: Kisa

Chapter Seventeen: Raze

Chapter Eighteen: Raze

Chapter Nineteen: Kisa

Chapter Twenty: Raze

Chapter Twenty-One: Kisa

Chapter Twenty-Two: Raze

Chapter Twenty-Three: Kisa

Epilogue

Bonus Scene: Luka and Kisa’s Wedding

Raze Playlist

Acknowledgements

About the Author

PIATKUS

First published in the US in 2015 by St Martin’s Press, New York

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by Piatkus

Copyright © 2014, 2015 by Tillie Cole

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN 978-0-349-41103-3

Cover design by Damonza at www.damonza.com

Cover photograph © I T A L O/www.shutterstock.com

Copyedited by Cassie McGowan at www.gatheringleavesediting.com

Piatkus

An imprint of

Little, Brown Book Group

Carmelite House

50 Victoria Embankment

London EC4Y 0DZ

An Hachette UK Company

www.hachette.co.uk

www.piatkus.co.uk

To music for the constant inspiration.

And to Little Big Town for inspiring this novel with your beautiful words.

“You roll through life like a roaring fire.

I bring the rain like a thunderstorm…”

— “Live Forever”

“They were always meant to be together, one boy and one girl, two hearts split into two, sent to far-off lands on their own. For God wanted to see if true love could be tested. He wanted to see if two halves of one soul could find each other again, even against the odds. Years would pass. They would both be hurt. They would both be sad, but one day, when they least expected it, they would stumble into each other’s paths. The question is: would they recognize each other’s soul? And would they find their way back to love…?”

Prologue

His heart beat like a drum—fast and hard and loud.

His breath blew strong like a windstorm, his chest contracting with his harsh pants.

Fear seeped from his bones, from every cell of his being, his hands shaking like a leaf and sweat dropped from his hot skin.

“Welcome to hell, boy.”

These four words greeted Boy as he was brutally propelled into a dank basement by a hugely built guard. Everywhere was black; the blackest of black. The guards wore black, the walls of the truck that had brought him here were black, the sky outside was black and the windowless room they now stood in, black. The stagnant air was humid and thick, the temperature in the room, scalding. The stench of slick grease, sweat, and something more putrid burned Boy’s nostrils making him retch and his feet stuck to the sticky, grimy ground.

Hell, Boy thought, considering the guard’s words. It was a living breathing hell.

Then the guard pushed him again, this time down a steep, slippery staircase, dull lights sunken into the walls. The high brick walls were a browning-yellowing color and ancient fans whined in the background vainly attempting to cool the too-hot air. Overhead pipes steadily dripped raw sewage on the concrete floor and rats and other vermin swarmed around his feet.

The place was a shithole.

Once again, a heavy hand pushed Boy’s back, thrusting him down a narrow hallway. With every step, Boy could hear his breath echo louder in his ears. With every step, he could feel his pounding heart slam harder in his chest at an almost bruising rate. And with every step, he could hear more and more loudly a raucous cacophony coming from straight ahead, just beyond a thick-looking iron door. People were screaming and jeering, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of metal clanging against metal.

Boy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the door, his nostrils flaring with terror. Nothing in this place screamed ‘safe’; in fact, with every new turn all he felt was pure terror.

The guard reached around Boy; loudly and slowly he knocked twice on the iron door, each knock thudding through his chest like a cannon. Locks unbolted, keys jingled, and finally, the iron door cracked open.

Boy’s eyes widened in disbelief as he drank in the scene. Grown men were everywhere in the overcrowded room. There wasn’t a spare inch free, sweaty bodies pushing and shoving one another from thick wall to thick wall. The men were drinking vodka, exchanging money, hands waving in excitement as they all faced straight ahead, their focus set on something just ahead.

“Move, boy,” the guard ordered. Boy dragged his feet, reluctant to step across the threshold into “hell.” He couldn’t move. He was frozen to the spot, his legs shook and a dizziness spun in his head.

Gripping the scruff of Boy’s neck, the guard tightened his hold, making Boy wince as he was steered aggressively through the baying crowd. Grown men stopped and sized up Boy, some in approval, most in dismissal. They all became a blur to Boy, the sight and smells too much for him to process.

Boy felt faint. His lungs burned with the velocity of his short breaths. Boy’s fingers trembled in sympathy with his fear, but he shook his head, cleared his fearful thoughts like his father had taught him to do and he managed to keep his head held high, meeting the owner of each curious stare right in the eye.

As the crowd slowly parted, Boy startled at the scene in front of him—a huge floor-to-ceiling square steel cage, the top wrapped with sharp razor wire. Flashes of movement were coming from within. Pained grunts and spurts of blood escaped the cage, splattering his gray-uniformed chest and bare face. This time no breath came from his lungs at all. He was frozen; frozen on the spot with shock, the tinny scent of blood invading his nose.

Boy couldn’t believe his eyes. Could not digest the sight that greeted him: pain, cut flesh, cries, blood … so much pain and blood.

Suddenly, a wash of putrid breath blew past his ear. Boy flinched as he inhaled the sickening stench of stale food and acrid tobacco smoke.

“Drink it in, boy. That will be you in the cage before too long.”

Boy held his breath until his chest could take no more. He exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to cough or cry out.

Boy had been taught from a very young age never to show emotion. His father would punish him if he dared complain, never mind cry. He refused to start here and now. Boy resolved to remain composed, lugubrious, and stoic … anything he had to be to get through this … this, whatever the hell it was.

A loud rip sounded from the cage, the sound slicing down his back and bringing vomit to his mouth. As a huge spectator abruptly moved out of the way smiling in celebration, everything became clear. The fighters in the cage were kids … boys who looked no older than himself.

And they were fighting … to the death …

Boy’s disbelieving eyes darted around the cage. Weapons of all kinds lined the cage: blades, chains, hammers, axes, to name but a few.

One of the young fighters stumbled back, clutching his stomach, as his opponent circled like an animal, crazed eyes bulging as he concentrated on his prey. Clearly the stronger of the two young fighters, the attacker clasped a long-bladed knife, which dripped blood.

When the prey staggered around to face the crowd, he clung to the thick wire mesh that enveloped the cage. Only then did Boy see that the prey’s stomach had been sliced open, blood and guts oozing from the gaping wound.

Nausea fought its way up Boy’s throat as he watched the mortally wounded fighter drop in agony to his knees. Boy’s stomach tightened to a painful intensity and suddenly, he vomited onto the already filthy floor. Wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his gray uniform, Boy righted himself, only to see the young losing fighter expire his very last breath.

The too-full crowd of men erupted, a mixture of shouts of success or groans of dismay, as wads of money rapidly exchanged hands. The fight was done. The noise in the basement intensified and the men focused on their wins and ignored the victor in the center of the cage.

But Boy didn’t look away. Couldn’t look away, his eyes were glued to the sight.

He watched as the victor, covered in his opponent’s blood and guts, dropped to his knees, all energy drained from his too-bulky body. His eyes were red, his body shaking.

Boy watched as the victor tensed with rage, tipped back his head and screamed out in pain upon witnessing his victim’s blood, his life, oozing outward.

He watched as the victor let drop his bloody knife as an all-consuming numbness washed over his body.

And Boy watched as the victor’s lifeless gaze dropped to meet his, revealing how Boy’s future would unfold.

That same rancid breath once again blew past Boy’s cheek and he heard, “From now on, you’ll be known as fighter 818, and if you want to live, you’ll learn how to fight and how to survive here, in hell.”

And 818 did.

With the passage of time, 818 became unrivaled.

818 became death.

A.

Fucking.

Stone.

Cold.

Killer.

Chapter One

Kisa

Present day …

“Fuck, Myshka, your cunt’s so fucking tight…”

Pinned to the bed, my fiancé’s strong hands held me down by my shoulders as he slammed into me, his cock pounding my pussy with incredible force, his strong hips locking me in place.

I tried to move. I pushed hard against his chest, but he wouldn’t budge, not even an inch.

It was always like this when he took me—hard, rough, raw … totally out of my control.

Alik’s blue eyes lit with fire as I fought against him, flaring at my resistance, the aggression he expected me to exude every time he took me in this bed—an aggression he loved, an aggression he craved.

He liked to fuck. Never make love. Just to fuck, hard, so long as he was in control.

His right hand moved from my shoulder and wrapped around the front of my neck, not too tight to stop my breathing, but tight enough to keep me in place as I clawed his back and shoulders with my French-manicured nails.

I bucked my hips, but his thick thighs pinned me down even more, his dick unrelenting and slamming against my G-spot, forcing me to cry out in pleasure. Alik laughed at my failed effort to throw him off, his mouth now an inch from my face.

“Just try it, Myshka. Just try to move me … I fucking own you,” he growled in my ear, and his cock jerked in my channel, making me scream and bite into the skin on his shoulder, drawing a trickle of blood. Alik’s fingers tightened on my throat, restricting my moans. His breath blew harder. His chiseled jaw tensed, eyes boring into mine.

“Come, Myshka. Come!” he ordered. Thrusting into me three more times, almost bruising my clit with his hand as he did so, I shattered, clenching his cock so tight—whether I wanted to or not.

I hated that he knew my body so well. Hated that he knew how to get me off, make me scream, make me cry out. When I came, Alik saw it as a testimony of my love for him. I just saw it as another way to be used so he could lord his power over me.

Hand moving from my shoulder and wrapping in my hair, Alik yanked hard on the long light-brown strands, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth hanging open. Then with a deafening roar, he came, flooding my pussy. My chest heaved as my hard nipples brushed against his solid, packed chest.

“Kisa … fuck!” Alik groaned and thrust slowly into me, winding himself down, hard muscles flexing and tensing all over his large body.

Without releasing his grip on my neck and hair, he crushed his lips to mine, his tongue forcing itself inside my mouth. I submitted, as always, moaning, like he would want, as his lower torso worked against my sensitive clit.

Alik pulled back and amusement flashed across his sharp-featured face. “Myshka, always mewling like a little pussy, huh?” His mouth lowered to my ear and his tongue licked along the outer shell. “Love me fucking you hard? Love me bruising your slit?”

Alik released my neck, only to reach down and squeeze my breast, pulling on the raised nipple. I hissed and cried out, making his smile widen.

“Love fucking you too, Myshka,” he murmured. Then abruptly, Alik pulled his still-hard dick out of me, leaving me lying on his wide bed in his luxurious Brooklyn apartment, trying to catch my breath and recover. He strode across the room, his ripped, tall body all walking perfection and he ran his hand over his buzz cut dark hair.

Alik grabbed a towel from the closet and wrapped it around his defined waist. I moved myself up the bed and watched him.

Alik had changed so much since we were kids. His large-framed fighter’s body was bulky. His skin was lightly tanned. His face chiseled, aristocratic, handsome even. He was Alik Durov—the man who decided to make me his when we were just a couple of Bratva kids trying to wade through the trials and tribulations of a rough mob life. The boy I never looked at as anything more than a friend, until he forced me to look at him as something more.

We grew up together. His father and my father were two of the three “Red” Bratva Kings of New York. My father, Kirill Volkov, was the Pakhan, the top boss, the one who ruled the Russian underground here in New York. Alik’s father, Abram Durov, was the enforcer, the next in line to the highest seat, the one who would deal with the darker side to the mob, the violent things, the revenge, the kills, the intimidation. He was sadistic, unforgiving and cruel …

Like father, like son.

For years, Alik wanted me. From childhood, he always wanted me close. He was always angry, starting fights and getting into trouble. He would tell me he heard voices in his head, voices that would tell him to hurt people, but when he was around me, he was calm, the voices went away.

I felt sorry for Alik. I always had. Having Abram as a papa would be like living with the devil himself. But I had had someone else, a boy I completely loved, adored … was born for the sole purpose of loving. Then a tragedy ripped us apart when I was a teen. Within days, Alik made his move and, in turn, made me his.

We’d been together ever since.

As a mafiya prince and princess, all of New York’s Russian society looked upon us as the “perfect” couple. Alik would have it no other way. He was obsessed with me. He monitored my every move. I was his Myshka—his little mouse.

And I dared not look elsewhere. Alik would kill anyone who came between us. And this was no threat; it was what Alik did.

He killed.

His place in this life was to kill.

He was a fighter—a death match fighter—but I knew he killed for the Bratva outside of the cage too, killed those the Red Kings really wanted to make suffer.

Alik “The Butcher” Durov was the undisputed five-time champion of The Dungeon. At twenty-five, nearly twenty-six, years of age, he was the most feared man in New York.

I could never, ever leave him. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. In the Bratva life, men led and their women followed, dutifully, in their path. It was the essence of Bratva life, one that served you very well if you played it safe.

Sentimental feelings and notions of ‘true love’ didn’t matter in this life. It was an underground society based on respect and your ultimate support of the ‘family’.

Alik looked me over and his light eyes flared again in need. He stroked his hard dick under the red Versace towel wrapped round his waist. Slowly, he shook his head, his thoughts clearly at war with his needs.

“I gotta shower, Myshka. I have to be out in ten. Serge is coming to take you home. Can’t be deep in your sweet pussy again even if I wanted to.” His eyes then softened. “And you know I want you, don’t you? Can’t ever have enough of you, baby.”

Frowning, I gently asked, “So we’re not going to dinner? We do have a date, remember?” I tried to act disappointed. But all I felt was relief. Relief that I wouldn’t somehow piss him off in public by some arbitrary thing he viewed as wrong, which would warrant being fucked too hard as punishment.

Alik strutted toward me, his packed, scarred abs clenching with the movement, and grabbed my chin, dragging my head level with his, making damn sure our eyes met.

“Got business, Myshka.”

“Where? And for how long?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t, as Alik’s face turned to stone.

His grip on my chin strengthened to ensure I understood I’d overstepped my boundaries. My jaw ached and I winced at the dull pressure and pain.

Alik tutted, shook his head slowly, then said, “Business is business. It takes as long as it takes. It happens where it happens.”

I lowered my eyes in submission and tried to nod in understanding, but my intended movement was inhibited by his unyielding hand. Alik sighed long. Next thing I knew, my mouth was latched to his, his teeth biting at my lip, causing me to whimper. He ripped his lips away a second later.

“Fuck! I can’t stay mad at you, Myshka. You’re so fucking beautiful.”

I cautiously lifted my trembling hand to stroke Alik’s stubbled cheek. “I love you, Alik,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes. He was all I had. He was my only future. And I did love him in a fashion … he needed me. And I wanted to belong to someone. I wanted to be loved.

Alik’s eyes softened, but only a fraction. He couldn’t show any weakness. But I knew he loved hearing those three words from my lips. They calmed the monster inside.

Pressing another hard, bruising kiss to my lips, he stood and made his way to the bathroom.

Heart beating and fighting back nerves, I asked, “Can I give charity with Father Kruschev tonight? He’s distributing care packages to the homeless.”

Alik halted. He turned to look at me, a patronizing smirk on his face, and joked, “Have at it, my good little Myshka. Go serve God! Go rescue the scum on the streets.” His condescending laughter followed him into the bathroom, but I ignored the humiliation and the curt dismissal. I simply felt myself breathe … normally.

At church, my father and fiancé didn’t send their men to spy on me. No one would dare fuck with the Bratva at their sacred church. It was the one place I felt truly free. The one place I could live in my head with my past, with the memories I held so dear.

Rising from the huge bed, I stared at my reflection in the gold-plated ornate mirror. I hardly recognized the girl before me anymore. She got lost somewhere over the years, hiding away, running for her life. Her blue eyes were dead, her usually tanned skin, pale, and her long light brown hair, limp.

I was a shell of the girl I’d once been.

Small bruises were already forming on my neck. This meant I would be wearing turtlenecks for the next few days, in summer. Since my teen years, turtlenecks had been a staple of my wardrobe—a necessity after being ‘owned’ by Alik and all-too-quickly learning of his brutal sexual practices and high expectations of me as his girlfriend.

Dressing quickly, I ran my fingers through my hair, making sure I looked presentable. Alik wouldn’t like it if I didn’t look perfect.

Moving to the living room, I sat on Alik’s great-grandmother’s antique chair, which dated back to the Revolution. There, I waited dutifully to say good-bye.

I surveyed the mostly early twentieth-century opulent furnishings in the room. This place screamed status and wealth. My stomach clenched in dread. In under twelve months’ time, this would become my home. I would be queen of this penthouse, gaoled in a cell of Tsarist luxury. Bratva convention demanded I couldn’t live with Alik until we were married. Ordered directly from my deeply traditional and faithful Russian Orthodox father. I thanked God every single day for that fact.

My father approved of the marriage. It suited our way of life. He didn’t see the bad side of Alik, and if he did, he ignored it. He only saw the strong and ruthless man Alik had been molded to be by his father. To my father, Alik’s stern and violent side only proved he was a perfect soldier of the Bratva, the perfect man to take the reins and be a good leader to his daughter. My mama died when I was fifteen. My papa had fallen apart, and Alik became my crutch, the boy to look after me when everything had gone to hell. Papa loved him for that.

I clung to the thought that I still had a year until we were married, which offered fleeting moments of freedom, before, of course, adopting the mantle of the perfect Bratva wife to the sole remaining heir of the Bratva. Alik, before long, would control all of the Russian underground, a position he thirsted for, something for which he’d been groomed his entire life.

Hearing the shower turn off, it didn’t take a minute for Alik to boom out my name and rush through the living room’s double doors to search for me.

His tense face slackened as he saw me sitting, dutifully waiting, in his grandmother’s chair. His head cocked to the side as his eyes narrowed.

“For a minute there, I thought you’d left before I gave you permission. For a minute there, I thought you had defied me, Myshka … For a minute there, I thought you’d lost your fucking mind.”

Standing, I switched on a smile. I strolled over to stand before him and ran my finger slowly down his chest.

“Never, baby,” I purred to appease him. “I’d never defy you. I never have and I never will.”

Alik wrapped his arms round my waist and pulled me to his damp chest, the impact robbing me of my breath. He held me in place by the back of my head.

“You’re gonna make the perfect wife, Kisa. I’ve been wanting you in my bed, sleeping beside me, for too fucking long. I hate sending you back to your father every night, not being able to fuck you for hours, tying you to the bed, making you scream, making you bow down to my every command … fuck you until you can’t walk. Been wanting to fully own you, to possess you, to release you from the Pakhan’s grip and have you under my complete control … for too fucking long.”

“Soon, baby,” I soothed.

Alik loosened his grip on my hair, his harsh blue eyes losing their anger for the briefest of moments.

“Yeah,” he replied. Slapping me hard on the ass, he pressed a bruising, owning kiss to my swollen lips. Alik swiftly broke away and, walking back to his bedroom, shouted over his shoulder, “Serge is downstairs. He’ll take you to church.” I relaxed but stiffened when he ordered, “Only after you change. Don’t you dare go out looking like that. I’ll seriously lose my fucking shit if you do!”

“I won’t. I love you, baby. Always,” I blurted. This stopped Alik in his tracks.

He turned, jerked his chin, a flicker of a smirk curling his upper lip, and he said, “Myshka, I love you too.”

My shoulders sagged with relief at his show of affection. I calmed. It was during these tender moments that I glimpsed the small amount of humanity in Alik. These were the moments I cherished. Even as children, Alik was uptight, always angry, always wanting to inflict pain on others; he frequently did on other kids. His papa had raised him to be this way. I understood it; it was how Brava men had to be raised. But years of fighting and killing in The Dungeon had hardened him to the point where the kinder side of his personality grew weaker and weaker, the dark steadily and surely blotting out any light that remained. In this Bratva life, and with what Alik did for a living, it was essential he be this way. However, I wished his softer side would linger a little longer.

It was stupid of me and, to others, inexplicable. But I loved Alik in my own way, well, as much as my shredded heart would allow. I wanted him to have peace. He was so tormented … so dark inside that I just wanted to help ease that.

Lost in Alik’s light, beautiful smile, my heart soared, floating on a loving hope that I would see some good in him, that I’d finally got through to him, but my reverie soon dissipated when, as always, his brief moment of gentleness was overwhelmed by harshness.

Alik’s insane desire to possess me came to the fore as he warned, “Anyone even looks at you tonight or even speaks to you, you tell me. And act appropriately. Don’t speak to men … only Father Kruschev. Don’t want my woman looking like a whore.”

I nodded dutifully. His eyes narrowed as they drank in my body. “Wear something that covers you, all of you. I don’t wanna have to kill some fucker for staring at your tits. You’ve got to think about these things, Myshka. When you’re my wife, when I own you completely, there’ll be no mistakes. I’ll whip you into shape soon enough. You’ll be an example to all the Bratva wives.”

“Okay, baby,” I whispered in trepidation.

Alik ran his teeth over his bottom lip, eyes leaden, his cock hardening and bulging under his towel.

“Get out of here, Kisa, before I fuck you against that wall and make your papa even more pissed at me for being late.”

With this dismissal, I turned on my heel and fled down the stairs into the waiting black Lincoln Navigator. Serge, the driver and my papa’s most trusted Byki, bodyguard, glanced back at me in the rearview mirror and politely asked, “Where to, Miss Volkova?”

I loved Serge. He was like an uncle to me. He’d been driving me everywhere and protecting me my whole life. He’d never married or had any children. I think he regarded me as his daughter in some way. I could tell him anything and he’d never tell another soul. He was an old man now, in his seventies, but I knew he would be with my papa until he died.

“Home to change, then church, please,” I replied.

Serge stared at me for a fraction too long in the rearview mirror. I could tell he was concerned. Of course he wouldn’t dare say it aloud, but I knew he disliked Alik and that I was worried about my duty, my fate, to be Alik’s wife. His silent fear for me seemed to grow every day.

Stowing his concern, Serge pulled out into the always bustling traffic of Brooklyn. I watched the bright lights glare through the darkened window.

At least for tonight, at church, I would taste a few hours of much-coveted freedom.

Chapter Two

Kisa

“Kisa, you’re distributing the care packages on the street tonight, okay?”

I smiled enthusiastically at Father Kruschev, but inside, my stomach rolled. I hated distributing the food on the streets, preferring to serve it from the safety of the truck. It was too humid outside. I hated walking down the dark alleys and narrow streets of Brooklyn—they were clogged with the homeless, not all of whom had good intentions.

The food truck halted, and I moved next to Pavel, a graying, short, fat man from our church.

“Looks like we’re buddying up tonight, Pav.”

Pavel’s pale, crinkled face smiled at me warmly. “The Lord will provide you with his gratitude, Kisa. You are doing His work after all. You are doing a good thing. An honorable thing. It is good for you.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes and tell him my life was so fucked up that I didn’t think the Lord gave a damn about me. Instead, I nodded in fake agreement. Pavel had emphasized the words “good” and “honorable” because of my papa. The word “good” and Kirill “The Silencer” Volkov didn’t normally feature in the same sentence. Pavel had been around a very long time and witnessed, many times, the destruction the Pakhan and the Bratva had wrought upon their enemies.

But as much as people feared my papa, I loved him. I always wanted the best for him. I made sure I attended church and gave alms because: (a) my papa ordered me to do so, to appease Father Kruschev—my papa was eternally worried about the brutality of my family’s business and its effect on our souls. And (b) if there was a God, I needed to rack up some good deeds on behalf of my family, to bargain with on our respective judgment days. By my reckoning, as it stood right now, our scales were heavily imbalanced on the side of bad, and we were all completely damned and looking at a long stretch in the flames of hell.

Call me optimistic, but I was hoping these small weekly acts of charity would bring us all one step closer to not being completely unsaveable and labeled “evil sinners” for eternity. Plus, I actually enjoyed helping the needy. Not only did it give me a break from the twenty-four-seven surveillance by my papa’s thugs, or Alik’s ever-watchful eye, but it also served to remind me that, although I was trapped in a life I didn’t want, I never went without food, I lived in the best of houses, I wore the best of clothes … I was blessed in this life of material needs, and I felt good helping change someone else’s life.

“Okay, we’re ready to begin,” Father Kruschev called out.

All of us volunteers unbuckled our seatbelts. Sighing, I zipped up my ill fitting unshapely thin turtleneck and loose jeans.

I stood and headed to the small kitchenette at the back of the truck. Father Kruschev handed me my first round of care packages and smiled at me in thanks.

“Stick to your group tonight, Kisa. Dangerous people come out when this kind of heat hits the city.”

Returning a comprehending smile, I turned and stepped off the truck into another boiling summer’s night.

The first truck had already pulled in and my best friend, Talia, made her way toward me. She was Ivan Tolstoi’s—the third boss in the Bratva—only daughter. I watched her walk my way, all tall with blond hair and bright brown eyes. I had to smile at her four-inch heels. Even distributing cold cuts and blankets to the homeless was an excuse for her to wear her knee-high leather Gucci boots.

“Kisa! I thought you were giving tonight a miss to go out with Alik? Or has he let you off his short leash for a while?”

I shrugged off Talia’s pissy comment, trying to act all nonchalant. “He had business to attend to with our papas, so I decided to come here tonight. Father Kruschev asked me at church on Sunday if I could help.” I gestured to the care package in my hands. “So here I am.”

Talia’s eyes softened and she pulled me into her chest, careful not to crush my bundle of food and blankets. I winced as her shoulder pressed against the large bruise on my arm from last week when I’d displeased Alik at a business function. I’d been talking to a male business associate of his father’s “too long,” and he’d warned me of his “displeasure” with his vise-like grip and hushed, harsh words in my ear, but I held back my reaction and accepted the pain. I would never question Alik; my life wasn’t worth the strife.

When Talia pulled back, she eyed me skeptically and asked, “Are you okay with that, Kisa? You always seem a little distant when we talk of Alik. Wedding jitters? Or is it something more?” Her brown eyes dropped to scan my outfit. “And what the fuck are you wearing? It’s like an oven out here and you’re dressed for the snow!”

I threw on my six thousand-dollar veneered smile and batted my hand in front of my face. “I’m cold, so I wrapped up. I think I might be getting flu or something. Giving charity isn’t a damn fashion parade, by the way, Talia. And I’m fine, just sad not to be spending the night with Alik. Instead, here I’m again.” I rolled my eyes. “For my family’s sins…”

Not once did Talia’s eyes leave mine, but eventually, she let it go and linked arms with me. “For all the sins of our families! Well, let’s get this done so we can hit a bar and get drunk! Father Kruschev has put me in another team. He knows we talk too much and neglect our duties if we’re together. So move fast and meet me back here soon. I need alcohol!”

“We’ll see,” I replied, knowing I would be making my excuses to bow out of Talia’s invitation. Alik would go berserk if he thought I was hitting the bars. He would think I was picking up men. And with Talia, of all people. Alik hated her, thought her a slut for actually living a normal life. He also hated who her brother was to me, and he hated that she kept his memory alive. The last thing my papa and the Bratva needed was for Alik to flip and kill someone else. Once Alik’s temper switched into gear, there was no stopping his inner killer from raging forth. My father was fast running out of favors within New York’s judicial system to keep him from being locked up.

Pavel waved me over and, giving Talia a kiss, I quickened my step toward the band of volunteers and began trying to save some lost souls.

*   *   *

“God bless you, child … God bless you … You always take such good care of me.”

I smiled at the old man as he delved into his care package, immediately eating the ham sandwich that was tightly wrapped in saran wrap. He had been here at this spot for years. Well, I corrected myself, at least the three years I’d been serving with the church. Pav said this old man had probably been living on these streets for at least three decades. He always hid down here in this small alley, like a scared mouse afraid to leave his hole. I’d snuck away from my group against orders, but I couldn’t leave him without his food parcel. Something about this old man spurred me on to save him. He always looked so … broken, so sad.

I could relate.

“Kisa? Kisa, where are you?” A distant voice attracted my attention. I instantly recognized it as that of Pavel.

Glancing down to check on the old man, I smiled when I noted he was wrapped up in warm blankets and buried under a mass of boxes hiding him from view.

“Kisa?” Rolling my eyes, I groaned when Talia’s frantic voice joined that of Pavel.

Great.

Glancing toward the growing gathering of volunteers at the end of the long alleyway, I started to jog their way, when suddenly, a scruffy, bearded man ghosted out of the darkness, tripping me to the cool, wet ground with a deliberately outstretched foot.

With no time to scream, I hit the ground, my palms scraping against rough asphalt. Suddenly, my attacker’s weight pressed down on my back as he tried to snatch my purse. He stank of alcohol and stale body odor. I fought back a retch. I didn’t recognize him as one of the homeless who frequented this alley. And he had absolutely no idea whose daughter he was fucking with!

“No! Get off me! Help!” I tried to scream, but the man’s weight on my back stole my voice from sounding out in the empty alley. The volunteers hadn’t seen me here, being attacked, too far out of sight in the darkness to witness the crime.

My attacker kept yanking on my arm, making me see spots. I tried to free my arm from its place underneath my stomach, to release my purse, but it was trapped.

Then I abruptly stilled as I felt a sharp blade caress the side of my neck.

“Hand over your purse, bitch, or I’ll cut your fucking throat,” the low-toned voice ordered, but I couldn’t free my arm. Fear spread through my whole being.

The blade pressed farther into my neck, and I closed my eyes, expecting the worst. Suddenly, I heard a deep roar and my attacker was hauled off me, his strangled protest muting mid-wail as a crunching sound echoed around the towering walls of the alley.

Frantically crawling forward to escape the noise, I scrambled to my knees and flipped over on to my ass … and immediately stopped breathing at the scene before me.

My attacker was pinned against the wall as a huge hooded man pounded his face and stomach with clenched fists. I couldn’t take my eyes away. The hooded man was relentless, each punch delivered with precision, his chest heaving in excitement and his feet rocking from side to side as he relished the outlet for his aggression. He was enjoying the fight … He was getting off on violence …

I recognized the signs from watching Alik rip apart his victims in the cage.

Crawling to the wall of the alley, I used the damp brick to stumble to my unsteady feet and whipped my head to the hooded man … who now had his hands on my attacker’s jaw.

As I realized what he was about to do, I lurched forward and shouted, “No!” But with a sharp jerk of his large hands, a loud snap ricocheted off the walls. My attacker’s lifeless body dropped to the ground at my feet—neck broken.

I stared at the unmoving body. Death didn’t usually faze me. I’d seen many dead bodies in my lifetime, more than most undertakers see in their whole careers, but the ease with which the hooded man killed filled me with fear and dread. It was obvious he had killed before; no first-timer was that smooth in the kill.

My eyes drifted up to the hooded killer, who was eerily still. He faced his victim, fists clenched at his sides, his packed chest rhythmically rising and falling under the sweatshirt that clung to his heavily muscled torso.

He was close to me. So close that I could feel the heat radiating in waves from his body. My breathing was labored and I wanted to get the hell out of here. But I couldn’t move, caught in hypnotic rapture as I stared at the strange man who loomed menacingly before me.

He took a step forward, my body bracing for attack, then he took another step closer. My back hit the wall as I drew back in fear, and the hooded man took one final step until he was almost flush against my chest.

My eyes were wide as I stared at his dark form and my breath came slow at the close proximity. The hooded man never moved, just stood still before me like a statue.

He was huge; wide and tall. Only the bottom half of his face was in view—his full lips, his stubbled strong jaw … the bare top of his wide chest, demonic-looking tattoos covering his beautifully defined high pecs.

His head tilted up and more of his face hove into view. My heart began to pound harder as I waited to see his face, but the material from his hood hung low, shielding his eyes.

I watched as the man’s teeth ran over his bottom lip. Mustering a modicum of bravery and clearly defying all of Alik’s rules, I cautiously edged forward and blurted, “You … you saved me.”

My hands were shaking, my legs and voice, weak, and as dangerous as this man seemed, his body too tense and rigid, my fear waned. It seemed, as we stood here toe to toe, he wanted to study me, be closer to me.

The hooded man’s jaw tightened and his head tilted to the side, as if contemplating what I’d said. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, his aura animalistic, feral, yet it somehow … wasn’t. I couldn’t explain it.

As I drew slowly closer, his scent drifted on the warm wind. It was intoxicating, meadow fresh, like he’d been outdoors for months, like the scent of the first snowfall settling on the cold grass in Central Park. It cut through the stench of the dirty alley like a knife through butter, sending shivers down my spine.

“Do … do you have a name?” I asked, my voice gaining some strength.

The hooded man’s built frame suddenly straightened, like a jolt of electricity had just ripped through his body. For the first time I heard his heavy breathing in the quiet alley. He was breathless, sucking in air like he’d taken a hit to the chest. He was breathless at my question.

He took a step back, then another, and another until he moved beside the attacker on the ground. I edged forward, drawing his attention, but he never lifted his hood.

His head was always downcast. He wouldn’t show his eyes.

The hooded man bent and flipped my attacker’s corpse with his foot. He kicked the body into a dark corner of the alley like he was kicking away an empty beer can. Then he started to back away.

My heart sank and I pushed out my hand, signaling him to stop. “No! Please, I just want to thank you for saving me. That man … I think he was going to kill me. You saved my life…”

But my words had no effect. The hooded man backed off, his fists clenched once more. Then he sprinted away down the opposite side of the alley.

“Wait!” I shrilled, but all I could see was his dark garb disappearing into the shadows.

A cold hand suddenly gripped mine. I screamed out in shock, spinning around to see Talia, her face pale and her brown eyes wide.

“Kisa … what the hell just happened?” she whispered, her voice urgent.

Then the shock of the attack I’d resisted, delayed with staring at the hooded man, instantly surged through my body and tears dripped from my eyes.

“I … I was attacked…” I cried and Talia wrapped me in her arms.

“Shit! Who was that man running away?”

“I don’t know. But he saved my life.” I pulled back and looked at Kisa. “He k-killed that man to save my life.”

“Shit!” Talia hissed again. “I’ll call one of papa’s men to dispose of the body.”

That stopped my tears. “They can’t tell my papa or Alik. They’ll go insane if they knew I’d broken away from the group to go on my own.”

Talia stared at me like I was crazy, but reluctantly nodded her head. “It’s okay. I know someone who’ll keep this quiet. I won’t tell them you had anything to do with it.”

“Thank you,” I said in relief.

Talia stroked my messed up hair. “Can you walk? Are you okay?”

“Just shaken up,” I replied. “I’ll be fine, Tal. I just don’t want papa or Alik to know about it.”

Within seconds, Talia was pulling me down the alley and away from the kill scene.

Casting one final glance in the direction the man had sped off, I let Talia lead me back to the truck, all thoughts of the murdered man on the alley floor out of mind.

Father Kruschev watched me approach, quietly shaking his head in reprimand.

Stepping onto the truck, the waiting volunteers clearly pissed at my tardiness, I slumped into a vacant window seat, my forehead hitting the hot glass.

Talia sat beside me and gripped my hand in silent support, but I kept staring out of the window as the truck slowly rolled into the road.

My attention fell lazily upon the rows and rows of homeless men and women hunkering down in their makeshift shelters for the night. I shuddered at the thought of what just happened, the gravity of the attack, of the kill starting to hit home.

My heart filled with sympathy for the homeless and their unfortunate situation. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a large, no, a huge dark figure sitting at the end of the rundown street. A huge dark figure sporting a gray sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his face, sitting with his legs crossed, head downcast. A huge, dark male figure clutching a big glass jar in his hands. My palms spread on the window as we rolled by. My eyes urged him to look up so I could see his face. A passerby walked past him and causally dropped money into his jar.

I froze in realization.

The man who saved me … the man who had just saved my life was … homeless?

The man who fought like an animal freed from a cage, a killer … was begging for money in the street?

I owed my life to a mysterious homeless man on the street.

A homeless man who fought like a killer.

Chapter Three

818

One month ago …

Guns firing.

Crashes.

Screaming.

Gunshot after gunshot and the tumult of shouting pounded through the stone ceiling as I paced the small area of my dank cell. Above me was a stampede, the thunder of hundreds of feet; prisoners were on the loose. And here I was trapped in this fucking cell!

I need to get out. I must get out! I screamed inside my head as I ran my hand over the metal bars keeping me trapped inside.

Charging the door of my cell, my right shoulder slammed into the metal. It didn’t even shake. Wrapping my hands tightly around the bars over the “window,” I scanned the dimly lit hallway, its flickering dull bulbs swinging back and forth from all the heavy movement upstairs. This level of the prison, the Gulag as it was known amongst the inmates, was reserved for us champions, the most prized of the death fighters. The fucking killers, the murderers, the monsters they’d created to want nothing but to feel rage and spill blood. We were jailed in the bowels of this shithole, no chance of escape. Our cells were too far apart to ever see another fighter except when we were training.

My breathing became ragged. Bellowing in frustration, I pulled on the steel bars, my arm joints creaking with the enormous pressure I put them under. My bulging, drug-created muscles corded with the effort. I roared out a final yell when they refused to budge.

The shot they’d just given me was making my skin crawl and was evoking the need to fight. I was scheduled to fight later tonight. I felt rage, nothing but rage.

I needed to kill. It was the only way to stop the rage.

The first shot had been fired about thirty minutes ago, I guessed. I didn’t know; time had no meaning in the Gulag.

I could hear the other fighters shouting, screaming that they’d been released, could hear the screech of cell doors being wrenched open, the screams of men dying.

I was fucking incensed.

I wanted blood.

And I needed to fight!

My blood boiled under my flesh, fiery, searing, preparing me for a fight to the death. To do what I did best—maim, slaughter … kill.

Roaring out, I released the cell bars and once again began pacing the cell. My eyes, even in the dark, focused on the wall and the name engraved in the stone. Alik Durov. Underneath was an address. Brooklyn, New York. Below that, a motive. Revenge. Lastly, there was a clear instruction. Kill.

I had no memory of writing it down, no memory of my life before this place. Didn’t know if I ever had a life outside of these stone walls. My brain had shut down, blocking out anything but the need to kill, erasing any knowledge of who I was, where I was from, and why I was in this fucking shithole. But one thing was certain. I had written that name, that address, that motive, and that instruction. When I stared at those jagged letters carved permanently on the wall in my line of sight, anger consumed every cell in my body and I knew, without a doubt, I had to do what the inscription commanded.

But I had to get out of this place first.

The sound of the hallway door slamming open echoed off the walls. I rushed to the bars to see what the fuck was happening. My skin was itching with the need to break free, to join the fight … to get my revenge.

The clinking of cell doors opening made my heart race faster. My knuckles cracked with the intensity of my grip on the bars.

“Get me the fuck out!” I growled as I heard heavy footsteps approach my cell. My cheek pressed hard on cold metal as I stretched to see who was coming, my hands rocking the cell door until blood began to ooze from the constantly splitting skin on my fingers.

“Go! Go!” a male voice ordered a prisoner, and I heard a man running away. “They’ve been overpowered. Head for the east gate.”

They’ve been overpowered. Hearing these words spoken out loud, I lost it. Wildfire pulsed through my veins. Running to the back of my cell, I charged the door, my shoulder dislocating with the force.

Seizing my right hand, I popped my shoulder back in place. “GET ME THE FUCK OUT!” I bellowed, my voice sounding as sharp as razors.

The light above my cell flickered off, plunging me into darkness, but it didn’t matter. I could hear everything, I’d learned to embrace the dark. Thudding on the stone floor made its way toward me. My roaring and bellowing increased.

Suddenly, the footsteps stopped and I could hear the sound of heavy breathing outside my cell.

“Get. Me. The. Fuck. Out,” I warned. I caught a nervous flicker of movement to my right.

Two men.

Two men were pussying out of facing me head on.

“It’s him,” one of them whispered as my jaw ticked in annoyance. “It’s 818.”

“I won’t tell you again. Get me the fuck out, or when I find you, I’ll snap your spines,” I threatened in a low voice, as the bars creaked louder with the pulsating power of my anger.

The men still didn’t move. I could smell their fear and it just fucked me off even more.

“Get him out!” a voice ordered from behind and, suddenly, the familiar face of 362 came into view—my greatest rival but the man I spoke to and respected most.

362 grabbed a key and unlocked my door, his broad chest bare, black sweatpants covering his legs and his long black hair hanging down his back. He swung the door open and met me toe to toe at the entrance. His brown eyes bored into mine as my chest pumped with adrenaline. Then he smirked and slapped me on the arm, laughing. Shaking my head, I sized up the two men who blocked my way and then I smiled. I could kill the two weak fuckers in seconds. Snap their necks before they could fucking blink.

The smell of piss filled my nostrils as the two men stood frozen, wide eyes fixed on me. Then the tension of the moment was shattered when a gunshot rang out from upstairs.

362 backed up. “We’ll go out through the east gate. The guards have been overpowered, but they’ll send more soon. We’re the last to be freed. No fucker dared come down here apart from those two. They had no idea it was for you and me.”

362 set off at a sprint back up the stairwell, leaving me stunned at the entrance of my cell. I looked down at the invisible line that separated me from the hallway and, when I looked down, my hands were shaking.

My hands were shaking …

I’d never left my cell of my own accord before. I’d never been beyond this room unless to fight, be tortured or train.

I ran my hand over the mass of scars from being tortured along my body, still feeling the pain that had been inflicted when I’d tried to remember my past. The metal rods the guards would use to shock me, the ones that made you feel like you were dying until you lost consciousness. The pain that felt like fire raging through my body every time I tried to remember anything from my life before this place.

Hearing shouts and what sounded like a brawl upstairs, I clenched my fists and ran back into my cell, ripping my spiked knuckledusters off their hook on the wall.

Bending down to the tub of dirt I kept on the floor, I dipped in my two fingers and ran the dark, almost black, mud under each of my eyes. I’d always hid my eyes. I didn’t know why, it was just something I’d always done. The guards liked it, thought it made me look more vicious, so they collected the dirt for me. They said it made me look more animal than man in the cage.

Slipping on my weapons of choice, I ran my fingers over the carved writing on the wall and recited my mantra.

Alik Durov.

Brooklyn, New York.

Revenge.

Kill.

Hearing the familiar sound of the guards’ heavy footsteps on the stairwell, I threw the hood of my sweatshirt over my head, rolled up the sleeves to free my knuckledusters, and gritting my teeth with single-minded intent, ran full force at the three guards coming my way.

Years of life in the cage, fighting to the death for sick fuckers’ entertainment ensured my strikes were quick and effective. I was a reigning champion. I was the sure bet … I was a machine … I was death.

My spiked fist punctured the chest of the first guard, his heart and lungs sliced open, guaranteeing a swift death. A blow to the head of the second guard saw him drop lifeless to the ground. The third guard turned on his heels when he recognized me. He should. This fucker had beat me, tortured me. It was his time to feel pain.

He’d run just four steps when I gripped his shoulders, wrapped my foot around his calves, and bent him backward until his spine snapped in two. Dropping his corpse, I pounded up seven flights of stairs, not even out of breath.

Revenge.

Kill.

Revenge.

Maim.

Alik Durov.

Brooklyn, New York.

Kill.

They were the only thoughts occupying my mind as I navigated my way through the narrow hallways, dodging bodies under my feet, following the rush of fighters of all ages … even scared little kids, freshly brought into this hell.

I pushed people out of the way heading to the outside, my lungs burning as they coped with the unfamiliar sensation of fresh air. I stumbled as the freezing night breeze whipped the skin on my face and oxygen filled my raw lungs.

Fresh air.

I hadn’t been outside for … I didn’t know how long. Years, I thought. Years trapped in a cell without a glimpse of daylight, breathing in stagnant air, a mixture of dampness, mildew, and blood.…

And death.

Death had a unique smell, a unique taste. I had breathed it in day and night, tasted it for so long that I found it difficult to breathe in the clean freshness of the outdoors.

Seeing the other fighters run free and out of the east gate, a guard sprawled on the floor caught my eye, a stab wound to his stomach. 362 was backing away with bloodlust in his eyes, his bloodied sai in his hand—his choice of weapon in our Gulag cage.

362 watched me approach. “We’re free, 818!” he shouted, his face lit with excitement and his words seemed to echo in my ears, my mind not allowing me to believe it.

“Wh-what now?” I asked, looking around the yard filled with dead bodies, the ground drowning with blood, the Gulag’s sirens wailing and prisoners running for the safety of the nearby forests.

362 dropped his tense shoulders and moved before me. “This is it, 818. It’s what we’ve been waiting so long for. What we’ve survived for.” His eyes brightened and he said, “It’s time for us to seek our revenge.”

R-E-V-E-N-G-E … I spelled out each letter in my head, feeling the anger take hold of me. My mind suddenly caught up with my heart telling me my chance had finally come. After years of killing and becoming the monster the guards had wanted me to be, I was going to get my revenge.

“Where are you going?” I asked 362.

“West,” he answered darkly. “My retribution lies in the west.”

362 had been the one to make me write Durov’s name on my cell wall, I didn’t remember him doing that, but he told me he had when I first arrived. He too had a name on his wall. Those inscriptions drove us. They gave us a past when there wasn’t one left in our heads. They gave us a reason to live.

We stood there, matching each other’s stares, when 362 pressed his hand onto my arm, gripping my bicep tightly.

“Go kill the one that condemned you, 818. You’re ready. You’ve been ready for this day for far too long.”

Mirroring his action, my hand hit his arm. “You too.”

362 dropped his hand but looked up to say, “Hopefully we’ll meet again, 818. If not, get back the life you lost and I’ll see you in the next.”

With a nod of his head, he turned on his heel and sprinted out of the large metal gate. Dropping down to the guard scum, I fisted his shirt, my anger flaring when I saw recognition flash across his face.

He need be scared. I was going to gut the fucker for keeping me in this hell, for hurting me when I was a kid, for doing things to me when I was a kid …

“Don’t … don’t hurt me!” he cried, and my lip curled in disgust.

Shaking his puny body until his teeth chattered, I demanded, “Which way to New York?”

The guard paled and my fists tightened, threatening to choke him. “Which direction?”

The guard’s mouth opened and closed, but he couldn’t breathe through my grip. I loosened my hold just enough to let the asshole speak.

“East. New York is east.”

The sound of trucks approaching in the distance prompted me to lean down and ask, “And where the fuck are we?”

The guard started to lose consciousness, and by the pool of blood on the floor, gushing from his stomach, I knew it was only a matter of seconds until he passed.

“Fucking answer me!” I snarled. “Where the hell are we?”

“Al-Alaska,” he replied.

I threw him to the ground, done with the bastard now that I’d gotten what I needed. The trucks neared the Gulag and I knew I had only a few minutes to leave before more guards arrived and locked this place down.

Alik Durov.

Brooklyn, New York.

Revenge.

Kill.

Reminded of my purpose, I rose to my feet when the guard laughed and my eyes shot straight to him.

“We … we made you who you are…” he whispered, blood now dripping from his mouth. “We made you strong … unrivaled … a champion…” He trailed off, coughing and spluttering, choking on his own blood.

I saw red.

Incensed at his words, I raised both fists, the sharpened spikes of my knuckledusters facing down, and with a rage-fueled roar, I pushed the spikes straight into his chest. The guard’s mouth dropped open as he released a silent scream, and pushing down all of my muscled weight into his chest, I snarled in his face and slowly twisted the spikes of my knuckledusters. Victory surged through my body as his eyes bulged and, fighting for breath, he gagged for the last time. I witnessed the life leave his eyes, nothing remaining but the unseeing stare of death.

Panting with the victory of the kill—what I was trained to do, all I was created to do, all they had trained me to do—I slowly rose to my feet, then set off at a sprint.

Within minutes, I broke through a line of trees into a dense forest, heading east.

And I wouldn’t stop until I reached my destination. I wouldn’t stop until I killed a certain …

Alik Durov.

Brooklyn, New York.

Revenge.

Kill.

Chapter Four

818

After a month of sneaking on fishing boats to the mainland, stealing food, and hitching a ride on cross-country freight trains, I arrived in New York City.

I wasn’t prepared for what awaited me: bright lights, a bustling city packed with ever-moving tides of people—completely the opposite of all I’d ever known. Yet strangely, it all felt familiar and comfortable—the stink of thick smog, the vapors of tobacco and liquor, and the sounds of fast cars with their horns blaring.

Stumbling into a back alleyway on the edge of Brooklyn, a searing pain shot through my head. I pressed down hard on both temples. Disjointed images were zapping through my head, a group of kids playing, a small group of older men kissing three boys on their heads, proudly smiling as they were introduced to a large gathering of people. My head felt like it was going to explode and that conditioned feeling of fire running through my veins engulfed me as memories tried to push through. For a month now I’d had no shots, no drugs the guards pumped me full of daily to keep me big, to keep me strong, to keep me angry, and more and more unfamiliar images were filling my head.

The visions dissolved as quickly as they came and I found myself huddled against a hard, damp wall with sweat drenching my skin. Then the numbness I’d felt my whole fighting life settled back into place.

I ran the name and address through my mind. Within seconds, I was jogging down unfamiliar streets, somehow knowing exactly where to go. My feet were carrying me forward to an area with large brownstones, expensive cars, and well-dressed people.

As I entered one particular street, a sense of excitement coursed through my body. Quickly, I searched the numbers of the houses … until I found myself outside a block of luxurious apartments. Somehow I was certain it was the address I wanted.

Security guards paced menacingly in front of the glass-walled entrance. I slunk back into the mouth of a nearby alley, melding with the shadows, eyes fixed on the door.

I waited for hours, hours spent skulking around the building, scoping out a way in. But it was impenetrable, far too protected. Then when dawn broke, a large dark-haired man with a buzz cut, looking as though he was in his mid-twenties, walked out of the building, strutting his built frame like he owned the fucking world. Every hair on the back of my neck pricked, followed by rage igniting in my stomach.

It only took one glance to know I was looking at Alik Durov, the cunt I was going to kill. Everything about him from his Slavic face and closely shaven head to his built body screamed wealth and arrogance—I detested the fucker on sight. I would take pleasure in making this kill. I’d draw it out to intensify the bastard’s pain.

A few seconds later, a large black car pulled up in front of the building. The dick, Durov, stepped in the driver’s side and took off down the street. Like lightning, I took off at a sprint, hugging the still-darkened edge of the pathway. I tried to keep up with the car, but I knew even at my fastest pace I couldn’t track the car.

Two blocks down, the car was held up in heavy traffic. Crossing the busy road, horns blared at me, but I had a single-minded purpose—to confront this asshole alone, somewhere.

The car turned right and I followed it three blocks down to a deserted parking lot, a deserted parking lot next to a large warehouse, a warehouse that Durov parked in front of, and slowly he got out.

Reaching into my pockets, I slid on my prized bladed knuckledusters and clenched my fists, enjoying their cold touch on my skin. I stared at Durov’s back, imagining where I would sink the spikes—his skull so I could watch his blood spurt like a geyser, the top of his neck, circling around his body to witness the life leave his eyes, his kidneys so I could watch his body die slowly, internal organs shutting down one by one, or straight into his heart, quick, effective, mortal.

Moving stealthily round the lot’s perimeter, I made my approach, stopping only to swipe dirt below my eyes, leaving the choice of killing blow to my instincts. Suddenly, a side door flew open, an older, hard-faced man stepping through.

“Durov! Get your ass in here. You’re late!”

Durov.

It was Alik Durov.

My target … my kill.

Durov laughed at the man and, within seconds, he was in the building. Pissed at the missed opportunity, I checked around to make sure I wasn’t being watched. Then I jogged across the warm asphalt, making sure my hood covered my head and hid my face. Something about this whole scenario felt too much like I’d been here before. Like I hadn’t spent my life trapped in the Gulag hell, killing for survival, piercing flesh and taking lives. No, something, some twist of my gut told me Brooklyn, New York, meant something to me, like some sense of my past was clawing its way out from under my skin.

Circling the warehouse, I found a small window. Ducking down to the ground, my chest to a patch of dirt, I peered inside and my blood began pumping at the sight.

A training gym … and Durov walked up to a bag and began throwing punches.

He was training to fight.

Fight.

I was made to fight.

It’s all I knew how to do.

My eyes flared, anticipation running through my veins. I knew this setup. I’d lived this for years and years. And the cage … every link of metal, every spring of the floorboard, every inch of razor wire was my home. Every stain of blood on that white surface had made me the man—the monster—I was today. But what really made my heart race was the row of weapons lined on the wall. The chains, daggers, and blades told me all I needed to know: the fights in this place were to the death.

This was a death match ring.

It called to everything I had become—a stone-cold killer, a fighter—and by the look of things, Alik Durov was also a fighter to the death.

As my nostrils flared, my hands began to shake with the rush, the adrenaline, with the plan of revenge forming in my mind. I would join this fight ring, I would slaughter this cunt, and I wouldn’t lose. Never had.

Rising to my feet, I walked through the entrance, the smell of sweat and blood filling my nose. It calmed me right down.

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” My attention snapped to a short, squat man sitting at a small desk. He had pulled out a gun and aimed it right at my forehead. I kept my hood low, shielding my eyes. I would never meet another’s eyes. Something deep inside never let me.

His eyes widened in fear when I stepped forward, the gun not fazing me. “I want to fight. Want in the cage. I want to kill,” I growled in a deep, rumbling voice. I saw the man sizing me up, pissing himself—I wasn’t surprised. I was tall, built like a fucking tank, tattooed, scarred … fucking dead inside.

I had nothing to lose. I feared nothing, not even death. Death would be a welcome end to the life I’d lived. But before my end, I would be taking down one Alik Durov with me … and I wanted to finally know why.

“You got a sponsor?”

I said nothing, and the asswipe took my silence for a no.

Standing up, he kept the gun aimed at my head. He took out a cell and called someone. I recognized the device; the guards were always yapping on the fucking things, depriving me of sleep. Someone obviously answered and a sharp grunt sounded through the speaker.

“Yiv? You’re needed out front.”

He snapped the phone shut, but I never once moved. I wanted this fucker intimidated enough to let me in. I needed to fight. I needed to kill.

“What the fuck’s wrong at this motherfucking hour?” a graveled, gruff accent complained, and then a big middle-aged guy came into view.

As soon as he saw me, his eyes narrowed and he folded his bulky arms across his chest. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped.

“Your fucking cage’s wet dream and your fighters’ worst nightmare,” I replied icily, bringing my fists to my chest and cracked my knuckles. The sound of each crack echoed off the bare walls.

The dick holding the gun and this Yiv glanced to each other. Yiv pushed the gun from the guy’s hand and stepped forward.

“You fought in a cage before?”

“Yes.”

His lip curled. “This ain’t no pissant MMA or WWE ring, you get that? Stakes are higher. Prices are paid with blood … with pieces of flesh. This is The Dungeon.”

My silence encouraged him to step forward, sizing me up. “You Russian?”

His question caught me off guard. I didn’t fucking know. My number was 818. I was raised in the Gulag. I was trained to kill. I had slaughtered over six hundred opponents. This was all there was to me. No history, no name, no family.

Just numbness.

The guy said something to me, only this time it was in another language. “I said are you fucking Russian?”

He’d spoken a different language than the guards, but somehow I understood it. He was speaking Russian? How the fuck did I know Russian?

Without thinking, I replied yes in the same language, and the guy’s face lit up.

“You haven’t got a sponsor, which means you’d be a buy-in.”

“What have I got to do?” I asked, the strange language pouring from my lips. My body tensed with the fact that I might get a way into this hellhole, this fucking heaven on Earth to me.

“You need to pay. That’s the only way in. We got a trainer that’s just lost a fighter, but it’s going to cost you.”

“How much?” I asked. Yiv jerked his thumb at the guy who handed me a slip of paper with a number written down.

As Yiv was walking away, he shouted, “You get that cash, you’re in. Training has already started for the rest of the men. The Dungeon begins in two weeks. It’s a three night ultimate battle to the death. The survivors fight in the final. You win, you win big. You have until then to get it together.”

The Dungeon.

Two weeks.

Revenge.

Alik Durov.

Kill.

I was going to do anything to get that cash.

Slamming the doors open, I fisted the paper in my hands, secured it in my pocket, and tried to think of what to do next. Then I saw a bunch of men sleeping on the street, hats out in front of them, begging money from passersby.

In a split second, I headed in that direction, grabbing a candle jar off some house’s tree. Tipping the candle to the ground, leaving it in my wake, I found a spot on the street, sat down, pulled my hood farther over my head, and placed my jar on the ground.

Two weeks.

I had two weeks to get the cash.

And I’d do anything to get in that cage and slice open Durov’s chest.

Chapter Five

Kisa

“Are you okay, miss?” Serge asked as he drove me through the awakening streets of Brooklyn toward the docks.

I pulled my gaze from outside the window and nodded my head, offering Serge an appeasing smile.

“It’s just a hard day. That’s all.”

Serge’s expression turned sympathetic in the rearview mirror. “Luka Tolstoi’s birthday,” he said, and I momentarily lost my breath just hearing those words out loud.

I stared down at my fidgeting fingers and nodded my head. It always pained me to think of Luka. Twenty-six years ago, the three Bratva bosses were all married and each had a son. Luka was born first, then Alik only a few months later. My brother Rodion and I followed a year later—we were twins. And finally, a year after that, Talia was born, Luka’s sister.

We all grew up together, the heirs of the New York Russian underground. We played together, spent days together in school, or hid together in secret when a threat to our mafiya was made by a rival. It was during these years that I became obsessed with Luka Tolstoi. He, my brother Rodion, and Alik were tight, the three male heirs to the Bratva rule. Rodion was destined to lead, Alik was second to him and Luka the third and final heir.

Luka and I shared something special. From toddlers, we were best friends. Then as the years passed, I knew I had fallen in love with him. I may have only been a child, but I loved him completely. Heart-crushing love.

Mama always said the stars aligned when we were born, that God made us a match. From the first time we saw each other, Luka took me in his arms and swore his protection over me to my mother. Mama used to say she caught him staring into my crib only hours after I was born. Then when she asked what he was doing, he asked her if he could have me. My mama joked and told him it would be my choice when I was old enough to crawl, and from the minute I was old enough to crawl, my mama told me I only ever crawled to one boy … Luka Tolstoi.

I’d agreed to let him have me. After all, God had created us to match.

Luka had a kind smile and the most beautiful dark-brown eyes. But it was Luka’s upper left iris smudged with a small splash of blue that made our mothers think we were destined to be. Mama said God placed a piece of my eye within his so we would always know we shared one soul. Luka was my protector. I adored the way he always held me close, making me feel safe, especially from Alik.

Alik was jealous that Luka had my heart.

When the three boys became teenagers, it all went to shit. In one fateful night, I lost Rodion and my Luka, leaving Alik the sole heir. That was when he immediately staked his claim on me.

Still now, at twenty-five, I missed Luka as if he’d just died yesterday. The pain was still as raw as the day I’d been told he was gone forever. A part of me just never believed that he did what he was accused of. I just couldn’t think him responsible for killing my brother.

“Keep your head up, miss, and the day will pass by just like any other,” Serge said sagely. Laying my head against the leather, I closed my eyes.

I was sick of so much loss … so much death.

Ten minutes later, after a silent journey, I entered the gym, my black-skirted business suit firmly in place, and headed to my office. I passed by the busy room of shirtless men training, punching bags, and lifting weights. I searched the room. A certain pair of light-blue possessive eyes locked onto mine and a slow, determined smile curled on a familiar set of lips.

Yiv, Alik’s trainer, was pushing him hard at a renegade, his every muscle in his tight, packed body straining with the technique. Throwing the fifty-pound dumbbells to the ground, the thud echoing around the gym, pulling fighters from their programs, Alik’s eyes flared with need and he thundered toward me—no, stalked toward me until I’d backed up into my office. Dropping the fighters’ personal files on the table, Alik stormed into the office, slamming the door and closed the blinds.

“Myshka,” Alik growled in a graveled, craving voice as his hungry gaze ate me up. His flushed skin glistened with the sweat from the intensity of his workout, his thigh muscles protruding under his shorts. “Fucking missed you last night, Myshka. Don’t like sleeping alone.”

My stomach churned with apprehension. I was always fearful of Alik when he was in one of these moods. He was always possessive, that was just how he was, but pumped by the workout’s fueling of his inner violence and his veins filled with The Dungeon’s fighters’ daily cocktail of creatine, protein shakes, and testosterone pills, Alik wanted to fuck me, own me … and do so as rough and as hard as possible.

Alik’s huge frame moved forward and cowed me. His hand reached out and in a second, he’d ripped the buttons from my jacket and hitched up my skirt, my ass now balanced on the lip of the table.

“Why do you look so sad, Myshka?” Alik asked coldly as my hands began to shake. Every year. Every year on this day I would endure one of his “hard fucks.” He knew I was sad that it was Luka’s birthday, and the jealous rage rooted in every fiber of his being always manifested on this day.

“Alik, baby. Please. I’m not sad.” I tried to soothe, but I felt his cock harden and rub up against my pussy.

Alik’s fingers dipped into my panties and began circling my clit as his other hand yanked off my bra, his mouth immediately sucking on my breast, only removing it to hiss, “You’re a fucking liar. You’re thinking of that murdering cunt.” His lip curled in disgust and he bit into my breast, causing me to cry out in pain. He smiled and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll fuck the sadness out of you. I’ll remind you who you belong to.”

He became this aggressive whenever we’d been apart, even if it was only for several hours, but on this day, I had to lie back and take whatever punishment he deemed fit.

Alik’s teeth again bit on my nipple. Then he wrenched his mouth away. “I go insane when you’re not near me, when I’m not all you’re thinking of. I go insane wondering what you’re doing, which fucker is watching you, picturing your pussy, him fucking this sweet cunt.”

Alik rammed his fingers into my channel, causing me to throw my head back and release a long strangled moan. His hard cock was suddenly free from his shorts. Taking my wrists, he pushed me flat on the table and slammed inside me with a guttural groan. He began pounding into me, teeth bared in pleasure, eyes burning with aggression.

Lifting his left hand while strumming my clit with his other, he grabbed my face and hovered above me. “You didn’t call me last night, Myshka. You fucked up. Did some fucker look at you last night? Did you talk to anyone? I couldn’t stop thinking about you out on the streets last night, men getting hard for what’s mine. You forgetting you got a man at home, a man that owns every fit piece of this body?”

My heart flipped as I pictured the man who had defended me. The large homeless man clutching a jar, the man I had dreamed about last night, the one I couldn’t get out of my head. The man I’d fallen asleep thinking of … forgetting to call Alik in the process—a grave mistake on my part.

Alik’s gaze hardened and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He could sense my lie. He knew, but no, how could he know? I had to reassure him, to assuage his concerns. Had to make him think it was all about him. Just him and me … no Luka and definitely no hooded rescuer.

“No, baby,” I whispered, my eyes rolling back as pressure from my approaching orgasm built between my legs. “Only you. Only ever you. I belong to you. You’ll have me forever soon.” My voice was frantic as I begged, strived to think of anything that would calm his jealous rage.

A crazed but satisfied hiss slipped through his lips, his thrusts picking up speed. “I own you, Kisa. There’ll never be anyone else for you but me. I fucking own these tits.” He squeezed on the plump flesh, ripping a cry from my throat. “I own this ass.” He continued as he slipped his hand under my ass and pushed his finger inside. I gripped his shoulders and dug my fingernails in deep at the unwanted sensation. Alik suddenly stilled and squeezed his hand tighter on my cheeks until the pain made tears well from my eyes. “And this cunt, this tight, wet cunt … Who owns it, Myshka? Who. Owns. It?”

I stilled, all actions suspended by this threat-laden question. Alik’s dick lay in wait at my entrance. His fingers built an almost unbearable pressure on my jaw, his unwavering stare boring, until I said, “You, Alik. You own it.”

His stern expression softened, allowing the softer Alik a brief moment of play before he slammed into my pussy, his finger searching my clit, unrelenting in its movement. My legs stiffened, my back arched, and I came, my channel choking Alik’s cock. I hated that he knew how to make my body react to his touch. I didn’t want such pleasure when he was like this, but I knew fighting the inevitable was pointless.

Alik’s thrusts became furious and he gripped my thighs so tightly that it would definitely leave a bruise. “Fuck, Myshka … FUCK!” he called out and spilled into me. His eyes were crazed with possession … with inert possession.

Alik pressed a consuming kiss to my quivering lips, then abruptly pulled out of me, righting his training shorts as if nothing had happened.

“Get dressed. Our fathers will be here soon,” Alik ordered coldly. Panicking, I jumped from the table, pulled on my skirt, and fastened my shirt just as a loud double knock sounded on the door.

My father. I knew that distinctive double knock.

Alik smirked and dropped down to casually drape onto a chair as I flustered, straightening my long brown hair. A couple of seconds later, the door opened and my father walked through, followed by Abram Durov—Alik’s father. Ivan Tolstoi—Talia and Luka’s father—came through last. He was the quietest out of the group, kept to himself. I always thought it was because of the shame he carried over Luka. For his son to kill the Pakhan’s son, then for him to die too, was like a sentence in itself. Ivan was the finance man, the one who handled the mob’s money. He had little to do with The Dungeon. He handled the books from his home office along with Talia, attended the matches through duty. But he rarely came to the gym, never really took an interest in the fighters. In fact, I was surprised he had even showed today.

Alik stood and greeted each of the infamous Bratva bosses with a triple kiss. Then my father’s—Kirill “The Silencer” Volkov—gaze fell on me and a wide smile spread on his lips.

“Kisa!” he greeted. Smiling at the happy face of my father, I walked around the table and he pulled me to his chest.

“Papa,” I greeted in reply, then moved to greet Abram and finally Ivan, whose hug always squeezed me just that little bit too hard and lasted just that second too long. I had always loved Ivan like a father. He was a kind man, the conscience, the calm of the Red bosses; Luka had been just the same in nature.

But Abram, no, there was always something off about the man. He brought violence to the Bratva. He forgave no one; he ensured dirty deeds got done. Alik was pissed most of the time due to his inability to do anything right to please his father. We were all aware that Alik’s anger came from the violence meted out by Abram to Alik from when he was a kid.

“Please, sit, papas,” I said, gesturing to the chairs. All of the Bratva—my family—took their seats as I moved behind my desk to take mine. Alik pulled his chair next to me.

“So,” my father said as he turned to me, “how are we looking for this season?”

Alik smirked. He ran his hand up my back to rest his grip on the back of my neck. It was a possessive move, a move to assert his dominance, all to show his worth to the Bratva.

“Good, Papa. All the trainers have fighters, except—”

“Who do you fucking think?” Alik interrupted me and laughed. Abram, Alik’s father, smiled in response as Alik added, “The fucking Georgian Albatross! Lost another of his guys in the first warm-up fight. Fucker got his throat slit by Sav’s man at the start of the first round. I’m telling you, the prick’s cursed. Five seasons of first-round losses. No fucker will fight for him this year.”

“He must have a fighter,” Ivan said calmly. “The Dungeon must have all the scheduled fights. We have too much riding on this year for Viktor to fuck it up. Biggest income we’ve ever had. We’re only getting bigger and bigger, which means better fighters, more fighters.”

“We’ll work it out,” I said. Ivan and my papa gave me wide smiles. Papa leaned forward and patted my hand. “You have this place running like a well-oiled ship, Kisa. I know you’ll get it done.”

A knock sounded on the door and Yiv, our head trainer, entered. Although Alik’s personal trainer, he was responsible for all the new fighters who came through The Dungeon’s door.

“Yiv, we were discussing the Albatross,” Abram said smugly. Yiv ran a tired hand down his face.

“Yeah. He already lost this year’s man and his sponsor’s pulled out. Fucking lot of money too,” Yiv explained.

“We got any replacement prospects?” Ivan asked, all business. The Dungeon, the Bratva’s underground gambling ring, was their principle source of income. They had several sources, mainly drug running and arms dealing, but this place was the cash cow. There was too much at stake to mess up. The Dungeon ran all year round, low-level fighters, more dirty street fights than anything else, but for three nights each year, The Dungeon held its championship—it was three nights of nothing but death, money, and only one winner.

Yiv shook his head, then stopped and said, “We had a guy drop in this morning. Said he wanted to fight in the cage. Big fucker too. Russian. Seemed fucking insane.”

Papa turned his head to face Yiv. “How did he know we were here? Not an undercover Fed, is he?”

Yiv shrugged and paled slightly at my papa’s pissed-off tone. “No idea. But that guy looked soulless, dead inside. My gut tells me he just wanted to kill some fucks for fun.”

“And?” Abram pushed. “Did you trial him or do we have to bring someone in from outside? We’re running out of time.”

Yiv edged closer to the door. “Told him he’d have to buy in. He left, but I’m pretty sure he’ll be back. Something in his dead voice told me he needed in that cage. Probably some serial killer who wants to shed blood without being locked away.”

“Like all us Dungeon fighters, you mean?” Alik joked, causing all the men in the room to laugh, well—all except Ivan. My blood ran cold. Alik was a straight-up killer; he wasn’t lying. And if he didn’t have this underground life as an outlet, I was pretty sure he would still need to kill. It was the part of him I feared most. The part of Alik that needed to take another person’s life for him to keep sane.

Papa stood, as did Ivan and Abram. Papa turned to Alik. “You’re needed tonight again. We got business with the Chinese. Need to smooth some shit out after you gutted one of their soldiers for staring wrong at my girl.”

All the blood drained from my face, and I turned to face Alik. “You killed someone for just looking at me?”

Alik shrugged as if he’d done nothing wrong. “Caught him watching you from across the street when we went to dinner. Remembered his face. When I saw him at the deal last week, decided I wanted to see his intestines on the ground at his feet.”

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly through my nose, stopping the nausea climbing up my throat. When I opened them again, Alik was staring happily at his hand on the nape of my neck, not a care in the world.

“I’m busy tonight,” Alik said to my father, but I couldn’t stop feeling sick.

Alik had zero remorse.

He had no sense of right and wrong, no moral compass or conscience. He terrified me at times.

My father’s fist slammed down on the desk. “You will be there tonight. You do not disrespect the orders of your Pakhan! You may be a champion fighter, Alik, the most lethal one we’ve got, but cross me and I’ll fucking gut you.”

Papa seldom showed anger. If he did, those at the receiving end didn’t live to regret it. Alik was in a unique position. He was the only surviving heir of the Bratva. He had to keep breathing.

Alik tensed at my father’s wrath. “I need to see Kisa tonight. I need it!”

My papa’s eyes narrowed. The room fell silent. “You’re coming, Alik. That’s final.”

Alik’s hand suddenly gripped my neck, and I almost whimpered at the pain his hold brought. “Then she stays at my place tonight,” he demanded.

I closed my eyes. Again, I tried to breathe slowly through my nose in a monumental effort to stay calm. Papa would not allow it, could not allow it. Alik would flip and I would end up beneath Alik on this desk—again—until he’d worked off his rage.

Papa’s eyes flared and his mouth tightened into a thin line. “You’re not married yet, Alik. She stays at my home. You won’t make a whore out of a Volkov!”

Alik began to shake with rage. I placed a hand on his thigh, trying to cool him down. But when he jumped from his seat, fists flexing and face reddening with anger, I knew he’d blown all his fuses.

“I’m fucking through with it,” Alik yelled. “We’ve been engaged for two years and it’s about fucking time she lives with me! You’ve made us wait too long!”

My father’s silent response told me how pissed he’d become at Alik’s display of disrespect. Abram lunged forward before my papa had a chance to, and with cupped hand, struck Alik on the lip, drawing blood.

“Enough! Show some fucking respect, boy, or I’ll do more than cut your fucking lip,” Abram hissed, embarrassed by his son’s outburst.

Alik gritted his teeth, saying nothing in response. He would never say anything back to his father. Alik was his father’s puppet.

I stood, legs shaking, and cleared my throat. Alik glowered at me. Flashing Papa an appeasing glance, I stepped up to Alik and, taking a tissue from my desk, pressed it to his lips. He didn’t flinch when I pressed the tissue to his cut, but his crazy possessive eyes bored holes into mine.

“Go with our fathers tonight, Alik. I’ll be fine alone.”

Alik pushed away my hand and fisted my hair. “What will you do … alone?”

Lowering my eyes, ignoring his suspicion, I shrugged. “Go to church.”

Alik’s hand twisted my hair, but I didn’t raise my eyes. He knew the reason I was going. After all these years, it was amazing how my childhood connection with Luka drove Alik to insanity.

“Alik! She’s going to church. You’ll come with us and take care of this family. It’s your duty,” Abram commanded.

Alik grunted in anger, pressed a rough kiss to my head, and abruptly left the room. I heard the men follow him out the door to check on their fighters. When I looked up, Ivan hovered at the exit, watching me with a sympathetic gaze.

“Talia and my wife will also be at church tonight, Kisa. They’ll be happy to see you there.”

I nodded and offered a small smile. “I hoped they would be, Papa Ivan. I’ll … I’ll be happy to see them too … I’m glad you came in today. I love to see you too … I…” I trailed off, my throat clogging with emotion.

For a moment, I saw raw pain reflected in his eyes, but he left without another word, and I slumped down on the seat behind my desk.

First things first, I had to organize the fighters and make sure The Dungeon’s business was done. Then I would take myself to church and mourn the boy I was supposed to hate … but could never find it in my heart to do so.

Chapter Six

Kisa

Serge dropped me off outside our Russian Orthodox Church. I stepped out into the stuffy night, black headdress and long-sleeved, calf-length skirted dress firmly in place as orthodox tradition demands. I quickly ran up the steps and went through the large doors, entering to the sound of the choir singing hymns from their rehearsal room upstairs. The large church was dark, a dark challenged only by the soft glow of candlelight. As always, when I entered this place, I glanced up to the paintings on the ceiling, images of the saints, of Mary holding Jesus.

A hand pressed gently on my shoulder. Looking to my left, Father Kruschev’s kind smile greeted me.

“Father,” I greeted and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand.

“Are you joining us on the food trucks tonight, child? We are a volunteer down and I could use your service,” he asked hopefully.

My heart began pounding at the thought of my defender sitting on the street, holding that jar. Before I had time to consider the consequences of my actions, my head nodded in agreement.

“Excellent,” Father Kruschev said, gesturing for me to light a candle. I walked past and he added, “It pleases me to see you so dedicated to helping the needy, Kisa. It will purify your soul.”

I offered a tight smile but scurried away as fast as I could. I wasn’t trying to save my soul tonight or trying to help the needy. I was serving my own selfish desire, a desire—no, a pressing need to see that man again, to see his face, to ask who he was … why he was on the street.

Taking a long candle, I lit the wick with that of another and offered a silent prayer to my Luka. May he forever rest in peace.

Moving to the end of the pew, I crossed my chest to the crucifix hanging somberly on the wall. Clasping my hands, I closed my eyes.

Feeling as though my chest would crack, I was transported to the past …

*   *   *

Twelve years ago …

The New York summer was stifling, the humidity too much to bear. I lay on a towel as the sun blazed down on Brighton Beach. We always came here for the summer. The Bratva kings descended on this little slice of Russian heaven from our houses in downtown Brooklyn. Papa and his “associates” would spend the summer months “discussing and taking care of business” while the kids and mothers would spend it lazing on the sand and eating ice cream.

I liked summer. It was a time I could get away from our rigid life in Brooklyn, a time that “the heirs” wouldn’t be called away to learn their craft, a time when Rodion, Luka, and Alik could relax … a time when I could hang out with Luka all day long.

Closing my eyes, I smiled at that thought as I soaked up the rays in my secluded spot. Suddenly, a dark shadow fell over me, bringing a brief moment of coolness to my scalding skin.

Cracking my eyes open, hand shielding the sun, my stomach sank when I saw Alik smiling down at me, his board shorts hanging low on his hips.

I didn’t say anything, just balanced on my elbows as he slumped down beside me on the towel, his thigh rubbing against mine.

Alik’s always harsh narrow eyes surveyed my body, and I no longer felt the warmth of the sun. Shivers ran down my spine as Alik’s finger gently trailed down my arm. His nostrils flared, and I froze in fear. Alik always made me feel this uneasy. His eyes tracked me wherever I walked. He would beat up any boy who so much as looked my way. He threatened them and told them I was his girl … Well, all except one. The one who truly was mine, the one whose eyes showed a piece of my soul.

“What’re you doing, Myshka?” Alik asked. I swallowed at his pet name for me—his little mouse. He’d called me that for years, for as long as I could remember anyway.

I glanced around to see who was nearby, but no one was in sight. Alik’s hand suddenly wrapped around the back of my neck, and I gasped in shock.

“I said,” Alik pronounced in an angry voice through gritted teeth, “what’re you doing? Don’t ignore me. I don’t like to be ignored.”

I caught sight of Alik cracking the fingers on his right hand. I also glimpsed a large black-and-blue bruise on his thigh, hidden under his shorts. My gaze snapped to him in surprise. What had happened to him? It looked terrible.

Alik noticed what I was looking at. He quickly covered his bruise, jaw clenching in anger. Alik turned away his head momentarily, and I internally cursed. It must have been his papa. I knew he hurt Alik. I heard his screams coming from his room as we visited his house growing up, then witnessed Alik’s bruises, limps, and occasional broken bones after “meeting” with his papa when he’d done something wrong.

Alik was never anything but angry, never anything but hateful … except toward me. Something changed in him when I was around. He was never calm, but a softness crossed his eyes when he looked at me.

“I … I was laying out in the sun,” I said softly, and the iron grip he had on my neck loosened, but he didn’t let go. Alik was fourteen, but his incredible strength was more like that of a full-grown man.

Alik dropped his hand. “I’m going to lay with you.” I didn’t dare question him, so I offered him a timid smile and rested down on the towel.

I lay motionless, then jumped when I felt Alik begin tracing the edges of my bikini top. “Alik, what are you doing?” I asked, trying to bat away his hand.

Alik’s hand caught my hand in a grip. “Get off, Myshka. I’m touching you.”

“But—”

“Shut up! You’ll do as I say,” Alik snarled. I did as told, too terrified to fight him off when he commenced tracing the triangle edges of my bra. “So pretty,” Alik murmured as tears built in my eyes.

My hands began to shake, yet I just closed my eyes and let Alik touch me, feeling his lips press onto my stomach. I wanted to cry for help, but I couldn’t. As stupid as it sounded, I often felt sorry for Alik. I didn’t want him to be beaten any more by his father. My complaining would do just that. Physically, I couldn’t fight off Alik and I certainly didn’t want to anger him further, so I let it happen. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Mmm…” Alik moaned as he lapped at my skin, his finger trailing down to the edge of my bikini bottoms. Alik’s finger ran along the edge of the material, stealing all my breath from my lungs.

“Alik, don’t, please—” I managed to say, but I was interrupted when a voice hissed, “What the hell are you doing, Alik!”

In sheer relief, I looked up and found Luka Tolstoi towering above us, a furious expression on his handsome face.

“Fuck off, Tolstoi!” Alik hissed as he gripped my wrists tighter. Luka’s eyes bulged at the action. When I whimpered out loud, Luka gripped Alik by the hair, dragging him to his feet. Luka hit Alik square on the face. Alik stumbled back, bringing up his fingers to his burst lip. He smiled coldly at Luka—a disturbing bloodied smile.

Luka leaned down and pulled me up beside him, protecting me from Alik’s view.

“Go,” he ordered. I turned to run away, casting a backward glance to see Alik watch me flee. He had an angry expression on his face.

I didn’t stick around to see them fight. This happened a lot. Alik would try to take advantage of me, and Luka would be my champion. They would fight, Alik would take a beating off his father, or worse, my father, then life would continue as normal for a few days—until Alik did it again.

I ran until I reached my favorite cove. No one ever came down here. I slumped down against the rock where I always sat, always sat with Luka.

Entranced by the waves crashing on the shore, I didn’t hear Luka approach. I jumped as I looked up to see him watching me as he leaned against a rock.

“Luka!” I said breathlessly. “You scared me!”

Luka sighed and ran his hand down his face, moving around the rock to sit beside me on the sand. We said nothing at first, Luka also too focused on the crashing of waves on the sand.

His fingers brushed against my fingers. Then they wrapped around my hand, which he lifted to his lips. My heart fluttered like a hummingbird’s wings.

Turning to me, Luka pushed a loose strand of my brown hair behind my ear, then pulled me in close to wrap his free arm around my neck. I relaxed against his warm body and wrapped my arm round his toned waist. He had grown so much lately. He was getting so big and so handsome that my heart could barely take it.

Luka sighed loudly, his warm breath blowing in my hair. “You have to keep away from Alik, Kisa. He’s obsessed with you and he’s dangerous.” I tensed in Luka’s arms and felt him pull me closer still. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Alik’s papa is training him to be a fighter, an enforcer. He’s hard on him, and I can see Alik becoming addicted to the violence. He loves it, Kisa. Stay away from him.”

Squeezing Luka tighter, I replied, “I was laying out in the sun. Talia went shopping with your mama. You and Rodion went for lunch with Papa. I didn’t think I was in any danger. Alik just has a crush on me. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

Sighing, Luka pressed a kiss to my head, and I slumped farther against his warm body.

“I don’t like him. I can’t stand the way he looks at you,” Luka said coldly.

Slowly leaning back, I looked into Luka’s brown eyes, the left with a smudge of blue in the iris, making them so beautifully unique.

“How does he look at me?” I asked tentatively.

“Like he owns you. Like you belong to him. When you’re around, he doesn’t focus on anyone else but you.”

“And why does that bother you?” I asked shyly, trying hard to swallow the nervous lump in my throat.

Luka’s beautiful gaze met mine and his lips parted with a brief exhale. “Because you belong to me, Kisa. You always have.” Luka’s face thawed and he pointed at my eye, then his left. “You’re a part of me, remember? God put a piece of you within me so when we were born, everyone would know we matched.”

My skin felt on fire, but I knew it had nothing to do with the burning temperature of the afternoon sun. It had to do with Luka. Luka and that tale his mama and my mama would always tell us.

I loved him. I’d always loved him. I would always love him. Luka, my Luka. I was only thirteen, he was only fourteen, but he was so much more than my best friend … He was my whole world.

“Luka…” I whispered, my soul melting at his words. And his lip hooked into a smirk.

“Kisa…” he imitated. Then his gaze fell to my lips and my heart raced to an almost impossible speed. “I want to kiss you now,” Luka said, all humor dropping from his beautiful face.

“But I’ve … I’ve never been kissed before…” I said, a blush forming on my sun-kissed cheeks.

Luka tilted his head and gave me a crooked smile. “Me neither.”

My eyes widened and relief melted in my chest. “You haven’t?” I asked in shock.

“Who else would I have kissed?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know? You have a lot of girls at church following you around.”

Luka laughed and shook his head. Squeezing my shoulders, he leaned down and rasped, “But none of them are you.” Luka pointed to his eye again. “We match. Why would I want anyone else? Nobody else is you. Long brown hair, blue eyes and tanned skinned beautiful you.”

Dipping my eyes, I pushed my toes into the sand, loving the soft feel of the hot grains beneath my feet. When I lifted my long lashes, I met Luka’s eyes and whispered, “Okay…”

Luka tensed and regarded me so seriously that my stomach began doing flips. His hand released mine and he gently cupped my cheek, hand slightly trembling. “You ready?” he said, licking his lips.

Swallowing my nerves as he moved to only an inch from my mouth, I confessed, “I hope I don’t mess this up.”

“Not possible,” Luka said as he leaned all the way forward and pressed his lips against mine. Everything seemed to go quiet around us and my eyes closed of their own accord. Luka’s lips were so soft and, like the pieces of a puzzle, fit perfectly against mine. There was no movement of tongues, no frantic caressing of lips, just two innocent young mouths feeling one another’s intimate touch for the first time.

Finally pulling away, Luka wore an expression of shock, making my heart thump too slow. But when his swollen mouth pulled into a happy, besotted grin, I knew mine reflected his own.

Luka’s heavy arm pulled me down to curl into his chest, and I stared out at the glistening water in perfect contentment.

“Like I said … we match,” Luka confirmed—I think to himself. I knew right then and there that I’d given my soul to this boy … I knew there’d never be anyone else that ever came close.

*   *   *

“Kisa?” a heavily accented female voice called out from my right. Sitting back in the wooden pew, wiping away the tears from my sacred childhood memory, Mama Tolstoi came into view. She too had dressed in all black—the traditional color of mourning. Not a day had gone by in twelve years that Luka’s mama hadn’t worn black.

Rising to my feet, I smiled at Mama Tolstoi and embraced her. “How are you, Mama?”

Her brown eyes—the same eyes as Luka’s—stared off to look upon Christ on the cross, and she shrugged. “Today is a very hard day, my girl.”

My stomach fell and I nodded my head, unable to speak through the threat of tears. Talia joined us at the pew, and I saw her eyes rimmed with red. She could barely meet my gaze. Today was our mutual nightmare.

“He would have been twenty-six today,” Mama Tolstoi added. The tears that had been a threat to me finally trickled slowly down my face.

Mama Tolstoi reached out and grabbed my hand. “You two would have been married and perhaps I would have been a grandmama by now.” Her eyes gazed over and she added, “He would have loved you your whole life. You would have looked so beautiful on your wedding day and my Luka would have looked so handsome in a tux. Your mama would have smiled down from heaven on that day, Kisa. Her heart would have been so full at the two of you committing to one another under God’s eyes.”

The picture Mama Tolstoi conjured up might as well have been a dagger to my heart. She squeezed my hands to gain my attention after I had to look away, too upset by what she’d said.

I stared into her tense brown eyes when she gripped my hands tightly and said, “He wouldn’t do it, Kisa. He wouldn’t have killed your Rodion. My boy, your fated love, would not have taken his best friend’s life. He was wronged. Deep down you know this.”

Bowing my head, the tears came thick and fast. I believed her words, but I still remembered Rodion’s eyes glazed with the new presence of death, Alik stabbed and in hospital.

“Mama, come,” Talia said, interrupting her mama’s plea for her lost son. Talia moved around her to press a kiss to my cheek. Wrapping her arm around her mama’s shoulders, Talia led her out of the church, leaving me alone in the expansively ornate room, all the eyes of the saints staring down at me, balefully watching my despair.

“Kisa?” Father Kruschev said, and I cast my gaze to the back of the room. “Are you still good to join us on the truck?”

Breathing a sigh of relief that Father Kruschev had found something for me to do, I made my way to the back of the church. I turned one more time to look to the altar and whispered, “May God bless your soul, Luka … I love you, lyubov moya, my love … I know I was made for you too … We matched … you were part of my heart…”

Chapter Seven

Kisa

“Kisa, you stay in the truck. You were out on the streets last night. Stay in the safety of the truck tonight,” Father Kruschev said as I unbuckled my belt and panic flowed through me.

“If it’s okay, Father, I prefer to be outside. I need fresh air.”

Father Kruschev gave me a sympathetic smile. He believed it was because of Luka’s birthday. I confess in part it was, but I couldn’t lie to myself. I had to admit that I wanted to see that man again—my defender.

Who was homeless …

I closed my eyes and shook myself. I was losing my damn mind!

Zipping up the leather jacket I had brought over my black dress, I stepped out onto the street. It was hot, but without the jacket, Alik would think I was showing too much skin.

Pavel cast me a weary smile. “Back with us tonight, Kisa?”

I shrugged and helped one of the other volunteers load the care packages onto the street. When everyone was set, I scooped up my packages and headed east to where I’d spotted the man sitting on the street.

Passing three homeless people, two men, one woman, I made quick work of dispensing the care packages and turned the corner to the next block, praying I would see the man hunkered down.

Taking a deep breath, I turned onto the street and, in the farthest, darkest corner, saw a large shadow and a jar of glass glinting from the nearby streetlamp.

My heart began to race like I’d run the damn New York Marathon, and checking there was no sign of danger in my vicinity, I moved silently across the street to stand right in front of the man, his dark-gray sweatshirt in place, hood pulled low over his eyes, his body as still as stone. The jar in his hands had coins and random notes in it but it was only filled halfway to the top.

Like last night, I was immediately struck by him. This time his static position allowed me to really assess his frame. He was big. Maybe two hundred and twenty pounds, athletic looking, slightly bulkier than Alik. His black training pants were covered in dirt, and on closer inspection, I noticed his hands were covered in rough, broken skin, dried blood clearly etched into the flesh.

“Hel … hello?” I managed to ask, my voice shaking like a leaf in a storm.

He didn’t move. He looked like he was barely breathing.

I willed him to look up. I wished him to push back the thick gray material of his hood and look up at me. I had to put a face to the actions of last night. Something in my gut pushed me to make a connection, to get a name … a visual, something.

But he did nothing.

Glancing over my shoulder, I took in the quiet street and I slowly bent down, warily watching the man the whole time. He didn’t flinch. For a time, I wondered if he was deaf. Any noise I made didn’t seem to register.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?” I said, holding my breath as I waited for him to look up and reply.

Nothing.

I inched closer. “I’m with the church. You saved me last night. Do you remember? Do you need anything? More food, blankets? Would you please talk to me?”

Still nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

His gray sweatshirt was zipped up, hiding what I guessed was a broad chest. His shoulders were huge, his traps visible through the thick material. His legs were crossed as he clutched the open-topped Mason jar resting on the ground.

My heart beat furiously, my palms sweated, and I found myself reaching out to pull back the hood.

The material slid back like I was unwrapping a Christmas gift. No, it wasn’t that safe. I’d observed this man in action. He killed a man without remorse. Reaching out to him would be like putting my hand in a wild animal’s cage. I had no idea if he was a threat to me or not.

A cropping of messy sandy-colored hair emerged, followed by the most beautiful chiseled face I’d ever seen. A broad forehead, defined European cheeks, a strong jaw, perfectly full lips, and stubble covering his golden skin.

The man’s eyes remained downcast as though he hadn’t even felt the material of his hood being pushed back off his head. The only indication that he’d noticed me at all was the slight tightening of his fingers on that jar he was holding.

My breathing quickened and all I could do was stare. I was struck mute and still by his looks, his unkempt raw and rugged looks. My stomach was tightening, my hands began to shake, and my pussy began throbbing.

He was perfect—wild, rough, stern—absolute heart-stirring perfection.

“Do … do you need anything?” I asked again through a clogged throat, my voice barely a whisper. “Please, talk to me,” I begged, feeling all hope drain from my limbs. “I want to thank you for saving me.”

Again, there was no response, and I realized I wasn’t going to get anything from this man. I studied his sharply featured face. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, but with dirt and dried blood covering his face, in reality, he could have been older.

I found myself desperate to know his story. Why was here? Who was he? But his silence pushed me away. I sucked warm air into my lungs in an attempt to calm down. I didn’t know why this was so important to me. But I had to know why he was collecting money. What was it for? Did he really need help?

I kneeled there for minutes just listening to his deep breathing. Then I sighed and placed the care package of food and blankets at his feet.

“I … I’d better go,” I announced and slowly got to my feet. I was about to turn around when the man cleared his throat, and I froze.

“Mnny,” was all I heard, his gruff, deep voice unintelligible.

I turned to face him. His head was still downcast.

“What?” I asked urgently and bent down until my knees hit the ground, praying he would speak again.

His fingers gripped the jar and he tilted it up in my direction. “Money,” he growled.

I visibly shook at the deep timbre of his feral-sounding voice. It was primal, animalistic. I slapped a hand on my chest as I fought to breathe. I dipped my eyes to try and meet his, but his chin lowered until it almost touched his defined, ripped chest. He could sense I was trying to make eye contact, yet he wouldn’t let me see him.

Filling my lungs with the humid night air, feeling their ache, I asked, “Money? You need money?”

A grunt told me I had it right, and I bent down farther. “How much?”

Nothing happened for several seconds, before one of his rough hands let go of the jar and he reached into his pocket, pulling out a tattered piece of paper. He held it out for me to take. I reached out for the scrap. When my finger brushed his warm finger, a current like a bolt of electricity shot through my body. I almost leapt back at the sensation. He must have felt it too as no sooner had our fingers touched than he pulled his hand back and tucked it into his pocket.

With trembling hands, I unfolded the crinkled paper and my eyes saw a number: ten thousand.

My eyes locked on the man whose full lips were pursed.

“Ten grand?” I whispered, yet he said nothing. “Ten grand?” I said louder, betraying my disbelief. “What do you need that kind of money for?”

His free hand clenched slowly into a fist and the split skin began to seep with droplets of blood. I was gripped by fear as I watched the droplets fall to the sun-parched ground.

“Revenge,” he snarled.

I startled at the severity of his tone, at his rough voice, his voice that caused sparks to ignite deep in my stomach.

“Revenge?” I whispered in confusion, fighting to keep the nerves from my voice.

His clenched hand slackened and once again resumed its place on the jar.

“Revenge … revenge on the man who lied.”

I slowly stood, not knowing what to do, not knowing whether it was right to fund his … revenge. I wanted to push him for more, but he was back to being a statue. I looked down at the money in the jar. He had about fifty dollars, if that. He was never going to raise that kind of money out here on the streets.

It was hopeless. What he was doing was hopeless.

I ran my hand through my hair and almost laughed. What the hell was I doing? And was I seriously contemplating giving him ten grand? For revenge? Up to now, the very thought should have sent me running for the hills, but I was a princess of the Bratva, the only daughter of the Pakhan. Revenge put food on my family’s table; it ensured we all lived to see another day. Revenge was my family’s M.O., my family’s legacy.

And ten grand was nothing to Kirill Volkov’s family.

I could get this amount tonight from the safe at the gym. No one but me knew the cash was there. Hell, no one would miss it. It was the gym’s Christmas donation to the church. But I was in two minds. It was charity and it was earmarked for the church; however, I was now pretty convinced that giving the money to a single man hell bent on revenge, though not the Lord’s original idea of alms, was charity enough. This mysterious man had saved my life. He killed my attacker to save my life.

It was blood money, payment for a sin against the flesh. What was ten thousand dollars compared to that?

Crouching down, I placed the piece of paper on top of his jar and promised, “I’ll be back later tonight.”

Turning on my heel, I jogged back to the truck and, from my cell, called Serge to pick me up. Ten minutes later, he arrived and I made my excuses to Father Kruschev.

I jumped in the backseat of the car and Serge turned his body to face me, worry etched on his face. “Miss. Kisa, what’s wrong? Has something happened?”

Shaking my head, I asked, “Serge, I need a favor. Please, can you take me to the gym, then back here?” I looked up at him through my lashes, the guilt of this request playing heavy on my heart. “But don’t tell Papa or Alik.”

Serge stared at me and his gray eyes narrowed slightly. “Are you in trouble, Miss?”

I shook my head.

“Is this going against something you were ordered not to do?” Serge pushed further.

“No,” I whispered. “It’s something I want to do for someone … something to pay back a debt. But Alik wouldn’t be happy. He’d think I would have betrayed his orders.”

Serge blew out a long breath but, dropping his head, turned around and buckled his seatbelt. “I hope you’re not lying to me, Miss Volkova,” he said, and I exhaled a pent-up breath.

“I’m not, Serge. I swear.”

Serge gave a curt nod and silently pulled out onto the street. A while later, we arrived at the gym. Serge guarded me as I slipped inside and ran to my office. I quickly opened the safe hidden in the wall, pulled out the cash and, stuffed it into my purse.

After locking my office door, Serge looked at me with suspicion in his eyes, but I brushed past him without saying a word. Dutifully, he followed me outside into the car.

In another twenty minutes, we pulled back in front of the street where the food truck had stopped, only this time everywhere was deserted. The church truck was gone for the night and most of the homeless were asleep under their blankets.

I went to open the door, clutching my purse, when Serge opened his door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

“Serge? What are you doing?” I asked in panic.

Serge folded his old but still beefy arms over his chest, his black suit looking too tight. “Miss Volkova, I might have agreed to escort you to the gym and back here, even though it wasn’t on Mr. Volkov’s or Alik’s approved list, but there is no way I’m letting you walk around these streets alone at this time of night.”

I stepped forward, a pleading look upon my face. “Please, Serge. I need to give a homeless man here some money and I must do it alone.”

Serge shook his head in exasperation and stormed forward, gently gripping my bicep in his hand. “Kisa, what the hell is going on?”

I dropped my eyes. “I … I…” I blew out a sharp breath and met Serge’s eyes. “Serge, I was attacked last night while doing the church’s work. I was in an alley, alone, where I was told not to go, handing out a care package to one of the regulars, when some guy tried to steal my purse and put a blade to my throat. He … he was going to kill me.”

Serge turned a deathly shade of white, eyes searching all around us. “Who? Who the fuck attacked a Volkov? I’ll kill him!”

“No!” I hissed and shook Serge’s arm. “That’s what I’m trying to say. Another homeless man came to my defense. Hell, Serge, he ended up killing my attacker. I … I owe him, and he needs money. I want to help him in return for saving me.”

“Fucking hell, Kisa!” Serge groaned. I could hear how pissed he was from his tight accented voice. “Why the hell didn’t you tell your father when you got home?”

“I couldn’t, Serge. Alik would’ve found out. He wouldn’t understand that the man saved me. He would think there was more to it. He’d kill the man who saved my life, out of jealousy. You know he forbids me to speak to men.” I paused and let that hang in the air. “You know this, Serge. You know what he’s like.”

Serge checked that the area was clear. “Let’s go. You have ten minutes.”

I took off in the direction of where the man had been sitting. Turning the corner, I was relieved to see he hadn’t moved. His hood was firmly pulled down and his hand was still wrapped around the Mason jar.

“There,” I whispered to Serge. His eyes followed the direction in which my finger pointed … and he reared back in shock when he laid eyes on the beggar’s large frame.

“That man? Christ, Kisa!” he asked.

Without giving him an answer, I trotted over the street, motioning for Serge to hang back a bit. He did so, reluctantly.

Cautiously approaching the man, I let my heels click on the asphalt so he would hear my approach. I kneeled down before him and, exactly as before, saw his hands tense. It was as if he were expecting to be struck … or he was gearing himself up to fight.

“It’s okay … It’s me, again … from before,” I said and rolled my eyes at how stupid I sounded. It was pathetic.

I was pathetic doing this!

The man didn’t say anything, not that I’d expected him to. So I opened my purse and began pulling out the cash, pushing it into his jar.

I started when I saw his head lift slightly, watching me fill his jar to the brim. In a flash, he reached out and grabbed a tight hold on my hand. I didn’t react, afraid Serge would come running. Feeling flushed at the touch of his rough hand, I slotted the last of the money into the jar and picked up the sound of his heavy breathing.

“It’s all there, everything you need,” I said quietly. Suddenly, the sound of a gunshot rang out in the distance. It made me jump and whip my head around to look at Serge.

“Shit! Stay here!” Serge ordered and took off around the corner to check it out, his Beretta pulled from his jacket and now firmly in his hand.

My attention moved to the man again, whose hand had released mine. He was screwing the top onto the jar whilst rising to his feet. As soon as he was upright, I stood before him and tried to gaze up into his eyes. His head dipped again and I wanted to scream out in frustration.

Tucking the jar under his arm, he backed away. I knew he was about to take off and disappear into the night. But in a moment of desperation, I reached out and grabbed his sweatshirt sleeve, pulling him to a stop. He wrenched his arm back and strode forward, causing me to stumble back in fear. My back slammed against the slick wall and I heard a low, threatening grumble emerge from his mouth, making it clear that I shouldn’t have touched him. For a fleeting moment, I feared he would strike me.

Holding my hands out for protection, his broad chest slammed into my palms, all hard, defined muscles beneath his shirt as he pushed forward, my hands beginning to shake. I could feel his thumping heartbeat against my palm—he was jacked up, fuming on the spot. Every part of me filled with fear, made worse by a street light above us which flickered on and off, illuminating his gritted teeth.

“Wait! I’m sorry,” I said quickly. The man’s body froze. “I … I only wanted to see your face … before you left. I wanted to see the man who saved me.”

The dark hood tilted slowly to the side, and the heavy rise and fall of his chest seemed to increase. He didn’t want me to see his eyes. That only made me more curious. Keeping the jar tucked under his left arm, he stopped pushing against my hands. Taking the chance while I could, I cautiously reached up and torpidly pulled back his hood.

My eyes were trained on his face as it came into view—that strong jaw, that unruly sandy-blond hair, his dark stubbled cheeks, high cheekbones, and …

I waited with bated breath for his dipped head to rise and finally meet my eyes. He did so with painstaking slowness, long, dark lashes downcast, like he was fighting against his instincts, like gravity was keeping his eyes pulled down. Until, with nostrils flaring and his breath blowing hard, he lost the battle to keep his anonymity and his eyelids lifted to reveal the dark irises underneath and his hard gaze suddenly bored into my eyes …

Then everything stopped—time, the ability to breathe … my whole entire world.

Choking on a gasp, my hand flew to my mouth and my legs collapsed beneath me. In a New York minute, my ass hit the hard ground and cold shivers tracked down my spine.

The man’s face was blank as he towered over me, knowing I had been felled by his stare. He was raw, stern, and he was glaring at me like a killer before he rips apart his victim, a predator before he devours his prey. There was no emotion in his expression, no compassion for me now sitting on the sidewalk, no thanks for a generous donation. He was as cold as an arctic winter … but he was a beautiful monster, and he had no idea why I despaired.

Hearing the kicking of a can down the far side of the nearby alley, the man pulled up his hood, his disguise and, in a flash, sprinted away into the darkness.

I failed to pull oxygen into my lungs, wheezing as I tried. Those eyes … those eyes were imprinted into my brain, they were soldered onto my soul. My voice was stolen by the shock of what I’d just seen.

Brown eyes … a pair of rich chocolate-brown eyes, the left iris smudged with a flash of blue … the exact blue from my eyes … just like …

No… how could it be?

He died … He had died over twelve years ago.

That man was a monster, a killer, devoid of emotion, with little ability to communicate. Luka … Luka was my best friend, my love, a Bratva boy … He died …

But … But…?

“Kisa!” Serge’s voice cut through my panic. Suddenly appearing before me, his arms instantly scooped me off the floor. “What the hell?” he spat out before carrying me back to the car, placing me in the backseat. “Shit!”

He asked me several times what was wrong, but I didn’t know what to say, what to believe … My mind kept replaying what I had just witnessed.

Brown eyes … rich chocolate-brown eyes, the left iris smudged with a flash of blue … the same color of my eyes.

“Kisa!” Serge called from the driver’s seat as he fired up the car. “What happened? Were you harmed?”

I shook my head in response to his increasingly frantic questions, all the time gripping my seatbelt with fisted, trembling hands.

“Fuck! Then what?” Serge pushed. “Where did the man go? Why are you crying? Shaking?”

I met Serge’s eyes with my vacant stare, still too busy replaying the scene in my head to really see him. It couldn’t be Luka … It was impossible … He was dead …

My heart exploded like a cannon. Serge slammed his heavy fist down on the steering wheel and threatened, “Kisa! You tell me what’s wrong or I’m telling your father that you took money from the gym and handed it out on the street to a homeless man like it was fucking Christmas!”

Silence filled the Lincoln. I took a deep breath, wrapped my arms around my waist, and I whispered, “I … I think I’ve just seen a ghost…”

Chapter Eight

818

“So are you ready to kill or are you ready to be killed?”

As I sat on the bench in the back room, the cries of hundreds of men shouting their bets beyond the door made my hands shake with nerves. 362 sat in front of me, smiling with a shit-eating grin as he wrapped his hand in a well-soiled white sports bandage.

This guy had been on my ass since I’d arrived a month ago. He was three years older than me, one of the best fighters in his division here at the Gulag, yet he immediately saw me as a threat. Three years his junior, I still matched his size. For a few weeks, the warden took me to a gym, made me train in fight techniques, telling me I would have my first match soon. Every day, I would wake, train, eat, and sleep. I had a routine, but my dreams were plagued with the boy I’d seen in the ring. The one with the dead look in his eyes, his opponent’s guts on the canvas. I knew it would be me soon, forced to kill or be killed.

362 stared me down waiting for my answer.

“I’m going to kill whoever the fuck gets in that ring with me,” I promised. 362’s smile just grew wider at my pissed-off tone. I focused my attention on the white tiled floor, psyching myself up for all that I’d worked for. My legs bounced as the noise from the cage grew louder, and I knew the current fight was coming to a close. My skin was twitching from the shot I’d been getting everyday. My muscles were growing, aching all the time. I was sweating constantly and I was agitated twenty-four-seven, the littlest thing pissing me off.

“You’ll become addicted, you know,” 362 said, and my eyes slammed to his, fiery rage racing through my veins. His long black hair ran down his back, and he jerked his chin in the direction of the door that led to the cage. “Out there, all the men betting on your strength, on your will to survive. You’ll become addicted. You’ll live for the kill … live to see the life force drain from your opponents’ eyes. In that cage we’re both Gods and monsters.”

My mouth tightened and all my muscles tensed. “Never,” I spat back, my voice sounding deeper, rougher.

362 simply laughed.

“This is your first fight. You have no idea how it’s going to feel,” he taunted.

Fists clenching, I said flatly, “I’m going to do what I need to do to get out of here. That’s it. I’m not like you. I won’t like it.”

362 jumped to his feet and approached me. I stood, the concrete cold beneath my feet, and we met face to face. I was Russian; some Georgian piece of shit wasn’t going to best me.

“Not like me?” 362 quizzed. I clenched my jaw and glared into his fucking dead eyes. He smirked, then stepped farther forward until his feet touched mine. “You’re gonna end up exactly like me. You’re gonna die inside. You’re gonna spill so much blood that it’s all you’ll see. At first, you’ll hate it, but with each kill, you’re gonna need it more and more, like some fucking drug. You’re gonna change. Who you are now will no longer exist. You’ll forget who you were. You’ll forget anyone you ever loved.” 362’s lip hooked into a dry smirk, but then his face went blank. “I’ve been here years.” His head tilted forward until his mouth was at my ear, but I held my ground. “And I have no fucking idea who I was before I was brought to this hell. And in time, neither will you.”

My breath came in hard pants, but then 362 moved back. Before I’d even seen him raise an arm, he ploughed his fist into my stomach, my legs buckling as I fell to the ground.

“Enjoy your first fight … I’ve seen your opponent. You shouldn’t die tonight, as long as you keep your eyes alert and you don’t pussy out.”

Spit landed on my cheek as I lifted myself off the ground and stumbled onto my feet. A sudden boom of raucous cheering erupted from the cage. My heart began to race. The gun in the basement sounded.

The current fight had ended.

One fighter had died.

The other now knew what it was like to kill.

And it was now my turn.

Footsteps sounded down the hallway outside, bolts unlatched, and the steel door flew open, a guard appearing before me.

“Out,” he ordered.

Glancing to the back booth in the locker room, I caught sight of 362 practicing with a sai, his bladed choice of weapon. The thin blade twirled around his fingers as he watched me pass, his face betraying no emotion.

The guard smirked as I strode toward him and held out my hand for him to cuff. My stomach tensed as he looked at me; my skin crawled in disgust.

Once my wrists were bound, the guard dragged me into the dank hallway, pulling me down a set of steep stairs until the door opened and I entered the mob of men surrounding the cage.

My breathing echoed in my ears as I approached the octagonal metal cage where the Gulag’s warden waited. Some posts around the outside of the cage were manned by guards taking the spectators’ money.

The guard at my back pushed me forward. Then he undid my handcuffs. The warden gripped me by the neck and threw me toward a table full of weapons.

“Chose,” he demanded.

Nervously, I looked at what was on offer: blades, axes, sai, chains … and at the end, a bladed pair of silver knuckledusters.

“Choose!” The warden sneered. “We don’t have all fucking day!”

Reaching forward, I grabbed hold of the spiked knuckledusters, sliding them onto my damp hands, the feeling of steel against my skin so strange.

The guard behind gripped my arm and, turning me around to face the crowd, pointed to the number they’d tattooed on my chest—818. Dozens of eyes focused on me, and money began to change hands.

The guard made me stand for ages, like an animal on show. I surveyed the unfamiliar faces of the crowd, heart thundering in my chest, palms sweating, and the fear of imminent death almost paralyzing my legs. A firing gun sounded and, abruptly, the guard shoved me up some steps and into the claustrophobic octagon. A boy about my age clutched an axe; he was being pushed into the octagon from the opposite side.

My eyes were glued to his. He was about my height, but he was thinner. He too wore only black shorts, the number 591 tattooed across his chest.

As he stumbled into the cage, piss ran down his legs. I could see by the shaking of an axe in his right hand that he was terrified.

The cage doors slammed shut. The warden stood outside and banged on the cage wall, the sound sounding like thunder. “Only one of you comes out alive. No fucking around. No rounds. No breaks. Just kill.”

My eyes widened as I took in his words, but I knew this was what I was here for. I had to kill this boy in order to survive.

The boy looked across at me; by the way he stood, I knew he couldn’t fight. But my papa had taught me from a young age how to take care of myself. I knew how to fight. I knew how to inflict pain … I knew how to kill.

A gun sounded, and the joint erupted. Men were hammering the cage like hungry animals; they shouted things I couldn’t make out.

The warden bellowed for the fight to begin and adrenaline filled my muscles. My opponent stood frozen on the spot, his eyes roving the sick crowd in fear.

My pulse beat fast, the dull thumping deafening in my ears, drowning out the roar of the spectators.

“Move!” the warden screamed. He’d lost his shit. Our two guards stood at the doors behind us, rifles aimed straight at our heads. Self-preservation took hold; I moved to the center of the ring, my opponent receiving a hit on the head by his guard. The boy stumbled forward, crashing into my chest. The volume of the crowd dramatically rose as our bodies collided. Taking advantage of my stronger stance, I punched out my right hand and hit the boy square on his jaw. Blood showered the boy’s face. Dazed, the boy fell, back hitting the floor. Seeing my chance, I straddled his waist and struck him again on the face. Surprise registered on the boy’s face as blow after blow rained down on him. Teeth tumbled to the ground and his flesh tore under the spiked edges of my knuckledusters.

“Please…” the boy whispered, his quiet voice sounding like a foghorn in the middle of the insanity beyond the cage, “Don’t kill me … I don’t want to die … I’m scared…”

My gut twisted upon hearing his plea and my shoulders sagged. I was exhausted and out of breath. Glancing around the dimly lit dingy room, my eyes drank in the howling, bloodthirsty crowd, and my stomach recoiled in disgust. Grown men. Grown men cheering for kids to shred each other, to tear each other to death.

Wiping a bead of sweat from my brow with the back of my bandaged hand, I rolled off the whimpering 591 and staggered to my feet. The guards raised their guns at my movement. I hit the cage’s metal mesh, which groaned as if it were in pain.

“What are you doing, boy?” one of the guards asked. Everything seemed to slow down, my pulse throbbing too slow.

The warden circled the cage until his angry face was inches from mine on the other side of the metal. “Get back and finish him!”

Nausea built in my throat as I looked at my guard’s hard face. He had to be in his fifties and he was built like a tank. The barrel of his gun was aimed squarely at my forehead. “You have five seconds to get back over there and kill that pussy, or I’ll shoot you both.”

I heard a similar threat being issued from the opposite side of the cage. Hearing a loud scream, I turned just in time to see 591 charging at me with his axe raised high. Though shocked at this move, I dodged out of the way and dove to the ground—just in time to see 591 crash into the metal of the cage, axe slamming hard against the steel links.

He whipped around to confront me, eyes crazed, the whiteness of gritted teeth shining through his bloodied mouth. 591 panted like a rabid animal. I knew then what had to be done.

My fight response kicked in, sending a surge of energy through my whole body. As 591 charged me, I dropped and wrapped a leg around his calf. 591 lost his balance. As he fell to the ground, without pause, I jumped on his back. I raised my knuckledusters, spiked blades pointing down, and with a fast punch and a deafening roar, lodged the blades into the bottom of his skull. Immediately, 591’s body slackened beneath me.

A gun fired and the crowd roared as blood began gushing from 591’s wound onto the concrete floor. Shocked, I couldn’t move. Staring down, I saw that my bladed weapon was still embedded in his skull. I pulled the blades out, and vomit spilled from my mouth as chunks of bone and flesh came away with them.

A hand roughly gripped my neck, hauling me to my feet. A heavily booted foot pushed 591; his corpse rolled over. 591’s lifeless eyes stared up at me, tearing at my guilty heart. I’d killed. I’d taken a person’s life.

Staggering forward aided by a push on my back, I was once again dragged through the crowd of men, this time exchanging cash. My guard flung me on the floor of the locker room at the back of the basement.

The steel door creaked when slammed shut. I worked on taking long, deep breaths as I struggled with the pit of pain in my stomach. A pair of bare feet came into view. When I looked up, 362 towered over me, stretching his muscles and gripping his favored sai with both hands.

“Block it out,” he ordered.

Reluctantly, I raised my head and sat back on my heels, closing my eyes at the sight of blood spattered on my skin. When I opened them again, 362’s attention was fixed on the steel door, but he threw a glance my way and added, “You have to block out the kill. Block out anything that stops you from surviving.”

I shook my head slowly, clenched my fists, and retched when a piece of bone fell from the knuckleduster and clattered to the ground.

“Block it all out. Survive. Take the beatings. Take the shots. Take the torture, the electric shocks to make you forget your past. Let them turn you. Let them fuck with your head. Let them turn you into a monster. Let them turn you feral.” 362 paused and added, “And anything else the guards want to throw your way when they enter your cell in the middle of the night. That’s the only way to make it through the Gulag. The only way to stay alive.”

The steel door burst open again. Rolling his neck, 362 spun on his heel and gripped his favorite black sai tighter. A cloud of darkness suddenly masked his face. It was a blank, dangerous expression that made shivers run down my spine. 362 strode into the hallway, no cuffs on his wrists, no guard forcing him into the cage. I stared numbly at the door. Then I heard the crowd burst into cheers. They loved him. Those fucked-up men loved 362.

Dragging myself to my feet, I stepped up to the grimy mirror in the stinking box of a bathroom that reeked of shit and piss, just like the rest of this fucking hellhole. I wiped the glass, a bloodied streak from my sopping bandages leaving its mark.

As I stared at my reflection, I couldn’t find the boy I’d always seen. Instead, I thought of my parents, but their images were distorted, so I couldn’t picture their faces. Panic ran through my bones as I tried to remember their features. But it was no use. My memory wouldn’t let me. Next, I thought of—, of him, my friend lying on the ground, his life taken by a dagger to the heart. But I couldn’t picture his face. I couldn’t even vaguely remember what he looked like. Hands gripping the sides of my head, I squeezed my eyes shut, memories steadily slipping from my mind.

The drugs. The drugs were making me forget. They were fucking with my mind. I was remembering less and less, day by day.

“No!” I screamed. Punching out, I smashed the edge of the mirror, a shard of glass shattering on concrete. I couldn’t see them! I couldn’t picture their faces!

Concentrating hard, I tried to picture her … my solnyshko … but she appeared blurred. All I could remember was a featureless face crying and colorless eyes staring at me in disappointment. The sight of it made my insides twist in fear … And then I saw him. The one who put me in here. The liar. He had no face, nothing to recall but his name now scrolling across my mind—Alik Durov. He was the reason I was here in this shithole. I clung to that name, even as everything else drained from my memory.

It was like doors slammed shut, their entryways forever sealed. My brain started shutting out my past, shutting out everyone from my past, shutting out emotion, shutting out any feeling of guilt for killing 591.

“Block it all out. Survive,” I told myself.

362’s order ran through my mind, muscles tensing as the boy in the mirror steadily filled with numbness. The boy in the mirror quickly became 818 from the Gulag: location unknown.

I blocked it all out. I took the beatings, the drugs, the torture … and everything else they threw at me.

I did everything I was ordered to do.

And I survived

*   *   *

Gulping in the sticky Brooklyn air, I jerked awake, body drenched with sweat as I slept behind a dumpster, still gripping tightly to the jar of cash clutched to my chest.

My dream ran through my mind, head pounding with the images. Unzipping my sweatshirt, I ran my fingers over my chest and traced the tattooed numbers. 818. My eyes squeezed shut. I saw the kid still looking into the mirror.

A pain ripped through my skull as I tried to remember, the drugs now slowly wearing off.

ARGH!

Revenge, I thought. Forget the motherfucking dream and get your revenge. Zipping up my sweatshirt, I glanced up at a dark but lightening sky.

It was morning.

Jumping to my feet, I stepped from behind the dumpster, cracking my stiff neck and focused on the dockside gym. A light was on inside, cars entering the underground parking garage to the side of the building.

Blood searing in my veins, I pulled my hood over my head, pounded over the asphalt and pushed open the doors. The weak dick from before was behind his desk. He shit himself again, pulling the same gun on me again. I stormed to the desk without even flinching.

The barrel of the gun pressed against my chest as I slammed the jar of cash on the wood. The dick’s eyes shot down to the jar, then back up to me. Sliding off the stool his fat ass was perched on, he banged on a side door.

“Yiv!”

My eyes bored, my jaw tensed, and my palms still clutched the jar. The side door suddenly flew open. Yiv walked through, a pissed scowl aimed at the guy behind the desk.

“What?” Yiv spat, then saw me standing at the desk. His expression changed on a dime, and he hesitated for a minute before he asked, “You got the money?”

I pushed the jar out in front of me and gave him a single nod. Yiv stepped forward and, without counting the cash, pushed the jar at the other guy. “Take it to the boss’ office.”

The guy disappeared, and Yiv lifted the counter. He flicked his chin, signaling me to come through. I followed behind Yiv, savoring the sound of the punching of bags being hit and the grunts of men in training. My skin prickled with the need to train—a driving need to get back to building my body into the honed weapon it had become, to maintain my focus and kill.

The steel of my bladed knuckledusters weighed that bit heavier in my pocket, reminding me of the task I had to perform, of the fights I had yet to win.

Yiv led me to a room filled with about a dozen men, but my eyes sought out only one … and there he was, dead center, his packed body training on the salmon ladder. His fists were wrapped around a metal bar and he used his upper body strength to climb up the rungs as effectively as anyone I’d seen.

I made sure my hood was pushed low over my head.

“You get a trainer, you get the use of the gym all day, and you turn up whenever the fuck we tell you to. You eat here, take whatever the hell we want to pump you with and you don’t complain,” Yiv said, leading me to a back room.

He glanced back at me, seeing my attention on Durov, and smirked, pointing his way. “That’s my fighter, Alik ‘The Butcher’ Durov. He’s the one everybody wants to beat. Five time champion. The guy is a fucking king in that cage. That mean bastard will never die.”

My nostrils flared with rage as Durov dropped to the floor. Taking out a dagger, he turned to a dead pig hanging upside down on a hook from the rafters. It only took a few perfectly precise strikes for Durov to slice the pig in half. He stood back, chest heaving, eyes lit with that addictive fire of violence, his blade dripping blood at his feet.

That bastard will die, I thought.

As if sensing my fury, my hatred for the man I’d vowed to destroy, Durov’s psychotic stare tried to meet mine, but my hood covered my eyes. His eyes narrowed as he stared me down.

A hand grabbing my shoulder made me react. I gripped the wrist with my right hand, spun around, and slammed the attacker against the wall, his arm almost breaking as I wrenched it up his back.

“Hey! It’s Yiv!” a muffled voice said. It was the trainer, so I let go and stepped back. Yiv turned and ran his eyes up and down my body. Shaking his arm, he declared, “You’re quick. Good. You’ll need to be quick here in The Dungeon.”

I didn’t give a response, and Yiv carried on down the hallway. Still feeling Durov’s eyes on me, I glanced back and he was resting his arms on the ladder, watching me.

Watch me, I thought. See the man who is going to slaughter you.

Yiv led me to a back room where a drunken man was lounging in a seat, clutching a bottle of vodka in one hand. Yiv cursed and kicked the sleeping drunk’s leg. “Get the fuck up!”

The drunk snorted and woke, his bleary eyes immediately landing on me. “What?” he asked in a heavy accented voice.

Yiv reached forward and yanked him to his feet, the half-empty bottle of vodka smashing on the floor. Yiv turned to me, the drunk’s unfocused eyes meeting mine, and Yiv pointed to the trainer. “Viktor, you got a fighter.”

The trainer—Viktor—seemed to hear this. Brushing aside Yiv, Viktor stood right in front of me. My lip curled as the older man gripped my muscled arms, walking around me to check I was in good shape.

Viktor’s eyes narrowed. “Your name?”

I stared blankly at the floor. “I have no name.”

Yiv backed away to the exit door and I could hear his fucking condescending laugh. “You have a week and half of training until the contest. You report here every morning and don’t leave until we say you can. You signed up for this. We now own you. You belong to The Dungeon. You leave, we kill you. You talk of this place, we kill you.”

“Understood,” I replied.

Yiv laughed again and looked at Viktor, then at me. “He’s never had a fighter make it past round one.”

Zipping open my sweatshirt, keeping my eyes down low, I saw Yiv’s smile drop from my peripheral vision as he drank in my ripped, scarred, and tattooed body.

“He’s never had a fighter like me before. I bring death.”

Yiv, for a brief moment, looked worried, then immediately walked out the door. Hearing Viktor snort behind me, I swerved, fisted his shirt, and rammed him against the wall. His face reddened as he tried to say something.

“What—”

“You listen to me and you listen good. I don’t fucking need you. I’ll win this alone. I’ll kill Durov alone.”

Viktor’s eyes suddenly lit up. “You want Durov?”

“It’s the only reason I’m here,” I growled.

Viktor tried to smile but I dropped him to the floor. Reaching into my sweatshirt pockets, I pulled out my knuckledusters and pushed them on my fingers; I immediately calmed. These weapons were a part of me.

Viktor rolled to his feet, his eyes huge as he stared at my chest, the color draining from his cheeks. “Wh-what did you s-say your n-name was?” he stuttered. Shrugging off my sweatshirt, I kept my eyes down and spotted a shelf filled with supplies. Walking across the room, I picked up the jar named ‘Eye Black’, dipped my fingers into the grease and smeared the black under my eyes.

Stretching out my arms, feeling the familiar exercises loosening my limbs, I repeated, “I have no name.”

“No name? What has anyone ever called you?” Viktor asked from behind me.

818, I thought, but I dared not say the number out loud. Catching my reflection in mirrors lined against the wall, I saw the tattoo forcibly etched on my back by the guards. Dropping to the floor, I started with a few reps of push-ups.

When Viktor’s feet came into view, I paused briefly to say, “Raze. The only name I’ve ever been called is Raze. Because I’d raze any fucker that got in my way.”

Chapter Nine

Kisa

“Have you paid off the Feds? Are the high rollers on board for all three nights?” I asked Talia through my cell as I got out of the backseat of the car and headed inside the training gym to my office.

“Yes and yes. Everything’s arranged.” She bristled. Talia was efficient and equally as competent as me at arranging fight nights. “We’re still a fighter down. How are we doing with that?”

I pinched my nose as I slumped behind my desk. “I’m on it today. Yiv mentioned a buy-in, some mysterious big psycho who came in showing an interest, so I’m going to try and follow up on that.”

Talia helped Ivan with the finances, the sponsors and the men that chased up any outstanding debts. She never attended the fights. After losing her brother years ago, she couldn’t bear to be around violence and death.

“Good,” Talia said in relief. “Now that’s all done with, how are you feeling after the other night? You seemed quiet last night at church, too quiet I thought.”

My stomach tightened at her words and I sighed, tracing the knots of wood on my desktop with my fingertip. “I’m fine, Talia. You know why I was quiet. You were too. That date … it’s too hard.…” I paused, then added, “I feel like my heart breaks more and more each year. People say that time heals, but it’s bull. Time just makes me miss him more, and that ache in my stomach that’s been here for years just grows stronger.”

Talia’s heavy sigh echoed on the phone. “I know. I hate that day every year. Mama never stops crying and Papa never helps; he hides away in his office. It’s always such a fucking mess, and they all look to me to fix it somehow, like I can change what he did. Like I can bring him back from the dead.”

“Yeah,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

Only silence from the other end of the phone came through.

“You okay, Tal?” I asked.

I could have sworn I heard a sniff, a slip of emotion from my normally ice-cold friend, but Talia’s brightened voice soon came through the line. “Always okay, Kisa, always. You know me. I have thick Russian skin. So,” she said, shifting the conversation, as if those words had never been spoken between us. “Seen any more of your homeless defender? I know you went with Father Kruschev again last night.” Talia’s voice was hushed, like she was hiding our discussion from anyone who might be listening.

I crooked my head around, making sure the door was closed to the busy gym. Then Talia picked up on my silence.

“What’s happened?” she asked, a hint of excitement entering her voice. “I know that pause of silence by now, Kisa!”

Taking a deep breath, I blurted, “I saw him, again, last night.”

“Kisa!” Talia reprimanded. “You didn’t! If Alik finds out … fuck, he’ll go crazy!”

I squeezed my eyes in panic and blurted, “And I gave him ten grand…”

I was positive a tumbleweed rolled through the office during Talia’s silence on the other side of our conversation.

“Talia?” I called, unsure if she’d hung up.

“Kisa … what the hell’s going on?”

“He saved my life. And he told me he needed ten grand. It’s nothing to us, Talia. You know that. So I gave him the cash.”

“You just gave it? No questions?” Talia asked, incredulous. “It was probably for drugs!” she proclaimed.

A chill ran through my body, balking at her attitude. “No—”

“No? You mean you know what he wanted it for?” she interjected.

“He said it was for…” I swallowed, knowing how damn dark it would sound.

“What?” she pushed.

I took a deep breath and said, “Revenge…” I let that word hang in the air. Even at a distance, I could feel Talia’s worry, her concern for my safety and possibly my sanity.

“Revenge?” she said quietly. “On who, for fuck’s sake?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, feeling foolish. “But I…”

“But you what?”

“I believed him. I felt he needed it. There is just something about the guy that called to me. I can’t explain it. I feel … drawn to him…”

“Kisa! What is it with you and this guy? You’re acting insane!”

How could I explain? How can anyone ever explain the inexplicable?

The image of the hood pulling back and the reveal of his eyes had replayed endlessly through my mind. My mouth opened to tell Talia that he had the same eyes as …

But I stopped myself. I couldn’t talk about Talia’s dead brother. I couldn’t tell her this man had the same eyes … eyes that matched mine. I’d even looked up the condition early this morning when I couldn’t sleep—Heterochromia. It was a common eye condition. But his eyes were the exact color of Luka’s, the placement of the condition, that smudge of my blue on the upper left iris …

Christ! Maybe I was going insane! The pressures of living this life causing me to breakdown.

“Kisa?” Talia’s voice was lighter now. “Is this about marrying Alik? Are you acting this way because the plans are starting to turn into reality? Are you sure you want this?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up my throat as Talia trailed off, and strangely, tears sprang to my eyes. “I have no choice, Talia. You know it’s true. It’s the perfect marriage, one my father and all the Bratva are making sure happens. It’s just…”

“What?” Talia asked.

A salty teardrop trickled down my cheek. I wiped it away, chastising myself. “I always dreamed I’d marry…”

“Luka,” Talia responded in sympathy.

“I know. I’m stupid. I’m twenty-five and acting like a child.”

“No,” Talia said softly, “you simply have a broken heart. Sometimes they never heal. But…”

I sucked on my bottom lip to stop from sobbing out loud. “What?” I whispered.

“Sometimes when a heart breaks, it starts to let in the light.”

“Tal.” I cried quietly, this time allowing my tears to flow.

“Look, Kisa, I know how you felt about my brother.” She hiccupped a sob and added, “And he loved you too. It was like you were only in each other’s world. No one else existed. It was strange for being so young.”

My heart plummeted again.

“But I have to let it go. I have to marry Alik. That’s what you’re saying, right?”

“No! I mean, yes. I mean…” Talia cleared her throat. “You’ve got to move on, for your own happiness, but it’s no secret I don’t like Alik. He’s way too possessive of you, Kisa. He … he scares me. I’m afraid, for you.”

My body tensed, feeling the urge to defend Alik, to protect him. “But he needs me, Tal. He wouldn’t cope if he didn’t have me. Imagine what he’d be capable of if I wasn’t around to calm him down.”

“You know how fucked up that sounds, don’t you?” Talia replied in dismay.

“But it doesn’t make it any less true. This is all I’ve known for so long. I don’t know how to be without him anymore.”

Talia sighed. “Okay, Kisa. You’re old enough to make up your own mind.”

I nodded even though she couldn’t see me.

“Right, well, I’ve got to get more work done. The Chechens are attending this season. That means big money, Kisa, which means there can be no fuck-ups. Keep me updated on the new fighter. We’re cutting it close. Papa’s concerned.”

“I will. Speak later, Tal.”

I hung up the phone and leaned back in my chair. A knock sounded on my door. “Come in!” I shouted, and Yiv poked his head round the door.

“Miss. Volkova, we got the buy-in. He’s training with Viktor now.”

A huge feeling of relief washed through my body, and I grabbed my pen. “Thank God! Have we got a name?”

Yiv shrugged. “Viktor said he calls himself Raze.”

My eyes darted up from the Post-It note, and I frowned at Yiv. “Raze?”

“Said he didn’t have a name. Just called himself Raze.” Yiv opened the door. “He’s in the weights now if you want to talk to him.”

I nodded my head and added him to the roster at the lowest level. Newbies, unless approved by my father, did the early fights, the fights for less money. And it wasn’t uncommon for fighters to have no names; sometimes they preferred to use an alias. The only people insane enough to fight to the death were murders, serial killers, those repaying a debt to their sponsors, or the truly messed up. I was sure Alik crossed into a few of these categories … which was a disturbing thought all in itself.

Feeling I needed a walk, I decided to go check out this new fighter. Opening the door, I walked through the small, private weight rooms where the fighters were training. I was proud of the quality of this year’s contestants. The men were more ruthless and brutal than any we’d been able to secure in recent years.

The Dungeon’s Championship reputation grew year by year in the dark world of underground gambling rings. The Dungeon had more prestige than ever, which equaled more money. The fact that my father’s Byki were here day and night until the gym closed, lining the gym walls in their masses and packing AK rifles, said everything about the mental state of this year’s crop of fighters. Papa didn’t want any more pre-fights breaking out, no more early deaths—which did happen each year. And he definitely didn’t want me endangered, which looking at what some of the contestants had done in their pasts, well, it was a real possibility.

Keeping my head down from the lustful glares of the fighters, I headed to the back room where the newbie was training. Hearing the distinct sound of grunts and the metal to metal of weights clanging, I entered the door and was greeted with the domineering sight of a large man’s back, a back full of scars and burns, red marks and raised white skin. He had a huge tattoo across his bulking shoulder blades, which read, “RAZE.”

The new fighter was lifting weights, his ripped and cut muscles tensing and flexing. He was in great condition. A perfect addition to The Dungeon.

Viktor noticed me walk in. He moved from in front of the fighter, counting his reps on a clipboard, to greet me. “Miss. Volkova,” Viktor said, coming to stand next to me as I kept watching this Raze.

The fighter didn’t stop lifting, and I didn’t stop staring. I tried to open my mouth to say something to Viktor—about the fighter’s progress, his stats, if he’d be any good in the cage, what he’d chosen as his weapon—but I was struck dumb watching him lift such impossible weight with a fierce intensity. My thighs tightened as I felt moisture pool between my legs.

I cleared my throat and ran my hand over my forehead. I had no idea what was coming over me lately, but lusting after another man was not … normal. I was turning into a whore.

Viktor nudged me and held out the clipboard for me to read. As I ran my eyes over Raze’s statistics, they bulged. I snapped my gaze to Viktor, who raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. The only other fighter we had who worked as hard was … Alik.

I surveyed the tattoos and scars, which were all over this man’s back. I flinched at some of the images: laughing evil clowns, what can only be described as satanic and demonic lettering spelling the word ‘RAZE’. His tattooed name alone told me the type of man this was—lethal, unforgiving, a born killer. But it was the tattoos beneath that had me entranced: what looked to be hundreds and hundreds of tally marks littering the bottom of his back, then continuing around his sides and, I guessed, over his stomach too.

I swallowed hard when I speculated what those tally marks represented. Deaths. They were counts of the people he’d killed.

A strange feeling crept into my stomach as I thought about it for the first time. This was somebody who could rival Alik. Alik was so strong and infallible in the cage. I’d never thought about him losing a match; the possibility never even crossed my mind. But this guy, at least on paper, he really could be a genuine contender.

I had to tell Papa. Raze didn’t belong in the lower ranks. If he could fight as well as he could lift, he should be a headliner. It would help if we could get an idea about his past, the story behind his name.

“Raze?” Viktor called as I made notes on my pad, and I heard a dumbbell clatter to the floor. “You need to meet Miss. Kisa Volkova. She runs things around here, for her father. He runs the whole show.”

Raze turned to face me; it felt as if a northern wind had gusted in. He pulled my attention. Scribbling the last note on the paper, I looked up to see a ripped and cut muscled man standing panting, salty sweat dripping to the floor. His eyes were downcast, Eye Black smudged underneath each one to disguise his eyes. But like a spell, a will for him to lift his gaze, his head lifted and I found myself staring into a pair of brown eyes, the left iris smudged with a hint of blue … my blue, the color from my eyes …

“Y-you?” I whispered as I drank in this man. It was him. Him! All six-four, two twenty pounds of him. Tanned skin covered in scars, marks, and sadistic tattoos. I saw the recognition flash across his eyes, but in a second, his stare was numb again, like he was blocking me out, like he was blocking everything out, except the rage he kept hidden. I grew breathless as his packed abs and pecs tensed under my scrutiny, his bulging thighs clenched at my attention, and his traps danced as his jaw tightened the more I stared.

And his face? Finally, I could study his face in the light, and my God … he was beautiful. Without meaning to, my lips parted in want and a silent hiss slipped out. Raze’s stern face was covered in dark stubble, three large scars marring his weathered skin, one down his cheek, one angled down his forehead, and one slashed under his left eye. But they didn’t make him any less handsome. No, Raze couldn’t be described as handsome. Rough, raw, dark, dangerous, intimidating … the opposite of handsome. But I couldn’t tear my gaze from him regardless.

And then those brown eyes with a hint of blue bored so fervently on my chest, a chest panting a shade too hard, betraying the effect he was having on my traitorous body. My nipples became erect, far too sensitive against the material of my camisole. The brush of the fabric sent jolts of pleasure to my clit, and I had to fight the urge to drop my hand to my pussy, from palming the flesh of my breasts.

And then one thought broke through the trance, through the hellish spell I’d found myself under. I had given him ten grand. He was the buy-in. I had given him the money to get his revenge … and he’d bought into my Dungeon.

“Viktor, leave us alone,” I ordered rather too harshly, my demand met with silence.

I stared at Raze and he stared back, the tension palpable between us. “Viktor, leave,” I commanded again.

“Miss. Kisa—”

“Viktor! Leave!” I shouted. I heard Viktor sigh and exit the training room, slamming the door.

My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, so hard I feared Raze could hear it in the few feet between us. His sheer size was intimidating, his cold stare bone chilling, and I had to fight the urge to think of Luka.

But this man was not Luka.

Steeling my nerves, I asked, “Why are you here?”

Raze’s eyes flared and his lips tightened, but no answer was forthcoming.

Anger infused my blood and I stepped closer, watching his muscled chest tense, and I snapped, “Why?”

A growl ripped from his throat and he closed in on me until I smelled that fresh snow smell of his skin mixed with the scent of his workout.

I gasped as Raze’s large frame loomed over me, causing me to stumble back until my shoulders hit the wall. I darted my gaze up to meet his and held my breath.

His brown eyes darkened as he stared down at me and his face flushed red.

“Raze—”

“Revenge.” The ropes and veins in his traps bulged in tune with his reply.

“On who?” I whispered, watching a small bead of sweat running from the bottom of his throat down his chest, before fluttering my eyes up to refocus on his mouth. His lips were full, his cupid’s bow defined.

Raze’s palm slapped on the wall above me, caging me in, and his head lowered even farther, my breasts heaving at the proximity. He inhaled deeply, drinking in my scent. His face flushed and, for a moment his eyes closed, a frown pulling on his forehead.

Raze began shaking, his muscles twitching, and I could see a storm brewing in his acrimonious expression as his eyes snapped back open.

“On the man who lied. On the man who wronged me. Condemned me. And turned me into this!” He reared back, slapping his chest. Raze walked to the punching bag and slammed his fist into it so hard that the heavy chain from the ceiling groaned. Raze set to a short pace, back and forth, back and forth, and I remained still against the wall, just watching him.

“What? What has he turned you into?” I asked cautiously and immediately regretted the question when Raze seemed to exude resentment. Shivers raced down my spine.

Raze stopped dead and ran his bandaged hands down his face. His attention immediately shot to me, and he said, “This killer. This monster who needs blood, needs to kill, maim, slaughter.”

My hands were now shaking, gaze fixed on the tally marks. Raze obviously caught my stare. Moving to the bench, he picked up a steel knuckleduster, well used if its look was anything to go by, yet the spiked sharp blades glinted in the florescent light. A whimper escaped my mouth.

Raze stalked over my way, slipping the knuckleduster on his hand, and set me in his sights. Fear froze me to the spot. I tried to swallow back a cry. Raze didn’t stop until he was almost on top of me, his hands fisted at his sides, the right clad in steel lifting to run over his abs, his abs covered in uneven, straggly inked tallies.

“My kills,” he announced coldly, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed broken glass. The fear I harbored deep inside intensified. I focused on his mouth, his face, and saw nothing but rage. It was as though any emotion but hatred had been cast out. No humanity was evident in his stare … but those eyes … those eyes!

“Over six hundred,” Raze suddenly added, dragging me back to the here-and-now. I followed the trail of his hand and realized what he’d just said.

“Six hundred?” I gasped.

Raze’s lip hooked into a humorless smirk. His spiked hand fisted, and I heard his knuckles crack as he leaned in. “Over.”

Raze’s feet edged forward again, and he held out the spike and brought it toward my cheek. I couldn’t breathe as the metal drifted closer to my skin, only then to witness Raze drag it down his bare chest and abs to a tally comprising three marks.

Slamming the spike into his skin, blood instantly pooled, and he dragged it down to make a messy, uneven line. All the time, he didn’t remove his brown eyes from mine. I wanted to cry. I wanted to stop him from harming himself. I wanted to gaze into those eyes and pretend I was here with Luka. My kind, beautiful Luka, brown eyes with a blue smudge that matched mine.

But this man, this Raze, was fucked up. Too fucked up.

He wasn’t my Luka, no matter how hard I wished he was.

Releasing the spike from his torso, Raze directed his hand my way, and I flinched, bringing up my hand, which clutched my pad and pen, to defend my face. The pen was ripped from my grasp. Raze placed the plastic between his teeth and snapped it in half, spitting shattered pieces to the floor. Ink began to drip on his skin. Guiding the broken pen to the new gash, Raze stabbed it along the cut and rubbed the ink into the open wound.

“Raze!” I shrilled. I fought the urge to knock the pen from his hands. But Raze soon released it from his grip and, lowering his mouth to my ear, said, “Another kill … your kill, the one I killed for you.”

As I choked back my shock, Raze backed away. He threw his knuckleduster back to the bench, and resuming a vacant concentration, he lifted the dumbbells and continued his routine.

Slapping my chest, I worked on breathing. What the hell had just happened? Who was this man?

Gripping my notebook, just as I was about to leave, a burning question spilled from my lips. “Who exactly is it you want revenge on?”

Raze paused, only for moment, and without facing me, uttered, “Durov. Alik Durov from Brooklyn, New York. Revenge. Kill.”

Icicles ran down my spine as he hissed out that name like he was spitting out poison, and I ran out of the room, ignoring Viktor who was leaning against the wall just outside, and slammed the door of my office. Turning the key in the lock, I made sure no one could come in.

Reaching into my desk, I grabbed my cell and called Talia … which went straight to voicemail.

When the beep sounded, I hushed out, “Talia! Call me back. It’s urgent. I need to talk.”

Slamming my cell closed, I sat behind my desk, mind starting to replay what had just happened. Raze was disturbed. Cold. Unfeeling … And I was insanely and irrevocably attracted to him. His fresh snow smell, his rugged and raw face, his ripped and cut body … the muscles, the tattoos … the way he growled when he talked, but …

It was the eyes. I was losing my mind over those eyes.

And he wanted revenge on my fiancé. Knowing Alik, it could be for any number of things. Alik had built up an army of enemies over the years.

What if he killed Alik? What if this year Alik lost?

I waited for the sorrow, the pain, but I only felt numb.

“For fuck’s sake, Kisa!” I reprimanded myself, feeling turned on from thinking about Raze, of impossibilities.

Yet still I found myself wrenching open my desk’s top drawer. Digging under the files, my hand found a cold edge of metal. Making sure the blinds were closed, I pulled out the old tarnished frame and stared at the picture inside, running my hands over the glass.

The picture was perfect: two children, one girl, one boy, one summer beach. The boy’s arm draped over the girl’s shoulder as they smiled for a close-up. Her eyes were light blue, his eyes the richest of brown, but the left iris was smudged with the girl’s light blue.

They matched.

God made them this way so they would recognize themselves as meant for one another when they were born, so they would always find each other no matter where they were on Earth.

I looked up and stared at the door, picturing those same eyes on a killer in another room in my gym … Raze? Luka? A warm feeling washed over me at the possibility. But no, surely it was …

Impossible?

It was impossible … right?

My cell phone rang. Talia!

Flipping the cell open, I sighed and said, “Talia … I think I fucked up.”

Chapter Ten

RAZE

My muscles ached with the weight of the dumbbells, adrenaline still pumping through my veins.

One …

Those eyes.

Two …

That smile.

Three …

That face.

Four …

Those tits.

Five—

Throwing the heavy dumbbells to the floor, I stomped to the bench, slipped on my knuckledusters, and walked to the leather-bound post. I worked at my strikes, that fucking euphoric feeling of the spikes slicing into the post taking over.

I visualized a torso, a face, the fucking smug-ass face of Alik Durov, but that woman, the boss of The Dungeon, her scent wrapped around me, tugging at my attempt to concentrate. Finally, I stopped, and leaned on the post. I shook my head as flashes of images raced through my mind. Sand, hot weather, my lips touching someone else’s. But I couldn’t make out faces, couldn’t remember … Fuck, I didn’t want to remember!

I had one goal. One chance to kill Durov, on my terms, in my arena.

Stepping back, I raised my fists, but Volkova’s face was there again, in my mind, not moving from my fucking mind. My cock hardened. I was being driven insane with the need to come.

That woman.

Since I’d seen her getting attacked, I’d had to act. I’d had to save her. An instinct, a gut feeling forced me to snap that cunt’s neck.

And she ran this ring? She fucking ran this death ring!

I groaned. Those nipples, those firm tits pushing against her top. Throwing my head back, I squeezed my eyes shut. I’d never had a woman. Never sank into a woman’s hole. Never kissed a woman’s lips. But her lips, I wanted wrapped around my cock.

Fight. Focus on the fucking fight! I kept telling myself, but my cock was throbbing, aching. The new tattoo, the sign of my recent kill, pulsed. I’d killed for her. Spilt blood for her … a stranger, an unknown.

A frustrated roar built up in my throat. Drawing back my fist, I plunged it into the post, which rocked at the force of my blow. Leather ripped and the wood beneath splintered.

Ripping off my knuckledusters, I stormed into the bathroom and locked myself in a stall. I leaned against the wall and ripped down my shorts. Grabbing my hard cock, I started pumping hard, gasping at the sensation.

I closed my eyes. Volkova’s face was there, her pink lips parted, her blue eyes watching me, her nipples hardening, her thighs clenching and heat rising on her fucking beautiful face.

I growled as I worked myself harder, hips swaying back and forth as I pictured bending her over, ripping off her panties, and sinking my rock-hard dick into her ass. It was warm and wet and choked my dick like a vise.

I huffed out a breath at the building heat climbing up my dick. My balls tightened and, slamming a clenched hand against the wall of the stall, I came hard, chest sweating, breath panting fast.

I opened my eyes, steadied myself, and wiped my hot cum from my hand. I left the stall and noticed Viktor hovering near the punching bag, a curious look on his face.

Walking to the bench press, I straddled the bench and lay back, gripping the barbell. Viktor cleared his throat.

Ignoring the shitbag, I hefted the bar and heavy weights from the stand to begin my reps.

Someone, probably Yiv, knocked on the door and ordered, “Raze, out here now.”

Placing the weight back on to the stand, I rose to my feet and walked out into the wider gym, my gaze narrowed and to the ground. There I saw fighters all itching to draw blood, like feral animals being held back on a leash, coaches standing by, watching on.

Then my blood ran cold as Durov pushed through the crowd, his narrowed eyes trained on me.

I stood my ground, fighting an overwhelming urge to rush forward and break his neck. But I wanted his death to be drawn out, real slow, humiliating. Durov clicked his neck from side to side. I had no memory yet of how he’d lied, how he’d condemned me to the Gulag, but I didn’t give a fuck. I would remember in time. Every fiber of my being told me this prick must die.

Alik’s strut stopped just in front of me, his bare feet coming into view. I kept my chin down as I studied his every move from my peripheral vision. He was built for death match fighting. But so was fucking I.

“Raze is it?” he asked, and I could hear a smirk pull on his thin lips.

I kept staring at the ground, my silence causing him to step forward. “What’s the matter, can’t look at the champion? The man who can kill all the shits in this competition?” I didn’t react, though my blood boiled inside. “Get in the fucking cage,” Alik then ordered. One of the trainers opened the steel door to the octagon and, without hesitation, I stepped inside.

I stood in the center and braced for an opponent. Alik flicked his chin in the direction of a dark fighter to his right, a fighter twice my size, but this didn’t faze me.

“Get in with him.”

The fighter’s coach pointed to the door, and I stayed still, my eyes remaining locked on the ground, even as I felt the fighter’s presence fill the cage.

“The Turk, champion of the Chinese underground,” Alik said. “Let’s see what you got. First man to knock out wins.”

I clenched my hands into fists just as the Turk charged, his large, heavy feet bouncing the floor of the cage. I tilted my head to face him, unmoving, watching his slow movements with tight eyes, my gaze zoning in on his weak and untrained attack.

The Turk charged me and lifted his fist to strike. Ducking, I jabbed his kidney, then struck his jaw before he’d even had a chance to react. Turning around, I slowly walked away, eyes again fixed on the ground, as I heard the Turk hit the floor—unconscious.

The other fighters grew restless, a mob of psychos shouting, eager to take me on. I looked up, sure Alik couldn’t see my eyes under the black grease from here.

Alik’s eyes flared with rage. He turned to a blond-haired fighter and screamed, “You’re next.”

The blond entered the cage as the Turk’s trainer dragged out his knocked-out ass. The blond gave me no time to prepare. He ran at me full force. As he was about to tackle me, I quickly spun away. Gripping his neck, I used his momentum to slam his thick skull into the rigid metal of the cage. Then I forced him back to ram his nose into my knee. The guy slumped to the floor, a pool of blood already forming.

Standing straight, I wiped the blood from my hands on my torso. I caught a glimpse of Durov seething on the spot. I saw his gaze shoot to the left. I followed his line of sight and my gaze fell on Volkova, who had stepped out of her office. Her face, betraying shock, took in the scene. Then her huge blue eyes met mine, once again locked into the pull that was pulsing between us.

Movement from the side brought my attention back to Durov, who was sprinting toward the cage. My muscles rippled as I braced for his attack. Suddenly, a loud clapping from the back of the room stopped Durov in his tracks.

A gray-haired man stepped forward. He wore a long black coat and a suit, his excited eyes not once straying from me. Durov paled when the man stepped forward. He stared at me, teeth gritted in frustration, chest veins dancing under his flesh.

He wanted me dead too.

Fucking perfect.

“Alik, don’t you dare think of getting into that cage,” the man said, then looked at Volkova, and my blood began pumping. “Kisa, come,” he ordered.

Kisa …

Kisa bowed her flushed face and walked over and stood beside him.

“The buy-in?” he asked, his cold eyes drinking in my still form. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the number—818—tattooed across my chest. I dropped my chin, avoiding eye contact.

“Y-yes,” Kisa stuttered.

Durov roared and punched the nearest wall, evidently losing his shit. The man didn’t even flinch, too busy forming a smile on his sharp face. This guy exuded power; he had to be the one in charge, the boss, the Pakhan Viktor had fucking talked about nonstop. The most powerful man in New York, ruthless, not to be fucked with.

“He goes on the headline roster,” he ordered Kisa. She nodded in agreement.

“Like fuck he does!” Alik boomed out as he faced up to the Pakhan, his torso tight with strain. A nervous hush settled on the gym as Alik fumed on the spot. As quick as a flash, the Pakhan gripped Alik’s face in his hands and pushed him back against the mesh wall of the cage. Alik smashed into the metal, which clinked and groaned at the force of impact.

“You will show me some fucking respect or you will force me to lift my hand and drill it into your skull.” The Pakhan didn’t raise his voice, keeping cool and calm.

I’d always found the silent ones to be the most dangerous opponents.

“Do. You. Understand? This is my cage, my business, and you will fucking learn to obey me.”

Alik nodded and the Pakhan stepped back. He adjusted his coat as if nothing had happened, his blue eyes fixed on me.

“Get down here,” he demanded.

I pushed open the cage’s steel door and walked over to him. His eyes assessed my every step until I stood before him, head dropped low. The Pakhan circled me, his hands testing my muscles like I was a slab of meat, and he nodded his approval.

“I liked what I saw in the cage. You’ll headline, and you’ll make me a lot of money.” He turned to three huge men who surrounded him, but not before he bent down to kiss Kisa. “We’ll speak later.”

“Yes, Papa,” she said obediently. He then shot a dark look at Durov, who had yet to move from his position by the cage.

Within seconds, the Pakhan swept out of the gym, and Yiv shouted for everyone to get back to training. But I could smell Kisa again, her sweet scent filling my nose and hardening my dick. She hadn’t moved either, her blue eyes watching mine. I could feel their heat. Her heat. Her pull on me. I flickered my eyes to her for just a second.

“Don’t you fucking look at her again or I’ll carve out your eyes from your skull!” Durov threatened as he brushed past me.

Durov stopped at Kisa’s side and gripped her neck, Kisa crying out at his move. Every cord of muscle stiffened as he wrenched her to his chest, twisting her hair and jerking her head back as he took her mouth in his, tears of fear dropping from her eyes.

An image of a young girl being held down, crying, wandered through my mind, and a boy throwing a punch at another, protecting her, followed, but it evaporated when Alik pulled back from Kisa’s mouth and he dragged her to the office by her hair, Kisa apologizing to him every step of the way until the office door shut.

My stomach clenched as a jealous rage took hold. I had to use all of my willpower not to storm into the office and rip Durov off Kisa’s lips. Unable to take my stare off the office door, I heard Kisa shout out as she was slammed against the glass window, the blinds parting enough to see Durov ripping down his shorts, him licking the palm of his hand, cupping between her legs. As Durov’s eyes met mine, a crazed possession shone, and he rammed his cock into Kisa, gripping her cheeks, just like the Pakhan had done to him.

I handled the venomous hate, which infused my body, but only just. Something within me snapped. The image of the young kid punching another began to feel all too real. I stepped forward, intending to rip off Durov’s fucking head, when a hand landed on my arm and stopped me in my tracks.

Looking up from the stubby fingers wrapped around my wrist, I saw Viktor’s scared face looking at me.

Wrenching his hand from my skin, I shoved him back until he stumbled. I towered over him and ordered, “Don’t ever fucking touch me again!”

Viktor held out his palms in submission and, shifting from foot to foot, nervously signaled for me to follow him into our private training room. Without casting a glance back at the office, I followed Viktor, pacing the space of the training room as he closed the door.

“I’m going to tell you something important before you get yourself killed. Alik Durov is the heir to the Bratva, and Kisa Volkova is his fiancée, the only daughter of the Pakhan.”

Viktor’s words only stoked my rage. Durov owned Kisa. She was his. I didn’t like hearing that. Fuck, I felt murdering crazy on hearing that fact.

I wanted her. I had no reason to, had no idea who the woman was, why I was drawn to her … why she was fucking up my training, but I wanted her.

I wanted Durov’s cock out of her with a fierce intensity. I was fucking beyond insane at the thought, the brief glimpse, of that cunt fucking her. Her ass belonged to me; there could be no other explanation. Her sweet scent, her beautiful face … her blue eyes called for me to protect her.

A searing, white-hot pain sliced through my head, causing my eyes to slam shut. As I tried to breathe through the pounding headache, its intensity forced me to one knee.

You have to keep away from Alik. He’s obsessed with you and he’s dangerous.

Sand.

Sun.

One boy.

One girl.

Feelings.

Strange feelings gripped my gut, making me feel, piercing the numbness.

Memories…?

“Raze! RAZE! Can you fucking hear me?”

Blinking hard, my vision slowly returned and I gasped. Viktor had dropped to one knee in front of me. “You okay, son?”

Breathing steadily through the now diminishing ache, I sucked in a deep breath and hissed, “I’m not your fucking son!”

“Look,” Viktor, whispered in exasperation, “stay away from Kisa. Stay away from Durov until you meet him in the cage. You don’t fuck with the Volkov Bratva. All that surrounds them is death.”

Exhaling slowly, I stated, “I am death.”

I looked to Viktor from the corner of my eye and he paled. Then his gaze dropped to the number on my chest. My pecs tightened as if the ink were burning my skin. My head tilted to the side as I watched Viktor swallow.

“What?” I snapped and grabbed Viktor’s shirt.

“Where did you come from?” he asked, a nervy edge to his voice.

“Far away,” I said, remembering the place the guard had told me the Gulag was based.

Beads of sweat ran down Viktor’s head and he lowered his eyes. My lip curled at this pathetic weak man who I’d been saddled with, and I got to my feet. In minutes, I was in front of the mirror, power pressing, as Viktor cracked open a bottle of vodka behind me, slumped into a chair, and drank himself to sleep. With every press of the two hundred fifty pound weight, I heard Kisa crying as Durov fucked her, saw Durov smirk as he ploughed into her, licking his palm for me to see.

Hours later, when everyone had left the gym and the lights were turned off, I crept from where I had hidden in the bathroom and hunkered down on a training mat in my private training room. This gym would now be my home, until Durov was dead.

As I shut my eyes, Kisa’s face came into view, and a young boy’s voice started to echo through my mind …

You have to keep away from Alik, Kisa. He’s obsessed with you and he’s dangerous …

My eyes snapped open and a fractured image fixed itself in place.

Kisa? The boy in the memory had said Kisa.

Chapter Eleven

Kisa

The Dungeon was full. Men, thirsty to gamble for high stakes, leaked into the tunnel leading to the dank underground warehouse on the docks of Brooklyn. This place was well hidden from the public, normal everyday people who like to think that nothing sinister was happening under their noses. People who believed organized fights to the death were fiction, fantasy played out on TV. They were happy in their ignorance of my reality.

But the people here, now, they were criminals, the dregs of society. I came here every day of every week, but the next three nights were what The Dungeon was about—the prime fighters, the men who put on a show and died. They gave their all, they spilled blood, and they drew their very last breath in this place.

The Dungeon was what we Bratva were best known for. This was the biggest gambling ring on the East Coast.

As the Byki lined the outskirts of the basement, keeping control, the cage was center stage. I stayed in the back rooms, hearing the thudding of feet on the ancient stone floor. The excitement for spilled blood, for death, charged the air.

The Red kings, my father and Ivan, were in their private booth at the back, hidden from view but able to oversee their enterprise and watch their money rolling in. Abram would be with Alik. He always hovered close, pushing him, goading him, then watched his puppet from beside the cage.

There were eight fights tonight, the latter ones involving Raze, then Alik. They were both fighting strong, headline fighters. I fully expected both of them to win, but here in The Dungeon, nothing was a safe bet. Alik was experienced and full of confidence, and Raze? Well, Raze was a complete unknown, but the place was buzzing with the anticipation of seeing him fight. Papa had told Ivan of his skill in the cage, and Ivan had built up the hype.

Raze had trained all week, my father becoming a fixture at the gym to watch him. He was fast becoming Papa’s favorite. That fact only served to made Alik even more furious, more unstable, more possessive, and Abram wasn’t happy about his son’s newly arrived competition either.

And me? I had become completely obsessed with Raze. I watched him train through the blinds of my office window when Alik wasn’t in the gym to catch me. My body set on fire simply at the sight of his bare torso bending and flexing as he lifted weights or sparred in the cage or ran on the treadmill. My heart pounded and I often became lightheaded, such was the draw I had toward this man.

My every thought was overcome by him. Raze was always the first one in the gym and the very last to leave at night. It was as if he didn’t even leave. He had one focus: becoming the best fighter we had. And making things worse still, he stared at me when no one was looking. The men talked about Raze. About how he never looked anyone in the eye. About how fiercely he trained. But when I passed by, when I had to speak to the coaches, he watched me with those brown-smudged-blue eyes, tracking my every move, like he only saw me. His muscles tensed solid when I was near. His nostrils would flare as he inhaled my scent. But he never spoke. Never communicated. Just watched …

Always watched me, prompting goose bumps to spread like wildfire on my skin, evoking familiar nervous/excited stirrings in my stomach that I hadn’t felt since I was in my early teens.

“Five minutes,” I abruptly called as I rapped on the first fighter’s door. The coach yelled back that he heard me, and I walked down the hallway toward Alik’s room. He needed me there before every fight. Said if he didn’t have me close, he would lose his mind, couldn’t focus and couldn’t win. Said he needed to know where I was so he could keep me safe. Truth was, he couldn’t stand seeing me around other men and the Dungeon was full of them. It was just easier to give in and do as he said rather than have him stressed, which might affect his upcoming fight.

He needed me. It was that simple.

As I neared Alik’s door, a flash of movement caught my eye. I spotted Viktor leaving Raze’s room up ahead, and I ground to a sudden halt. Raze would be in there, alone. It was his first fight, and I wanted him to be okay. A heart-wrenching twist of my gut almost brought me to my knees when I thought of him losing tonight. A pain so severe it left me breathless.

Why was I so attracted to him? I didn’t know him. Nothing about him made any sense to me. He was wild and untamed, severe and animalistic. I knew he wasn’t Luka, couldn’t be my Luka, but a feeling deep inside told me to keep pushing to find out.

Of course it was irrational. Of course it was stupid. Of course it was impossible. But when your heart’s so deeply involved, logic flies straight out the window.

I glanced at my watch and noted I was early; Alik wouldn’t be expecting me for five more minutes.

Five minutes.

I could have five minutes with Raze.

Making sure he was prepared for tonight. At least this was the lie I told myself to excuse my erratic and dangerous behavior.

I hadn’t seen Raze yet today and my chest ached because of it. Viktor brought him here to the gym. Alik had me jailed in his bedroom all day, fucking me over and over and over. One time he fucked me so hard my thighs were bruised and my throat was sore from crying.

Alik made me bleed. He rammed into me so hard that he made me bleed …

“You want to fuck him, Kisa? You think he’s better than me, just like your papa does? You want to fuck that cunt Raze?” Alik had asked, pushing inside me so roughly that tears of pain splashed down my cheeks.

“No,” I’d cried. “Baby, no. You’re seeing things. Imaging things that aren’t true.”

Alik’s mouth dropped to my ear and his fingers dug into my cheeks, forcing me to meet his rage-filled eyes.

“He watches you, did you know that? Doesn’t meet anyone else’s eyes like the fucking coward he is, but he watches you. Do you watch him too? Do you think you can fuck him and leave me?” he roared. He bit into my shoulder as I shook my head, trying to say no.

Alik thrust inside me in a frenzy, and I let more silent tears fall.

“You won’t ever be free of me, Kisa. I own you. Every inch of you! You’re with me until the end.”

Shuddering at the memory, still feeling the soreness between my legs, I acted on instinct and followed my heart instead of my head. I marched forward to Raze’s door. A nervous hand reached out to grip the doorknob, and sneaking one more glance at the empty hallway, I opened the door and bolted inside, shutting the door as I did so.

Closing my eyes, back pressed against the wood, I exhaled in relief that Alik hadn’t caught me. Then I sensed a dark, dominant presence …

Raze.

My eyelids fluttered open to find myself faced with that now familiar broad, tattooed scarred chest and torso of ragged tattooed tallies. A musky smell assaulted my nostrils, prompting my pussy to contract in need.

I followed the tanned, scarred skin north, over thick pecs, impossibly high traps, up over a square jaw, and up to a pair of burning brown eyes.

He was wired for the fight.

Pumped with adrenaline.

“Raze…” I whispered, but my words stuck in my throat as he leaned in close, his nose almost touching the delicate skin between my shoulder and neck. Raze raised his arms above my head. Then he inhaled, long and slow. My eyes shuddered closed and my palms met with Raze’s hot skin, my fingers drawing lazy circles around his nipples, feeling a hot bolt zing all the way down to the apex of my thighs.

He was smelling me, a deep rumbling growling in his chest as he inhaled my floral perfume. The attention he was giving me was almost primitive … Neolithic. It was like Raze had been stripped bare of any manners, ripped from the Stone Age and stripped of any boundaries.

And I’d never been so captivated, so mesmerized by anyone in all my life.

Raze’s warm nose moved to the side, his warm breath ghosting over my face. The tip of his nose traced the shell of my ear before his full lips dragged over my lobe. Shivers of pleasure ran down my spine and into every cell in my body.

I had never felt this before. Never felt this overwhelming lust, this consuming level of instant attraction … this raw and insatiable need to be with a man. It was dangerous. It was haunting. It was forbidden. And although it was wrong, it felt so perfectly right.

Fanning my loose, long brown hair with his sharp exhale, Raze rasped, “You don’t belong in here. Why are you here?”

Like a bucket of ice water had been thrown over my head, I pulled back so quickly that the back of my skull hit the wooden door. Raze pulled back, but only an inch, refusing to give me any room to breathe. He loitered in my personal space, unnerving me beyond belief.

His dark gaze was cold, only made more severe by the Eye Black smeared below his eyes, though there was fire in his pupils as he stared me down. He wasn’t unaffected by me. Maybe … just maybe he felt this powerful strange connection to me too.

“I … I came to see if you were ready for your first fight,” I said nervously.

A small twitch of his cheek and the slight narrowing of his eyes told me my question was unwelcome.

“Always. I’m always ready. Always ready to kill.”

I summoned the courage to stare into his eyes. I knew it was impossible, but those eyes were so, so familiar, like I’d known them all my life. My mind became filled with confusion, with hope, with doubt, with the overpowering necessity to learn more about this man.

“Tell me your real name?” I blurted out.

Raze’s face instantly blanked, all feeling seeping from his features. He stepped back, and I immediately felt his loss, felt cold without the burning heat from his body.

Moving from the door, I asked, “Raze, please. It’s been haunting me. It’s stupid … but I need to know your name. You remind me … I just feel like I know you—”

Raze’s head snapped up and he said, “Eight one eight.”

My attention dropped to the large tattoo on his chest. Confused, I traced the numbers with my eyes … 818.

“Eight one eight?” I questioned under my breath, but Raze clearly heard my subtle whisper and strode toward me.

Gripping my hands, he selected my forefinger. My blue eyes fixed on his brown eyes, and he began to outline his large 818 tattoo with our joined hands. I lost my breath, heart beating like a drum, as if it were trying to break free and meld with his.

The air around us was electric, all my synapses firing like bullets. The ambient noise from the first fight slipped into silence as my flesh met his. Raze’s gaze became glassy, like he’d drifted off to another world. Then he leaned in and his nose was back in my hair, inhaling my scent, his stubbled cheek scratching my throat.

Hands still on his chest, my breasts heaved in need. “Raze…” I murmured, feeling on fire with lust, going out of my mind due to my ever-wayward hormones. I didn’t understand this pull. I didn’t understand why my wanting Raze was so strong, so very strong. So strong I could barely resist him.

Raze inhaled deeply and said, “All I can think of when I take in your scent is sand … and sun … and sea…” He shook his head and his face twisted up in disbelief, a momentary hint of vulnerability in his expression. “But I’ve never seen a beach, never felt sand beneath my feet or smelled the sea…” His eyebrows pulled down.

Every fiber of my body froze. All the air escaped my lungs. A suffocating tension built in my chest as I watched Raze’s face run rapidly through a gamut of emotions. I stood stock-still.

Was that hope or disbelief settling in my heart?

Impossible.

Impossible.

Impossible, I tried to tell myself, but …

Sand and sun and sea … Luka, me … Brighton Beach … God! The beach, the beach, the salty air, the scent of sand … It always reminded me of Luka. He always told me it reminded him of me … of our cove, of our first kiss …

My knees began to shake and I stumbled back, only to reach up and grip Raze’s cheeks, his huge body turning to stone as I looked into those familiar hypnotic chocolate eyes.

“What? Why? Why did you say that? To me?”

Raze’s eyes narrowed and he jerked back his head, my hands slipping from his face like leaves drifting from the trees in the fall. That same cold demeanor once again commandeered his face, the chill he always wore, any trace of vulnerability snubbed out. Raze began to pace the holding room floor like a wild animal locked in a cage, like a wild cat in captivity. His frame seemed to occupy the entire space of the room and I could feel his confusion, his agitation crackling the air around us.

His eyes repeatedly squeezed shut and his head twitched like he was fighting something in his head. His neck muscles corded with the strain, or was it pain?

Lord! He looked like he was in pain.

“I’m not here for you, for memories I don’t want. I’m here for revenge!” he growled, his softer side gone, the frightening icy killer back in place. “I’m 818 and I’m here for my revenge. On the man who lied. On the man who made me into this.”

The heels of his hands pushed into his eyes and he shook his head. His hands dropped only to make fists at his sides. Then he blasted out a frustrated bellow.

My head was spinning.

Why did he think of the beach? Why were his eyes exactly the same as his? Why did he smell sand, sun and sea when he was around me?

Without thinking it through, I leapt forward and held Raze’s rough face in my hands. I searched his sharp features for any sign of recognition, but under the thick dark stubble of his cheeks and his scarred and weathered face, I could find none.

“How old are you?” I asked, holding my breath.

Raze stilled, eyebrows furrowed, like his mind was shrouded in a thick fog. “I … I don’t know.” My heart cried out at the lost look on his face. His gaze looked panicked, even afraid?

He reminded me of a little boy in that brief moment. Right then, my heart cracked, and I wanted to give him comfort. Me, a woman, wanting to give comfort to this hulking brute of a killer. But what if he was Luka? What if the impossible became possible? Luka’s body was never returned to his family, to be identified, to be buried …

My heart started to race faster as all kinds of possibilities circled around in my head. And when Raze’s head tilted to the side in confusion and he pursed his full lips, my frantic heart nearly exploded …

“Luka, leave me alone!” I said, folding my arms across my chest, and Luka laughed behind me, his arms wrapping around my shoulders from behind.

“Don’t be like that, Kisa. Me and Rodion were just joking around.”

“You and my brother were picking on me! When you two are together, you’re a nightmare!”

Luka spun me around in his arms, his stunning, beautiful eyes concentrating on mine. His smile faded, his head tilted to the side in that adorable way, and his full lips pursed. “Forgive me, solnyshko?”

I loved it when his head tilted to the side and his full lips pursed. He only ever did it when he was sorry or immensely confused. It made him look so beautiful. My heart melted when he looked at me that way.

Sighing in defeat, I rose on tiptoes and pressed my mouth to his. “I forgive you, Luka. I’ll always forgive you…”

The door flew open, ripping me from my childhood reminiscence. I instantly dropped my hands like Raze’s skin had become a naked flame. Viktor’s shocked gaze met mine as he witnessed our intimate encounter. I immediately leapt back and quickly righted my hair.

“Miss Volkova?” Viktor asked. Rushing past our resident Georgian trainer, I burst into the hallway, just as Alik’s door flew open and my furious fiancé stepped through.

My body stiffened with fear. Alik’s possessive eyes quickly sought mine. I was irrationally worried what he would see in my expression, the realization that Raze could be my Luka. Alik hated Luka. It suddenly occurred to me that he showed no emotion when Rodion or Luka died. I knew it was because he was pleased that he now had me to himself, that Luka no longer stood in the way of getting what he wanted to possess.

Alik’s lips tightened and the bone of his jaw clicked with anger as he walked to where I stood, his heavy hands grabbing my biceps. He pulled me to his damp chest.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he snarled, the hand on my left bicep inevitably moving upward to clutch the back of my neck.

“I … I was working,” I said quickly. To evade his suspicion, I flattened my uneasy palm on his cheek. “But I’m here now, baby,” I soothed as I felt his grip slacken and his deep exhale of relief. “I’m here to help you win this fight.”

Alik pressed his clammy forehead to mine and he forced me into the holding room he always used here at The Dungeon. Once the door was closed, he forced me against the wall, his hands roaming over my body. I noticed bottle after bottle of creatine, steroids, and testosterone pills.

As his finger plunged into my channel, I closed my eyes and let myself drift away on a ship of memories … Alik’s free hand hitched up my dress and he began fucking me against the door.

I pictured a beach. Sand. Sun and the sea … and I pictured my Luka kissing my lips … my Luka looking at me with head tilted to the side and his full lips pursed. Then I pictured Raze’s hard face. Raze, with whom I was becoming more than obsessed. I pictured what Luka’s face would look like older, stubbled, and with scars, worn down by hardships thrown in his path … and a part of me excitedly but foolishly hoped my Luka could be the fighter in the other room …

That Luka could be Raze …

Chapter Twelve

RAZE

“What the fuck was that?” Viktor hissed as I stood in the center of the room, my head spinning from flashbacks … A hot sunny beach, a boy and girl kissing … a girl pissed at a boy but forgiving him with a smile.

Kisa’s question about my name and age stabbed at my brain. But nothing, nothing came through; no answers emerged to answer the questions she had asked. I’d always been numb. I’d learned to only ever be a fighter of the Gulag who had a burning need for revenge. I’d learned to never give any thought to my name. I’d learned to never think about my age, where I’d come from. I’d learned to always accept I just … was …

Fuck!

“Raze!” Viktor snapped. For the first time, the booming of his familiar accent made me freeze.

I stared into the drunk’s eyes and stomped forward until I towered above him. My head tilted to the side as I studied his face. Viktor was well built, tall, and, if his accent was anything to go by …

The tattooed 818 on my chest felt like it was burning, and I said, “You’re not Russian. Everyone here is Russian, but you … you sound different.”

Viktor paled and glanced to my tattoo, then again to my face. He shook his head and answered, “No. I’m not Russian.”

Stepping even closer, smelling the burn of alcohol on his breath, my teeth ground together and I demanded, “Where are you from? And don’t lie.”

Viktor swallowed hard, a defeated expression veiling his face. “Georgia.”

“You speak like them,” I growled, thinking of the guards, the guards of the Gulag who would beat me, belittle me, dismantle me piece by piece … come into my cell at night …

Viktor slumped to the chair behind him. “That’s because I was one of them,” he whispered. I burned with rage. A storm, a fucking hurricane of violence built up inside me.

“You were a guard?” I hissed through clenched teeth, my neck aching from the tightness of my muscles.

“Not a guard, a transporter. But I attended the fights in the Gulags, even helped train some of the fighters.”

“Gulags?” I repeated, shock in my voice. “There’s more than one?”

Viktor nodded and sighed. “There are many. Places where souls are forgotten, places where young men disappear from the face of the earth, places where they become nothing more than fighting monsters.”

“And me?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Do you know me?”

Viktor shook his head. “No, not personally. I’ve never seen you fight. But that tattoo on your chest comes from one and only one gambling ring: Georgian. Your tattoo tells me you came from a Georgian Gulag. I knew it the instant I saw you. You have the same dead look in your eyes all the inmates have. The look that remains after they’ve had their humanity ripped out of them.”

“I’m from Alaska. My Gulag was in Alaska,” I pushed.

Viktor looked up at me and said, “I went there only once. I took the fighters where they needed to go, delivered the fighters to the Gulag’s door. I had no choice until I’d paid my family’s debt. Then they took me on as a trainer. I spent years training fighters for the Gulag’s cage until I was bought by the Pakhan and came to train fighters full time here in New York, for the Bratva.”

My eyes narrowed. “You were successful in the Gulag? Your fighters won?”

Viktor nodded. “I was. They did. My fighters were undefeated until I was brought here. I’d have been killed if I failed.”

“And had you heard of me? 818 … Raze? The guards called me Raze because I would raze down anyone in my path. The warden forced me to have the tattoo on my back, for the spectators.”

Viktor stared just that second too long, telling me everything I needed to know.

“Everybody in the Gulag had heard of Raze.” His eyes dropped and he pointed to my chest. “Of … you. Everyone believed you were the meanest son of a bitch out of all the death cages.”

Reaching down, I hauled him to his feet, his drunken eyes losing focus. I didn’t give a shit what he’d done in his past. He could train champions. All I needed was for him to get me to the final … against Durov.

“Then you’ll train me. You’ll train me to kill Durov.”

Viktor glanced away, a strange look on his face. “I can’t create any more death. I can’t deal with how many kids I turned over to those sick fucks. Can’t deal with how many kids I got killed, training teens to be monsters. I’m fucking broken because of it.”

I shook him and his neck lolled back. Then I made him meet my eyes again.

“I don’t give a shit about your conscience. There’s no pussying out of this life. We kill. And you’ll add one more death to your bloodied hands: Durov’s. I won’t stop until he’s bleeding out from his throat. I won’t stop until he breathes his last breath, knowing it was me who sent him to hell. Then you can go and drink until your liver rots. I couldn’t give a fuck. But you will train me. You will make me win.”

“Why? Why is Durov so important? What’s his history with you, if you’ve been in the Gulag all your life?”

Viktor’s face wore a strange expression. Was he holding something back? But he looked away and the expression was gone. “Not that I’m complaining. The asshole is evil. The way he treats Kisa is disgusting. But why the hell is it so important to you to kill him?”

My mind clouded over; it always did when I thought too hard about revenge on Durov. Somehow Durov’s name was there in my conscience, a beacon shining red, telling me he had to die. “I don’t know why or how he did it. All I have is the need for revenge on Alik Durov. But I do know he took everything from me. I can feel it. I sense it. I just know he has to die. And I have to win. Nothing else matters to me but that.”

Viktor’s chin dropped, and as I released him to the ground, he ran his hand down his face. “Okay. I’ll train you. But you’re the last one. Fuck, maybe you’ll be my redemption. Finally righting what I’ve helped make wrong all those years.”

I didn’t care what the fuck he was talking about, what demons he fought. He was just a drunken fool. But I was going to defeat Durov if it was the last thing I ever did. And Viktor was going to get me there.

A hard knock sounded on the door, and a voice called, “Raze! You’re up!”

Viktor squared his shoulders as I slipped on my knuckledusters, rolling my neck to loosen up my muscles. I breathed in Kisa’s lingering scent, and it gave me the strength, the adrenaline kick to awaken my muscles.

Viktor opened the door and we went outside, storming down the tunnel like a fucking tornado coming to raze anything its path. I could hear the sound of stamping feet echoing off the cold walls. The tunnel was dark, but soon a light appeared, showing me the mouth of The Dungeon. The Dungeon that would help me carry out my vengeance.

Viktor glanced back at me as we approached. “Your opponent is new, unskilled, the Chechen Viper. He’s a sadistic murderer picked up by the Chechens to fight in exchange for keeping him from the Feds. Viper uses a bladed chain, so stay low, strike his torso, his vital organs, when he withdraws to swing the chain. Aim for a quick kill. No showboating. Make it quick and simple. Shock and awe, stun the crowd. Make the other fighters fear your efficiency. You do that, it’s a less-than-a-minute match. You’ll have shooed yourself in as the one to beat. The Bratva’s new star and a potential opponent for Durov. You only have a couple of fights to win to get to the final. Keep that in mind because Durov will always make the final.”

I drank in what Viktor said, taking note, locking the information down. I cracked my knuckles and cracked my neck, prepping for the fight. A nervous excitement surged through my legs and stomach, causing me to bounce on my toes, readying me for the addictive feel of fist hitting flesh, for getting in the ring and spilling blood. My pulse thumped as I visualized the first hit, the spray of my opponent’s blood on my chest, the crack of his bone under my feet. I would take down this animal, slaughter him and cut him up like meat.

Viktor slapped his hand on my face and my bulging eyes met his. “You’re Raze. You’re death. Let’s fucking RAZE HELL!”

Growling through my teeth, my pumped-up traps tensed, and with a determined focus, I stormed down the walkway to the cage, running up the steps and into the arena. The animal I was sent to kill paced the other side. I knew with one look this fucker killed for kicks, scraped off the street, no training in fighting to the death.

The telltale signs of his fucked-up mind were there: the twitching of the neck, the smug smirk on his mouth, the jumping of his muscles. His body needed to kill, needed to feel the rush that only comes with stopping someone’s heart. But this cage was my motherfucking domain, all I’d ever known. What this sadistic fuck, who probably killed women and kids by the boatload, didn’t know was I had killed bastards much more fucked up than him.

I killed because I had to. I had no other choice. I was already dead, no more than a number—stripped of morals, stripped of freedom, and stripped of life. I was an animal conditioned to inflict pain without remorse. And you couldn’t kill someone who had no soul.

The door to the cage slammed shut, trapping us inside, the bolt sliding into place. The red mist I used to defeat opponents infused my body. The monster I harbored deep inside was freed.

The Chechen Viper wrapped the chain around his fist, the triple spiked ball swinging in circles at the bottom.

He smiled at me, his teeth gleaming gold. I paced my side of the cage, waiting for the gun to fire so I could end this fucker’s life. A few seconds later, a member of the Bratva walked to the side of the cage. I didn’t lose focus on the Viper, my target. I never take my eyes off the walking dead.

The gun fired.

The crowd erupted, screaming at the top of their lungs. The Viper leapt forward, swinging his favorite chain above his head. As Viktor had predicted, the Viper showed a lack of skill as he hurried to get in the first blow. I ducked as the spiked ball traveled over my head. Using his raised arm to my advantage, I swung my right fist, piercing my blades deep into Viper’s kidney. Then with my left fist, I quickly pierced a lung. I kept walking forward, not looking behind. I watched the mouths of the crowd drop open and eyes widen at my speed. Then I heard the sweetest sound of all. The sick fucker I had to slaughter dropped to the floor; my blows had brought him to his knees.

Turning my head, bladed fists clenched by my sides, as expected, I saw my opponent on his knees, head bent, chain at his side. Leaping to stand in front of him, I jerked the chain from his hand, planted my foot on his chest, and kicked him until he fell on his back, blood pouring from his wounds as he gargled for breath. As his dulling eyes looked up at me, I swung his chain and ploughed the spiked end straight into his face, sending him to hell with his own weapon. His face was gone, no longer visible, not even to the devil.

As his skull crushed in, the spectators went wild and the victory gun sounded. Dropping the chain to the bloody ground, I released a victorious roar and paced around the ring, dragging my knuckledusters along the metal links, waiting for the door to open. When I was halfway around, something made me look up, some magnetic pull. I never looked up, never showed my eyes to anyone but the man I was about to kill. But this time, I couldn’t resist. High up in a box way above the crowd, Kisa’s face came into focus. Her palms were pressed against the protective glass. Her face was awash with relief, a small smile flickered on her lips, and happy tears shone in her blue eyes.

I could barely drag my eyes off her. But when the cage door opened, I stormed out, too much aggression still coursing through my body to stay still, too much hatred for the sick fucks in the crowd to accept their fake fucking adulation.

A pathway cleared as I stormed through the crowd. Like prey flees from a predator, instinct told them to move, to get far away from danger. Viktor dropped in step by my side. As I approached the mouth of the tunnel leading back to the waiting room, Durov stepped in my way, a pissed look on his face. His fight was next, once the cage had been washed down. Without stopping, I knocked him out of the way with my shoulder, and a laugh came out of his fucking mouth.

I kept walking, needing to burn off my excess aggression, when he taunted, “So you know, 818, I can still taste her dripping pussy in my mouth. I just fucked her hard, real hard.”

As if a leash had been jerked on a collar around my neck, I came to a dead stop. A burning fire coiled in my gut, a protective surge taking grip as I thought of Kisa. Inhaling deep, I tried to calm my anger, but it didn’t work. Nothing fucking worked. That woman was crashing through my defenses, breaking down walls I didn’t want to come down.

Viktor moved in front of me, out of Alik’s view, and advised, “Move. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”

I nodded my head, but I couldn’t stop my rage, when pain blinded me and a memory hit me hard …

*   *   *

“Get the fuck off her, Durov,” the boy ordered.

Durov’s expression turned to stone.

“She’s mine. She belongs to me!”

“She doesn’t want you.” The boy stepped closer and, dropping his voice, said, “Durov, she’s mine, and I’ll kill you if you touch her again.”

Durov smiled a cold, unnerving smile. “I’ll get her some day, and there’ll be nothing you can do about it. I couldn’t leave her alone in that bikini. I had to touch her. I want to fuck her.”

Without thinking, the boy drew back his fist and, fueled with rage, sent it straight into Durov’s psychotic face, the sheer force of it knocking him to the ground.

“You’re insane! You’re fucking sick in the head!”

Durov smiled, as if not feeling the blow. “Maybe, but she’s going to be mine. I want her. I need her. She calms me, and I’ll do anything to own her and have her all to myself and fucking away from you…”

*   *   *

The image flash caught me off guard. As I turned my head to look back at Durov through hooded lids, I saw that same cold expression on his face … same as the memory. I’d had a memory of a teenage Durov …

Durov smiled that same psychotic smile. “I own her, fucker. Always have. You go near her, or if I find you looking at her again, I’ll kill you.”

Shaking, on the threshold of losing control of my anger, I whispered to Viktor, “Get me to the gym. I need to train, work off this rage, or I’m going to kill him, here and now!”

Viktor didn’t question my demand. I followed him down the tunnel, away from that fucking dead man walking, Durov. I smirked knowing his days were numbered and I would soon be spitting on his cold corpse.

Then my mind drifted to Kisa and the look of relief on her face, palms pressed against the glass. That small warm smile pulling on her lips, those tears of relief in her eyes. And for the first time in … forever, something besides rage ached in my chest.

It was a foreign and strange feeling, but as I thought of Kisa’s face, it felt familiar.

It felt … right.

Chapter Thirteen

Kisa

“You should’ve seen him, Talia. He destroyed the Chechen in seconds. It was unbelievable. It was all anyone could talk about.”

“And Alik?” Talia asked, and I sighed. “He was as cruel and as dynamic as always. He fought the Turk. He toyed with him for what felt like an age, gutting him piece by piece with his dagger. The crowd loved it, Abram smiling at his son proudly at the side of the cage, but I couldn’t watch. It was too much. I hate it when he kills them so slowly, so violently.”

Talia was silent, then said, “But you could watch Raze kill someone?”

Staring at the photo of me and Luka as kids, clutched in my hands, I squinted my eyes, studying his face, his beautiful face.

“Kisa?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I could watch him. He didn’t toy with his opponent, even though I’d heard he was a sick murderer from the streets and probably deserved it. He didn’t drag out the kill. He didn’t hang around the cage, jogging laps for the glory of the crowd. He left the cage and then, when I went to the holding rooms to see if he was okay, he and Viktor had already left the building. I don’t even know where he stays. I suppose he’s staying with Viktor. He’s so reclusive, private.”

Seconds went by before Talia said, “You’ve completely fallen for him, haven’t you?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but I shut it again, declining to lie to my best friend. I wanted to tell Talia what I’d been thinking about Raze, that he had close similarities to Luka. That I had dreamed he was Luka, come back from wherever he’d disappeared to, from the dead. But I knew I couldn’t voice these words without proof. This was his sister. She’d already mourned for him, held her family together when he left … died.

“I’ve fallen for Raze,” I admitted and heard Talia sigh in trepidation.

“Be careful, Kisa. You’re skating on thin ice. You can’t fall for anyone outside of the Bratva, outside of this family,” Talia sternly warned.

Of course I knew she was really warning me about what Alik would do if he suspected anything was up.

“I will,” I replied, my cell beginning to beep as yet another call tried to come through.

“Tal, I’ve got to go. I’ve got another call … It’s Alik,” I said, suddenly feeling drained.

“Well, you’d better answer him. He already hates me. I don’t want to give him more ammunition. Speak soon,” Talia promised, and I pressed the button to hear music blaring through the speaker.

“Alik?” I shouted, holding the phone away from my ear.

“Myshka?” Alik shouted over the music. “Just calling to check you were home and in bed.”

My stomach tensed and anger made me seethe. Alik wasn’t checking for my safety. He was making sure I was back in my version of the cage—obeying his rules, accepting his control of me—while he went out to play, dipping his wick in anything with a wet pussy.

“I’m home. I’m going to bed,” I replied tersely.

“Good. Don’t leave,” he ordered harshly. I closed my eyes, trying to rein in my ire, when a female voice enticed Alik to go to a back room with her.

“Where are you, Alik?” I asked with feigned politeness.

Stony silence greeted me until the music faded and the sound of a door closing came through the speaker.

“I’m out. It doesn’t fucking matter where,” Alik said darkly. “I’m doing Bratva business. I’m here with associates.”

“You’re at The Triangle?” I guessed. The titty club the Bratva owned, that his father managed. After Alik fought, he had to fuck. Normally, it was me who had to suffer against the wall at the back of The Dungeon, but this time we finished late because Alik had drawn out his kill. Papa ordered me straight home, courtesy of Serge, and of course, he wouldn’t let me stay at Alik’s place overnight, not until we were married, so Alik took his cock to the sluts. I knew with these women, he really let his true colors show. I’d heard that some ended up in such a state that they’d been hospitalized. Talia had heard rumors that some of the women he fucked, once they’d disappeared into a private room with my fiancé, were never heard from or seen again.

As screwed up as it sounded, I was glad he took out his sick fantasies on them and not me. Yet strangely, I knew as messed up as Alik was, he would never hurt me … not unless I tried to break free of him. My life was safer with him if I acted the role of the perfect Bratva wife. What hurt most was my father was so proud of me for taking that honorable mantle.

“Shut the fuck up, Myshka. I’m out, working off the fight. Your papa took your wet cunt from me or you’d be screaming under me right now. Even though his wrinkled dick is here in the club with me, getting sucked off by hookers your age. You know I need to fuck, but these sluts are never you, baby, never my Myshka. They’re just whores, nothing but cum bags. I think of you the whole time I’m inside them, picturing you squirming beneath me, scratching my back. How’s that? That make you feel better? You just sit tight at home and I’ll see you tomorrow. And as long as you stay inside, we don’t have problems. Yes?”

“Yes,” I whispered in reply, feeling sick to my stomach.

“I love you, Myshka,” Alik said, his harsh tone thawing a few degrees.

“I love you too,” I replied. It was rote, sounding more like a Stepford Wife than a loving fiancée besotted with her true love.

The cell went dead, and I leapt from my bed, hand to my forehead as despair swept through me. I hated this damn life, trapped in a cage by Papa and Alik’s psychotic obsession. I was twenty-five, for Christ’s sake, yet I was locked away like some virginal fifteen-year-old.

At times I hated my life.

The Byki would be downstairs, protecting the Pakhan’s stronghold, in reality stopping me from leaving the front door, but I just had to get out. I needed fresh air. And I’d never disobeyed rules, so even contemplating sneaking out was causing me to break into cold sweats.

Grabbing my jacket from my closet, I swung it on and headed to my window. Carefully opening it, I crept onto the fire escape. Tiptoeing down the metal stairs, I jumped onto the sidewalk. Checking that I hadn’t been seen, I began walking in the shadows, occasionally glancing up at the night sky, picturing Raze’s eyes meeting mine as he won the fight, my relief of his victory evident on my face.

He had looked for me. He’d found me in the sea of gambling men.

Lord! I couldn’t get him from my head! I was going crazy wondering if this mysterious homeless man could be my Luka.

The sound of a car pulling up beside me made me turn. Headlights flared and blinded me. I jumped back, suddenly fearful of who might be after me. Then Serge’s familiar face came into view, his window open and his light eyes boring into mine.

“Serge!” I said, out of breath and in shock.

“Miss Volkova, what are doing out of the house? You know it’s not allowed.” Serge reprimanded me, and then all I felt was pissed off.

“Serge, I needed fresh air. My fiancé and my papa are out at a titty bar. Alik’s probably screwing a long line of whores while I’m trapped inside my bedroom like a naughty child. He told me not to move or I’d piss him off, and that’s not how a good wife of a Bratva boss should act. So I needed some fresh air, okay? I’m twenty-five, I run a multimillion-dollar gambling ring made up of murderers and psychos, and I just wanted to take a damn walk on my own for once in my life!”

Serge’s face softened as I panted, my breath lost through exertion, and pulling the car to a stop, he got out of the driver’s door.

“You can’t be out here, Kisa. It’s too dangerous. Too many men wanting revenge on your papa, Alik, Abram, Ivan … Hell, take your pick! I know you feel trapped. I’m not stupid. I’ve been with you since you were little, but I can’t disobey orders or they’ll kill me.”

Dropping my head, feeling guilty at my tirade, I insisted, “I’m not going back yet, Serge. I’m suffocating under their rules. I’m drowning…” Tears filled my eyes and I tried in vain to blink them away, but I found myself whispering, “I’m miserable.”

Serge sighed and stepped forward, pulling me into his chest for a hug. “Then I’ll drive you somewhere. That way I’ll know you’re safe and you can still have some freedom.”

Tipping my head back at the bright moon, I then looked to Serge. “Fine, thank you. Please take me to the gym. I may as well get some work done if I can’t sleep.”

Serge’s face relaxed and he opened the rear door for me, nodding his approval. He slipped back into the driver’s seat, and we raced through the streets of Brooklyn. I smiled at the groups of women stumbling from bars with their friends, not a care in the world, and the couples wrapped around each other’s waists, high off being together, enjoying each other’s company—probably heading back home to make love.

I was happy for those people, but what I felt was crushing disappointment. It would never be me. I would never be allowed out with friends. I would never, could never, have a loving relationship with Alik. Jealous possession isn’t love. I knew that much. He would always control me. I was becoming so desperate to escape my fate that I was imagining a homeless fighter being the only boy I’d ever loved.

I would be a prisoner until I died … the life of a Bratva queen.

Deciding to close my eyes to any other sight that would cause me pain, I rested my head back on the seat and zoned out until we arrived at the gym.

As I opened the back passenger door, Serge tried to follow me inside to the gym.

“No, Serge, please. I want to be alone,” I pleaded.

Serge stopped in his tracks.

“Miss Volkova, you know I can’t leave you. It is forbidden.”

“I know. Can you please just wait out here until I’m ready to go home? Please … I need some time alone.”

Serge stared at me, and my stomach rolled, thinking he was going to say no, when on a sigh he shook his head. “I’ll wait in the car. If you need me, call,” he said, getting back into the cab and waving his cell to show me he was keeping it close by. Giving him a thankful smile, I unlocked the side door and entered the sparse and empty warehouse-turned-gym, switching on only minimum lights. I headed for my place of solitude, my office.

As I approached the office door, I noticed a muted glow coming from under one of the training room doors at the back of the gym. I frowned. Nobody was meant to be here. The gym had been locked and secured once all the fighters had gone to The Dungeon earlier in the day.

Someone was here.

Feeling a sense of fear run down my spine, I hurried to my office safe and, checking over my shoulder, opened a heavy door to pull out my Beretta. Papa insisted I could access one of these bad boys wherever I went—all over our house and at several secret locations here at work.

My breathing was shallow as fear took hold. I walked slowly and silently toward the back room that emitted the light. Rather too preoccupied with steadying my shaking limbs, I took little note of where I was and whose training room it was.

Standing at the door, I steeled my nerves and took in a deep breath before placing my hand on the doorknob and slowly turning it. The door creaked open.

Bringing my gun up higher, I edged through the doorway. The first thing I noticed was a mat on the floor and a thick blanket forming what looked to be a makeshift bed.

Someone was sleeping here?

Who—?

Taking me off guard, a hand slapped across my mouth. I tried to scream as I was quickly disarmed and held in an unyielding grip. Warm breath ghosted past my ears and a pit of dread opened in my stomach.

I could feel a heart pounding in the attacker’s chest pressed to my back. All I could think was that my father wouldn’t cope if I died too. He’d lost my brother, my mother, and I was now sure I was going to die here too, until my attacker rasped out, “Stop struggling.”

All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and every muscle froze, obeying his command.

“Good,” he growled. “Don’t scream and I’ll remove my hand.”

I nodded awkwardly, still trapped in his grip. As I tried to relax my muscles, his hand gradually pulled away from my mouth. His large body stepped back from being flush to my back.

Unsure if my feet would work, I started to turn, hearing deep breathing behind me. The dull glow from the adjoining bathroom was the only light in the dim room, the man’s shadow darkening the old whitewash wall.

Holding my breath, I whipped myself around and immediately gasped when I found Raze glaring at me. Dressed only in black boxer briefs, his large muscled, ripped body tensed as he watched me with those hypnotic brown eyes.

“Raze?” I whispered, legs now feeling like Jell-O.

Raze watched me and his nostrils flared, his cheeks flushing as heat rose up his face. “Kisa…” he rasped out, almost like he was in pain.

As my name tumbled from his lips, my stomach tingled, my breasts ached, and moisture pooled between my legs. Raze had switched on every part of my body, as if it were on fire.

Edging closer, feeling the waves of heat from his body, his fresh scent hit me, and a whimper escaped my lips. A rumble sounded in Raze’s chest. My need to touch him, to feel him, grew to an impossibly high level. By the clenching of his fists at his sides, the gritting of his teeth, and those hungry eyes, I knew he wanted me too … desperately.

“Raze…” I whispered as my toes met his and, unconsciously, my finger lifted to run down his stubbled cheek. There wasn’t a scratch on his body from the fight tonight. “Why are you here?”

Raze’s eyes closed at my touch. Looking down, I saw him harden beneath his black boxers, the material straining with his size. My hand continued to travel down, shivers wracking Raze’s skin at my touch, his full lips parting to let a slow hiss of breath slip from his mouth.

At this moment, I wasn’t thinking of Alik, my father, my duty as a Volkova, or even the consequence of touching Raze like this. The need to break free from my suffocating life was driving me forward, making me reckless in my choices.

All I could think was how beautiful Raze was. How strong and fearless, how feral, how raw. He was untamed. He had no social grace, was devoid of knowledge about how to be a regular person. He was curt and aggressive, but his expressive eyes, when they looked at me, made me feel safe, made me see there was someone else in there … someone my soul matched. Gave me faith that he wasn’t the monster he seemed.

“I sleep here,” he answered eventually. His body remained as still as a statue as I continued to marvel at his muscles, drinking in his demonic tattoos, wondering why he had such evil images permanently etched on his skin.

My finger stopped its exploration and my eyes looked up to his. “You’re staying here?”

“I have nowhere else to go,” he replied gruffly. And with that, pain sliced through my chest as if my heart had split in two.

Raze dipped his head to escape my sympathetic gaze.

I lifted my finger and tipped up his chin. I stayed silent until his eyes looked to mine, and I asked, “Where have you come from?”

Emotion leaked from his expression and he whispered, “Hell.”

My attention was drawn to the demons on his chest, the number, then his tallies … and finally to the newest addition scraped onto his skin—his kill from tonight.

The air seemed to pulse around us as some unexplainable force pulled us together. Raze’s neck tensed, every vein and threaded cord protruding. He was physically holding himself back from me.

I was fighting the attraction, tensing my thighs as I squirmed, trying to alleviate the pressure building at my core. But when my palms landed on Raze’s chest, his hot skin almost scalding my palms, he leaned in, his nose tucking into the crook of my neck.

I moaned as he inhaled and growled, “I want you.”

Three words. Three simple words became my undoing. Spoken roughly, dominantly, yet it sounded like poetry to my soul.

Without giving me time to think, Raze gripped my arms and drove me backward until my ass hit the wall. He was panting into my neck. Releasing a hungry groan, my hands grasped his messy sandy hair, and I tipped back my head, giving him more access. As his bulging thigh slipped between my legs, his stiff cock brushed against my throbbing clit.

“Raze!” I cried out as pleasure took hold, and I pulled on the thick strands of his hair.

Raze let out a sound like the snarl of a wild animal. He reared back his head, his unsure brown eyes looking into my blue, and he asked nervously, “Can I have you?”

My heart beat so fast at the severity of want on his face that I thought I would pass out, or my heat would shatter me into a million pieces.

Raze squeezed his eyes shut as his arms wrapped around me, holding me so close, like he was scared I would try to run away.

“Can I have you? I want to have you … I need to have you,” he whispered, his deep voice guttural and rough, tense like a taut rope about to snap.

Letting any lingering worries flee my mind, I threw my arms around his perfectly sculpted shoulders and, brushing my mouth past his ear, whispered, “You can have me, Raze. You can have all of me.”

Raze stilled, long seconds ticking by, but then I felt the slow, wet lick of his tongue along the side of my neck, and he sprang into motion.

His arms released me. Suddenly, my shirt was ripped apart at the seams, the buttons spraying on the ground. Raze’s face was determined, and he was lost in his lust.

My breasts were hard under my bra, aching to be touched. Focusing his brown eyes on my heaving chest, Raze ripped my bra apart, bare breasts exposed, and his mouth immediately latched onto a hard, raised nipple. His tongue furiously licked at my flesh and my eyes rolled back at the sensation. I almost came just at the feel of his hot mouth on my skin.

“Raze…” I murmured, clutching his muscles in my hands, becoming more and more turned on by the rough and scarred skin under my palms.

Untamed and savage growls ripped from Raze’s throat. His hands lowered and spilt apart my pants. The material tearing in two, he threw them to the ground. I stood there only in my string black thong, arms still gripping Raze’s bulking biceps. Raze stepped back and his wide eyes drank me in from head to toe, his cock now so hard it nearly ripped through his boxers. Still transfixed at my exposed breasts, Raze dipped his hand into his boxers and began sliding it up and down his dick in what had to be the best torture on Earth.

“Raze … I need you. Let me have you too,” I moaned as I palmed my breasts, pinching my nipples as I watched this usually controlled man come slowly undone.

Grumbling something I couldn’t make out, Raze wrenched down his boxers, his long, thick cock coming into view. I almost passed out at how strong and wild he appeared, about to take me … or in his words, have me.

“Raze, please,” I begged one more time, and this time something within him snapped. Lurching forward, Raze’s hands went straight to my thong, his legs bent, and he snapped the thin piece of string from my body. I was now totally bare.

His calloused hands smoothed up my thighs, over my hips, my waist, before moving in to cup my breasts. I watched his eyes ignite with need, and I slipped my right hand down his stacked abs and wrapped it around the wide girth of his cock. Raze threw back his head and hissed as his fingers pinched my nipple, and I slowly began to stroke my hand up and down, loving watching him fall apart.

Raze’s left hand slapped against the wall behind me, his hips rocking back and forth with the movement of my hand. His eyes were closed, his mouth gaping; he looked breathtaking, and I found myself begging, “Kiss me.”

Raze abruptly stilled and his eyes snapped open, the smudge of blue seeming to shine like the clearest sea against the dark canvas of the brown.

My eyebrows furrowed at his strange reaction, and he jerked back a few steps, my naked body now feeling cold.

“Raze?” I questioned, and he started pacing the floor before me, his face torn and panicked.

“Raze?” I pushed again, and his eyes slid to mine, then away again. I felt our connection slipping. I had no idea what I’d done.

Feeling a chill settle over my naked skin, I turned to cover my breasts with my hands, when Raze released a pained groan and came at me again, his chest and hips pinning me against the wall and his large palms on my cheeks. His eyes were focused on my lips, and he was panting hard, but my heart fell when I saw nervousness in his eyes.

My hands cupped his cheeks and Raze looked to me. “Raze?” I asked. “Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

A wash of uncertainty and then perhaps embarrassment engulfed his face. “I … I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t remember.”

Tears pricked my eyes. What the hell had happened to him? And where the hell had he come from?

“It’s okay,” I said and began leaning in. Raze stiffening at the action. He was like a statue as my lips hovered just an inch from his, and I whispered, “Can I have you?” My heart beat frantically.

Raze’s shoulders relaxed, and I used the opportunity to press my lips against his. My heart instantly swelled and a sense of souls merging filled me so much it was almost unbearable.

Raze’s hands on my cheeks, at first unmoving, tightened their grip, and his lips slowly began working against mine. That was all it took. One touch, one kiss, and something within him snapped and his mouth possessed mine, his tongue spearing into my mouth, controlling mine.

Feeling a wetness between my thighs, I moaned and began grinding against his thigh, then shifted over until his cock was flush against my pussy. I tried to rip my lips from his mouth, but Raze’s seemed fused to mine. He wouldn’t let go. He owned me with the kiss, having me, completely having me.

My hand ran down between us and I cupped his balls, massaging them in the palm of my hand. Raze let out a roar into my mouth, and his hips started thrusting into my hand, his cock sliding along the drenched folds of my pussy.

Managing to pull my mouth away, I demanded, “Fuck me, Raze … Fuck me.”

And that was all it took. In seconds, Raze had flipped me around and bent me over the nearby bench, my cheek pressed to the hard wood. I didn’t even think about protection. As stupid of me as this was, I really didn’t care. I was on the pill, and at this moment, it was enough.

Something in my gut told me to just trust him.

I felt his fingers on the cheeks of my ass, but he’d trapped me in place, and I whimpered at his strong touch. Then his fingers were suddenly running down the crack of my ass, and every part of me tensed.

“Raze!” I called in alarm as his finger pushed into the tight hole, and I tried to get up. His firm hand held me in place and panic replaced passion as I fought back against this unwelcome intrusion. The finger soon pulled out, but when I looked back and saw him fist his cock and head for the same place, I began fighting to lift off the bench as the tip pressed flush against the one place I didn’t want him to go.

“Raze! Stop!” I ordered.

Raze’s jaw clenched and his eyes fixed on mine.

“Not there!” I begged, witnessing his eyebrows pull down in confusion. My fear this time was replaced with sadness when I realized he didn’t understand why I was protesting.

Fighting back the rising lump in my throat, I said, “Lower.” I saw Raze look down at my pussy, and confusion clouded his face. “Lower, fuck me in the other hole.” I guided, a devastating truth becoming evident in my mind.

Raze … where the hell have you come from?

“I don’t understand,” Raze rasped, his face and tensed body racked with confusion.

Leaning back, I took his dick in my hand and slid him along my pussy. When he was at the entrance and his thick thighs rested against the back of mine, I said, “Now push in. Fuck me here.”

Raze’s gaze focused back on his breaching cock. Reaching out to grip my hips, he began pushing forward, the tip slipping into my entrance. Then he suddenly stilled, and I relaxed, cherishing the sensation, just in time for Raze to dig his fingers into my hips to an almost agonizing grip and surge forward, slamming into my channel until he was fully rooted to the hilt.

“Raze!” I screamed out as he roared, and I could feel his hands physically shaking as his chest met my back and he panted hot breath into my hair.

“Fuck,” he groaned, and his hips began rocking back and forth, his dick so wide it scraped against my G-spot, my eyes closing as I savored the feel of him within me. I could feel him everywhere: within my body, in my heart … in my soul.

“Kisa…” Raze groaned as his hand brushed my hair from my back and his warm lips pressed to the skin on the nape of my neck, making me shiver. His lips dragged down my spine, making me moan uncontrollably, and then his tongue began to lap at my damp skin.

“I remember this,” he said as his hips became more demanding, his cock plunging farther within me, all sense floating from my mind.

“I remember something. It felt so good. It feels so good … with you … only with you…”

Tears misted my eyes, and I pictured my first time … with Luka. We were too young, too inexperienced, but that memory was my world. I felt like I was making love to Luka again. Everything about the way he was cherishing me, made me think of Luka.

Feeling Raze begin to build to orgasm, I wanted to go with him. Needed to find release at the same time. Reaching behind me, I took his hand and brought it around my waist and placed his fingers on my clit.

“Circle your fingers here. I want to come with you. Stroke my clit and make us come together,” I instructed.

Raze rumbled a groan as my clenching channel wrapped around his cock, spurring my orgasm further.

Raze’s length seemed to grow bigger as he thrust inside me faster, the man savage and fierce in his lovemaking, wild and primitive, focusing only on our pleasure.

That burst of delicious tension began burning at the bottom on my spine and surges of heat spread to my clit. I felt Raze’s thighs tighten against my legs as his fingers became frenzied, as his thrusts became stronger, longer, harder, and rougher.

“Kisa,” he hushed out as the sweating skin of his torso slapped at my back. I opened my mouth to respond, but I couldn’t speak. When he pounded into me one last time, stilling and bellowing out as he came, I tipped over the edge with him, indescribable pleasure making me see lights.

Raze’s arms wrapped tight around my stomach as his knees hit the floor, causing him to sit back, taking me with him. I sat in his lap, his sated cock still jerking inside me.

As the minutes passed in silence, his breathing settled, and I stroked along his toned forearms, treasuring the closeness, treasuring the most meaningful sex of my life.

As my fingertips danced on his arm, a low rumble sounded in his chest, and I smiled. He liked my touch. Raze then moved his legs, and standing, keeping me locked in his arms, he carried me to his makeshift bed and laid us down. He kept me secure in the strong hold of his arms; he couldn’t bear to let me go. As possessive as this move was, I loved every second of it. I’d never felt more complete than I did in his embrace, locked to his chest.

Lifting his rough and scarred hand, I pressed my lips to the skin, enjoying his warmth on my back.

Hearing a staggered sigh slip from Raze’s mouth, I tensed and then my world splintered into sorrow when he whispered, “I … I didn’t know it was like that.” His deep, husky voice was filled with shame, embarrassment. Unable to stand the ache in my heart, I turned in his arms and the desolate look in his eyes cut me as deep as any dagger could.

He lowered his gaze, and my heart beat more rapidly as I stroked my fingertips over his cheek. “Tell me what happened to you … please. I want to know.”

Raze’s face turned to stone as I watched him war with different emotions. Then he shook his head, his brown eyes darkening. “I … I was in the Gulag.”

Slowly sitting up on my elbow, I stroked back the messy strands from Raze’s head as his forefinger landed on my breast and began circling the nipple, his tongue sliding along his lips.

“Gulag?” I questioned, trying to stay focused. “Isn’t that some kind of old Russian prison from the war?”

Raze nodded and his finger began to shake. “It was a prison. We named it the Gulag because of its shitty conditions. One where they keep you caged until they force you to fight to the death.”

Anger contorted his beautifully masculine face, and I leaned forward to press a kiss onto his lips. The shaking immediately stopped and a moan caught in his throat.

Pulling back, his pupils dilated, he stole my breath. He looked so much like Luka at that moment I found it difficult to deal with the possibility.

Because if Raze was my Luka, I was about to hear what had happened to him all those years ago when we all believed he had died. When we were told he had been burned … When he had been torn from my life, without explanation, cutting my soul in half.

“Why were you there?”

Raze’s eyebrows furrowed, and I could see he was fighting to remember. When a black look came across his face, his mouth tightened and he said, “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything but death, violence, pain and…”

My breathing came short when I thought of how he was going to take me. He was going to …

Shuffling closer to Raze, until we touched skin to skin, I threaded my fingers through his hair and asked, “Why were you going to take me from behind … like that? Did … did…?” I stopped talking, unable to ask the obvious question. There had to be an explanation, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to hear it.

Raze’s brown eyes widened and he dipped his chin, hiding his head from view. He was such an enigmatic hulk of man, but at that question, his face clouded over like a storm. His position became fetal.

“Raze…” I said, choking on a sudden rush of sadness as he slowly lifted his head.

“I remember the first time one of them came into my cell. He was big, and I’d just been beaten with a bat. I couldn’t move, but I watched him walk toward me, untying his belt and pulling down his zipper. I remember being pushed onto my stomach. Then I remember pain. Pain like nothing I’d felt before. Then all I can remember is blocking everything out. Blocking those cunts out every time they came into my cell, until I was too big for them to control, too big and dangerous for them to fuck.”

Without him knowing, his hand had gripped mine and he was squeezing it like I was giving him strength to continue, like he was drawing the courage and the strength from me to talk about these horrific rapes. I could barely see through the torrent of tears falling down my cheeks, trying to think of ways to make everything better for him.

“Raze, oh my God,” I cried and pressed my forehead to his, devastated this had been part of his life in the Gulag.

He said nothing in response, but his grip on my hand didn’t loosen. I guessed it was the first time in years he had been comforted. Of course, I had heard of conditions in Russian-owned underground prisons, but what I’d heard didn’t compare to what Raze had revealed.

“How old were you?” I asked, peppering kisses down his cold, stubbled cheeks.

Raze clenched my hair in his hands and said, “I … I don’t know. It’s hard to know my age. None of us ever had birthdays.”

Regaining some composure, not wishing to drown him with my suspicions, I continued. “And they made you fight? To the death? As a child?”

Raze nodded his head once, gaze blanking out, taking him off somewhere else. “Yes. They ran a gambling ring. Just like this one.”

Nausea built in my stomach as he compared The Dungeon to the Gulag. At least I had the comfort of knowing we didn’t imprison and serially abuse kids, forcing them to fight until the death.

“Raze, I don’t know what to say. I’m devastated for you,” I said, feeling inadequate—no, pathetic.

Raze gripped the back of my head and pulled me down and timidly kissed me. I was immediately lost to his familiar kiss.

Raze broke away and stared at me. “There was a breakout. Some fighters got free and murdered the night guards. There were always less guards at nighttime. The rest of the prisoners rioted and started fleeing.”

“How did you get free?”

Raze’s lip hooked into a smirk. “362.”

“362?” I questioned, confused.

“362. Another fighter, the only one I ever spoke to.” The tone of his voice had changed.

“He was your friend,” I surmised.

Raze’s half smile reverted to an impassive expression.

“Friend?” he asked as if he were savoring the sound of the word on his tongue.

My heart bruised just that little bit more. He had no idea what a friend was.

“Yes, your friend. You spoke with him, spent time with him. Confided in him … Liked him?”

“I trained with him. He helped me adjust to life in the Gulag. Taught me how to block things out. We would never fight. We were the Gulag’s two best fighters. When the riot happened, he freed me. Most of the others would never have dared approach me. They were too scared of me. But not him.”

A smile pulled on my lips, and I asked, “And where is he now? Did you come together to New York?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know where he went. West somewhere. We all just ran.”

Raze stared and stared at me. I assumed I’d pushed too far for one night. Color had drained from his cheeks and his body sagged. Feeling warmth spread in my chest at his devoted attention, I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Raze’s expression softened. His finger landed on my neck and traveled down to my breast. I closed my eyes, once again cherishing his touch.

“I want to touch you,” he said. His finger stopped and he looked into my eyes.

Taking my hand, I brushed my finger over his left eye, the one with that smudge of blue.

Biting my lip, I mustered the courage to ask, “Have you noticed that your left eye has a smudge of blue amongst the brown?”

Raze studied me, and his hand lifted to touch his eye, his eyebrows pulled down. I held my breath, waiting for what he had to say. And then hope bloomed within me when his head tilted to the side in confusion and his full lips pursed.

“We match,” he rasped out and narrowed his eyes, observing the color of my eyes. “Your blue is the same color in my left eye.”

My bottom lip trembled. I could no longer hold back the sob choking my throat. Raze would have no idea why I was crying. How could he know that saying those two words—”we match”—could, in tandem, inspire such high hopes and such deep sorrow within me.

This was Luka. This had to be Luka. Of this I was becoming more and more convinced. It no longer felt like an obsessive fancy, some stupid teenage, love-struck hope that this damaged and raw man was created just for me. I believed more and more that this was real, veritable, tangible, a soul-colliding connection from God.

This man, this tortured and scary hulk of a man seemed to be my match. Mama seemed to have been right all along; even lost, it looked like we had found our way back to one another. But if this was my Luka, he was broken. Had no memory. I dared not push too fast, too far, for fear of scaring him away.

Taking his hand still resting near my eye, I pulled down the palm and laid a kiss to its center. “We match,” I whispered back. Raze’s lips stretched into a smile. That smile, the brief flicker of happiness on his face was my undoing.

My God, he was beautiful.

Shifting Raze’s hand down to my breast, his expression morphed from happiness to lust. His fingers squeezed my flesh and I closed my eyes and moaned.

“I like touching you,” Raze murmured.

Then I placed my hand on Raze’s shoulder and pushed him onto this back. He let me control the situation, and I knew it was because of his inexperience. It made the moment that bit more special to me. He trusted me enough to let me lead the way. I straddled his hips and immediately I felt his cock harden and push against my ass.

Our gazes locked and electricity arced between us. Raze’s hips began lifting, searching for my entrance. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on his chest and slowly impaled myself on his length. Not once did I tear my eyes away from his face; I drank in every wave of pleasure as it rushed across.

As I moaned and took him fully inside, I started to gently move up and down. Raze closed his eyes, his hands holding my hips.

“Open your eyes,” I whispered, but Raze shook his head, his forehead wrinkling in concentration.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a twinge of insecurity rippling through me, until Raze gasped and said, “I’m closing my eyes so I can feel being inside you.” He placed his hand over his heart and rasped out, “I’ve seen too many bad things with these eyes. This, I will feel in my heart.”

Water fell from my eyes at his beautiful but heartbreaking words, and resting my breasts on his chest, I placed soft kisses on his neck as I worked my hips faster. More rumbling growls of pleasure sounded from his throat.

Raze’s hand slipped around my waist to my back, and my breath came faster as I felt myself building to orgasm, his satisfied grunts telling me he was nearly there too. Licking and nipping at his throat, I journeyed my lips to his mouth, and Raze immediately met me kiss for kiss, our tongues wet, hot and dueling, as shivers ran up and down my spine. I came so quickly and so powerfully that I pulled my mouth from Raze’s and cried out in pleasure.

Raze’s long groan soon joined mine and I felt his warmth flood my womb, his hands holding down my hips to extract every moment of pleasure.

Fighting to catch my breath, I lay contentedly in Raze’s arms.

“Kisa…” he whispered, rolling my name on his tongue, and I froze, praying he would say something else. I know you. I remember you. You’re the girl I was designed to love, my God-given match, my solnyshko. But he didn’t. Instead, he inhaled a deep breath and said, “Why do I feel like I’ve known you all my life?”

And at that moment I knew …

My beating heart exploded like a supernova of light. I savored this moment and a smile tugged on my mouth. He might not remember specifics, but deep down in his tragically damaged mind, in the mind blocking out his past to protect him from the present, my Luka … my Raze … He knew me. He felt that connection that always kept us close.

“Kisa-Anna,” he murmured as he raked his fingers hypnotically through my hair.

I sucked in a sharp breath, and Raze clearly felt it, felt my shocked reaction. His hands stopped dead.

Lifting my head, I stared at him through blurred eyes and asked, “Why did you call me Kisa-Anna?”

Raze opened his mouth to speak but slowly closed it again. “I don’t…” His eyes squinted closed and he ran his hand over his head as though he was hit with a migraine.

“Raze?” I asked.

He blinked, then blinked again. “I don’t know why I called you that … but I think … I think that’s your name. It feels right.”

Nodding through my tears, I said, “Yes. It does feel right.”

I laid my head on Raze’s chest and closed my eyes, relishing his touch while I could. But I knew I had to go, and after I didn’t know how long spent in his arms, I reluctantly tore myself from his body, looking down to see his face … a face that appeared … hurt?

“I can’t have you, can I?” he asked, devastation in his voice.

“I … I … It’s complicated,” I stammered and began scooping up my ruined clothes, trying to dress as best I could with the tattered bits of material, praying that my long summer jacket would cover me.

“It’s because of Durov, isn’t it?” he pushed, the feral, untamed side reasserting itself.

“He’s a dangerous man, Raze.”

Raze got to his feet and gripped my wrist, preventing me from pulling up my pants. “So am I.”

“I know, Raze. I know. But you don’t understand. We’re engaged. There’s expectations,” I explained, but I continued to dress. Mixed emotions and thoughts clouded my mind. Questions welled up. Could I explain all I knew to Raze? Did I dare tell him about his connection to the Bratva? How could I make him remember what happened to my brother, if he did kill him? And how could I ever get out from under Alik’s controlling hand?

“But I want you. Will you come back again tomorrow? I need you. I want to touch you again. I can’t bear to think of you with him.”

Dressed as best as I could manage, Raze’s fingers linked through mine, and when I looked up, he was staring at me in deep concentration, his eyes darting from side to side, like he was trying to remember something. I was mush the moment his head tilted to the side and his lips pursed.

This was definitely my Luka.

I had to figure something out.

“I’ll be back here tomorrow after dark,” I told him. Raze’s tense shoulders sagged in relief. “But tomorrow when you train, you can’t let on to Alik that we’ve been together. He can’t find out.”

Raze tensed again. “He doesn’t faze me.”

I touched his cheek and said, “I know. But we really need to keep this quiet.”

Raze blew an annoyed breath through his nostrils, but he nodded in agreement. Balancing on tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to his full lips, once more admiring his naked ripped body. Reluctantly, I backed out of the room, keeping his gaze until I closed the door on the lost love of my life.

My head was spinning, my stomach filled with both fear and excitement.

Exiting the gym, I caught Serge’s questioning glance as I slipped into the car, but I ignored it, still feeling the aftereffects of Raze inside me.

I smiled to myself.

Kisa-Anna … Only Luka ever called me that name.

I had found my love again.

I just had to make him remember who I was to him … before the Gulag changed him. Before he’d been ripped from my life.

Chapter Fourteen

RAZE

“Come with me,” the boy encouraged the girl, sneaking into her bedroom on the ground floor of her father’s mansion. He checked that none of the Byki were near enough to catch him.

“Where are we going?” the girl asked sleepily. Crawling out of her bed and throwing on a sweatshirt over her pink tank and short set, she accepted the boy’s outstretched hand. He was hanging out of the window. He was dressed all in black, like a thief. The girl couldn’t help but laugh.

The boy tilted his head to one side, pursed his lips, and asked, “What are you laughing at, solnyshko?”

“You,” she teased but took his hand anyway as she melted under his smile. Her bedroom door creaked open. The boy and girl froze in panic and the girl’s brother staggered into the room.

“What’s all the noise, Kisa?” her brother asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes before lowering his hand and fixing his gaze on the couple sneaking out the window. He wasn’t surprised to see the guilty faces of his twin sister and his best friend. The brother rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Where the hell are you taking Kisa at this time of night?”

The boy looked to his best friend and shrugged. “Out? For fresh air? Any of them work?”

“At one in the morning?”

The boy shrugged again. Then the brother crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his eyebrow. The boy came into the room and faced the brother. “Rodion, come on, man! Don’t be an asshole! I want to spend time with Kisa away from our fathers.”

Rodion pointed at Kisa. “That’s my sister you’re trying to corrupt!”

“And my girlfriend,” the boy shot back. “I’d never do anything to hurt her. You know it. I’m going to marry her one day.”

“Please, Rodion, we’ll owe you,” Kisa pleaded from behind the cover of the boy’s protective stance. Rodion stared at his sister, then the boy, then back again. Then her brother shook his head.

“Fine, go! I need to sleep.”

He began walking out of the room, dismissing them with a wave, but looked back and said, “Don’t get her pregnant, or Papa will cut off your balls. She’s thirteen and she isn’t your wife yet.”

The boy rolled his eyes at his best friend, but Kisa’s face flushed bright red and she threw a pen from her desk at her brother. He laughed playfully in reply.

Rodion left the room, and the boy knew he’d cover for them. He then turned back to the girl, taking her hand and leading her out of the open window.

“Where are we going?” she whispered as he led her down toward the beach.

Once they were out of sight of the house, he draped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his side. “Our cove. Where else, solnyshko?”

Kisa wrapped an arm round his waist. Within a few minutes, they were at the closed-off cove, and the boy led them to their favorite spot. Taking off his sweatshirt, he spread it on the sand and, sitting down, he gently pulled Kisa to sit between his legs and wrapped his arms around her waist.

The boy and his Kisa watched the rolling waves in silence, the bright moon huge against the dark water. Kisa dreamily looked up at the boy and smiled. They were alone on a beach and it was perfect.

Kisa’s blue eyes were misty as she looked at the boy. He knew right then how much she loved him. She was so beautiful to him. He didn’t have a single memory that she wasn’t in. Even from young kids, she was always with him, and he’d always kept her close, protecting her, cherishing her. He couldn’t see anyone but her. Even then, at fourteen, no other girls enticed him to look their way. He loved this girl. He knew she was it for him, a gut instinct telling him so. Together, he believed they were perfect.

They were from the same criminal life. The boy knew as the years passed and their duties came into play, she would support him and never question his line of work or choices as the Bratva called upon him to lead the Russian underground in New York.

Kisa wasn’t fazed by death and danger.

The boy smiled to himself and thought of the tale his mama always told him as he was growing up. That God created them to match, in every possible way, the smudge of blue in his left eye perfectly mirroring the girl’s blue.

Dipping his head, the boy pressed his lips against hers. Kisa moaned into his mouth, her hand lifting to slip around the back of his neck.

The kiss became deeper. He broke away to shift her down on the sand, and he crawled on top of her, feeling her warm body beneath his.

It didn’t take them long to lose control, and the boy broke from Kisa’s mouth on a gasp. Her lips were swollen. Her hands gripped his neck and she tried to pull him back down.

“Kisa-Anna,” he said and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “We have to stop. I can’t … We can’t … I need to stop … We need to stop.”

Kisa’s blue eyes dipped. She turned her head to the side, staring at the moon. The boy dropped his head to her shoulder, trying to get himself under control, breathing through the tingling in his stomach.

She placed her hands on his cheeks, pushed until he lifted his head and stared into her eyes. “Please,” she whispered, “I want to do this with you.”

The boy’s eyes widened and his heart beat faster in his chest. “Kisa, are … are you sure?”

Kisa nodded shyly. “Can I have you?” she asked.

Feeling like his heart exploded in his chest, the boy said, “Yes,” and he pressed his lips back to her hers.

Later that night, Kisa lay in the boy’s warm arms, and he couldn’t stop himself from kissing her face. “I love you, Kisa,” he confessed. She turned to him and dipped her eyes, overcome by shyness.

“I love you too. I’m glad you were my first.”

“And last,” the boy promised. He wrapped her tightly in his arms. Both were naked under the modest cover of his sweatshirt.

“I can’t imagine ever sharing this with anyone else … ever,” Kisa said, and she sighed.

He couldn’t have agreed more.

They were young and in love …

But the boy knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that she was the one and only girl meant for him.

They were meant for each other.

*   *   *

Fighting to catch my breath, my eyes shot open and I stared at the steel rafters above. I was drenched in sweat. My mind scrambled and fogged from this dream, a dream that felt all so real.

A girl.

A boy.

A beach.

Kissing …

Wait!

Kisa was in it, just a teenager, fucking some boy on a beach. I waited for a surge of jealousy, a wave of anger to sweep through my body at the thought of anyone else touching her, but it didn’t come …

The boy in it reminded me of someone. But I couldn’t think … it was someone I couldn’t place. Didn’t recognize.

He was happy.

He loved Kisa.

And Kisa, as always, looked beautiful. Smiling at the boy and telling him she loved him too.

I breathed heavily through my nostrils, my heart pounding as if she were saying those words to me. My chest began to ache and my hands began to shake.

But she didn’t tell me. She told some boy on a beach that she loved him … not me, not Raze, the monster, the killer …

It made me think about what my life had been like before the Gulag. What I was like at that age?

I didn’t know anything about where I came from. I didn’t know anything about my family. So many events since I’d arrived in Brooklyn had confused me. Flashes of dreams. Glimpses of images. Were they real memories fighting their way into my conscious mind?

My dreams were so real that I woke up with a clear recollection of every detail. I couldn’t remember ever having such dreams before meeting Kisa, and she was in every single one.

She felt so real to me, important.

Or maybe I was so desperate for her that I needed to imagine some connection. So desperate to actually have someone give a shit about me that I wanted to mean something to her too.

Then anger and rage burned in my chest as I pictured her with Durov. Kisa was mine. I felt she was mine. I knew she belonged to me. I wanted her. I wanted her to be mine, not shared with that psychopathic cunt.

Durov was an unfeeling, murdering bastard. I’d seen that look in his eyes, in so many fighters’ eyes. And the way he looked at Kisa, I knew it wouldn’t be long until he killed her too. He’d snap or she’d step out of line, and rather than lose her, he’d kill her to make sure she would never leave him.

Something told me it wasn’t the first time I had protected her from him. Then a gaping hole opened in my gut when I thought of him marrying her, that it was because of me that he made her his possession … that somehow I’d failed her.

I had to kill him. It was the only way I could save her from him. I wanted to puncture his black heart in the cage.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to remember something, anything, from my past. But that same old pain sliced through my head and, in frustration, I slowly opened them again. I rubbed my hand over my nose, remembering the dream. I could smell the sea and feel the sand the boy and Kisa had lain on. I’d been there, but I couldn’t connect the memory to anything real.

And in the dream, Kisa had a brother … a brother who loved her, and the boy was his best friend. I’d never heard Kisa mention a brother before. He wasn’t a fighter. I’d never seen him around the gym.

Shit! Maybe it was just a fucking messed-up dream after all.

The sound of the main door opening made me jump to my feet. I threw on my training shorts, pushing aside the mat and thin blanket that still smelled of Kisa. My mind immediately raced to last night.

Kisa. My Kisa-Anna … under me, wet and hot and screaming my name.

I’d loved fucking her, loved being inside her, stroking her brown hair and kissing her face. I wanted her to be all mine, to have her belong to me. Never before had I had anyone who cared for me. But I wanted her now … only her, and smelling her scent on that blanket spurred me on to kill Durov.

But the memory of last night with Kisa-Anna riding me like she did brought a sick feeling to my stomach. It made me face something I’d never before confronted.

The Gulag, the guards … what they’d done to me for years, taking me like they did …

I didn’t know there was any other way to be fucked. And I’d almost taken Kisa that way. It would have hurt her. I could still taste her panic in my mouth.

Storming to the punching bag, I slammed my fist into the hard worn leather and tried to pound out my shame, my guilt … my fucking embarrassment. I could have hurt her. I couldn’t bear the thought.

I was so wrapped up in releasing my fury that I didn’t see Viktor come through the door, until he stood before me.

Then all I saw was a red mist.

Launching myself at my trainer, I fisted his shirt in my hands and pushed him away from me until his back thumped into the wall. Viktor’s eyes betrayed his shock, and his face turned a deep shade of red.

“Did you do it too, you sick fuck?” I asked tightly, snarling as my blood boiled.

“Do what?” Viktor choked out.

Leaning in, I growled menacingly, “Fuck little boys in the Gulag. Did you pin them down and fuck them too?”

Viktor’s red face paled and he shook his head. “No…”

“LIAR!” I boomed out, lifting him up to quickly slam his back against the wall.

“No…” Viktor gasped, and seeing his eyes bulge, I let him go and stepped back. I began to pace as Viktor slumped to the floor, rubbing at his throat.

“Raze, I swear, I never did that … I would never do that.”

I looked at him in disgust. “But you knew about it? Knew they fucked little boys?”

Viktor dropped his head. If anything, he seemed to crumple as he slumped even farther. “Yes.”

“And you did nothing to stop it?”

“What could I do? I’ve been paying off my family’s debt since I was a teen. First for the Georgians, now for the Russians. My papa was a gambler and fucked us all over. I was the lowest of the low. I had no power in those places. I’m not the mob. I’m a grunt, disposable.”

I ran at Viktor, getting a kick out of his loud whimper as I approached, and punched the mirror above his head, shattering the glass, which rained down on his head.

“Yeah? No power? Neither did I when I was forced to take guard cock up my ass!”

I stilled as those words slipped out of my mouth, and cold shivers skittered down my spine. I had no idea that what the guards did was wrong. In fact, I’d never thought anything that happened in the Gulag was wrong. It was life. It was what happened day in and day out. Why did I suddenly know it was wrong? Why was something inside me suddenly telling me I’d been raped?

Fuck! I’m feeling too much lately, unable to block it all out. I have to keep it blocked out. I need to kill. To fight. To get my revenge.

My head throbbed, a sharp pain pierced my skull, and a familiar scene abruptly played in my mind. It was of the very first guard that I met, the first one who fucked me, beat me, trained me. It wasn’t of his rape or his baseball bat that he beat me with; it was being pushed down the stairs to the Gulag basement to show me my future, to show me two young boys in a cage, one slicing open the stomach of the other.

“Welcome to hell, boy.”

I closed my eyes, heart pounding, temples throbbing, and tried to cling to the memory.

My eyes snapped open and I stumbled back in shock. That was me … That boy was me. I’d been taken from somewhere. My home? I couldn’t remember, but I did remember that I’d been knocked out and tied up. We traveled for what seemed like days. Then I woke up in a cell, and I was immediately forced down to the basement.

I saw spots in front of my eyes, and then I felt a hand slap my cheek.

“Raze. Snap out of it, son. Raze!”

Blinking furiously, my vision cleared, and Viktor stood in front of me, his face … concerned? Worried?

I wanted to push him off me, but I still couldn’t move. I was paralyzed.

Viktor sat up and stared at me. Holding out his palms, he said, “Raze, listen to me. I’ve seen it with hundreds of fighters who’ve left the gulags, or any of the other underground prison death match rings the mafiyas have. They’re everywhere, son. Hundreds of fucked-up kids like you, only knowing how to kill, not feel. They pumped you full of so much shit and tortured you for years, they conditioned you to not remember anything but the need to kill. You’ve blocked out your past to cope with what they made you do. Then, when you get out and the drugs leave you, triggers fuck with your mind, you start getting memories and remembering things from your past. And you can’t handle it.”

My eyebrows pulled down, but my legs and arms still wouldn’t move. Viktor cleared his throat and moved forward, lifting his hand slowly, finally placing it on my shoulder.

“Just let the memories in. Don’t fight them. Don’t push yourself to remember. If something’s familiar, let it play out. Best way or you’ll end up killing yourself.”

A feeling of dread settled in my stomach. “I don’t know if I want to remember. I came here for one thing and one thing only: revenge. I didn’t come here for memories.” I dropped my head, staring at the tattooed tallies of my kills, my number 818, and said, “What if I don’t like who I was…? What if it sends me over the edge?”

Viktor slumped to his ass and ran his hand down his face. “Isn’t it better than the cold monster you became in the Gulag? That you are in The Dungeon’s cage? And after you kill Durov, what then? Where do you go then? Another death match ring? There’s hundreds over the country. You could keep killing, making money until you’re slaughtered…” Viktor took a deep breath. “Or you could live, son. You could live … get back your life.”

I shook my head. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I only ever had one goal: kill Durov.

“I can help you to defeat Durov, but you need to help yourself, to remember your past. Right now you’re an animal, a machine that can only kill. But you were more, you are more than that.”

My eyes were trained on the ground as my head felt numb, too numb to think, but then a question from Viktor’s mouth tore right through that haze.

“Why Durov, Raze? Why Durov?”

My chest tightened and my hands began to shake as a broken memory pushed through to my mind.

Three boys. Three boys by the falls. On a family vacation. Two of them best friends. The third had a knife. The third stabbed one of the others … Then … then what?

Energy filled my limbs again as I grew frustrated with the memory not showing me what I needed to know. Why Durov? Who were the boys? Who was stabbed? Was I there? Was I one of the boys?

I wanted to know why that was. I wanted to know what I made myself forget, at least forget everything but the name of the cunt I had to kill.

Alik Durov.

Brooklyn, New York.

Revenge.

Kill.

Sounds of fighters beginning to train filtered into my training room. Viktor got to his feet and held out his hand.

“Get up, Raze. Train. And stop letting your past hold you back. Instead, use it to fuel you. This is your chance to take back your life. Get your revenge! Then get back your life!” Viktor glanced to the door, then back to me again. “Then you can get the girl. When Durov’s gone, you get the girl.”

My anger faded as I thought of Kisa. She was my balm, my calm. My Kisa-Anna.

I held Viktor’s gaze for a while, just breathing, centering my focus, coiling the fire inside, then gave him a curt nod. The guy was just as fucked up as me. I could see it in his eyes. But he understood me. I didn’t like him, but he understood me. No one else could.

As I got to my feet, Viktor waved for me to follow him into the main area of the gym to use the ropes. As I entered the training space, the main doors opened from the underground parking and Durov walked in … his hand gripping my Kisa’s neck. Her expression was blank and her eyes unfocused.

I physically shook upon seeing her under that bastard’s control.

Viktor stayed close. “Ignore it. Control your anger. Kill first, live later. Then get the girl.”

I tried to curb my rage by taking hold of the ropes and lifting them to Viktor’s counts, but Alik stopped dead center in the gym, directly in my line of sight, and crushed his lips on Kisa’s. The hardest battle I’d ever had to fight was stopping myself from charging the prick and ripping my woman from his arms.

Kisa let it happen, but her body was stiff and unmoving. Anyone with eyes could see how frightened he had made her, but then that’s what he probably wanted, her too afraid to leave him. I wanted to decapitate him with a blunt knife. But she’d told me to act normal, to not give us away, so I was fucking acting normal.

Dipping my nose to my shoulder, I inhaled deep and could still smell her on my skin, her hands gripping my shoulders as she came. That scent kept me from killing Durov. I held on to the fact that she would see me tonight after the fight … and by the end of tomorrow night, he would be dead and she would be mine.

Durov let Kisa go, and she scurried off to her office without looking back. She looked beautiful in her black suit and her long brown hair tied back.

Then Alik was suddenly in my face, Yiv stepping behind him, ready for him to train. I kept my head low.

“Heard you’re against Goliath tonight.” I could see his face split into a shit-eating grin from my peripheral vision. “He’s a last-minute buy-in by my father. You know, to give the crowd a real show. Really test what you’re made of.”

His eyes dropped to my workout regime that I hadn’t stopped while he shot off his stupid mouth. He laughed. “Looks like you’ll be slaughtered tonight, Raze. That fucker’s going to kill you. Can’t say I’m fucking sorry.” He leaned in and whispered, “And when I win, I’ll drag Kisa back to the holding room and fuck her up the ass. She hates it, tries to fight me … but it only gets me harder.”

Fighting the explosion of rage inside, I let his comment go over my head and kept my focus, but I felt Viktor’s panic beside me. I wasn’t fazed by this fight tonight. I’d never been afraid in the cage. It was my domain, my home.

Durov moved out of sight, and I glanced to Kisa’s office, only to be driven further in my workout when I saw her peering through the blinds, watching me.

Intent refueled my muscles, and I didn’t give a fuck who this Goliath was. I was going to raze him the fuck down.

Just one more tally tattoo to add to my torso and one less person in the way of having Kisa as mine.

Chapter Fifteen

RAZE

The stamping of hundreds of feet shook the structure of the holding room walls in The Dungeon’s basement as Durov’s fight took place. I was skipping rope, warming up my body for my fight, when a huge cheer made me look to the door. I skipped harder, waiting for Viktor to come and tell me who’d won.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Minutes later, Viktor walked through, his eyes down. “Durov won,” was all he said, but by the green tint to his face, I could see that Durov had done more than kill. He’d toyed and played with his opponent, again. Probably sliced him apart with his dagger, but in a way that kept him breathing until the last strike.

Durov was “The Butcher” after all.

Viktor walked to the basin at the edge of the room and threw water on his face, then came to stand in front of me. “I got a look at Goliath. Got some stats.”

I kept my eyes on Viktor, but didn’t stop my warm-up.

“He’s Georgian, new this season to the underground. But he’s never lost a match. He’s ruthless, has minimum weaknesses. Has about twenty pounds on you and about four inches in height.”

I formed a picture of Goliath in my mind, visualizing bringing him down.

“Weapon?” I asked.

“A black sai,” Viktor replied.

I stopped skipping.

Freezing, I asked, “Is he Gulag?”

Viktor nodded. “Yeah. Saw one of the trainers from one of the West Coast gulags. He’s one of their prize fighters. They’ve taken him on the road. Entering him in the underground contests around the country.” Viktor handed me a water bottle and gestured for me to drink. “You’re going to have to be smart with this one, Raze. He’s quick. Undefeated. So are you. But by tonight, one of you will be dead.”

A knock rapped on the door, and the familiar words, “You’re up!” were shouted through the wood.

I took off my sweatshirt and slipped on my bladed knuckledusters, smeared under my eyes with Eye Black, letting the hot rage fill my muscles as I prepared for the fight ahead.

I heard the noise of the crowd grow louder, telling me Goliath had stepped into the cage. Viktor opened the door and led me out into the dim hallway. I glimpsed Durov in his holding room, an older man slapping him on his blood-covered chest, congratulating him. He looked like him. I just knew the cunt was his father. He looked just as fucking evil as Durov.

The hallway was dank, filled with the stench of death and trails of blood from previous fighters. I could hear my breathing in my ears, even over the roar of the crowd, and then I heard something else … the calling of my name.

“Raze!”

I looked to the side at the opening to another hallway. Kisa stood in the shadows. Viktor stopped dead and raised his eyebrow. Ignoring him, I rushed to the side and immediately lifted Kisa in my arms and pushed her back to the wall.

Kisa’s blue eyes hooded as my chest pressed against hers, and I leaned forward to run my nose down her cheek. “Kisa…” I murmured as Kisa’s hands played with my hair.

Her palms slipped down to my cheeks, and pulling my mouth to hers, she pressed her lips to mine. Growling into her wet mouth, I pushed my tongue inside until it met with hers. Kisa’s tits hardened against my bare skin.

Her hands pressed harder on my cheeks and she ripped her mouth away, panting. Her fingers stroked at my cheeks and my cock hardened, my hips thrusting against hers.

“Raze … I had to see you,” she whispered.

My nostrils flared as I smelled her scent, wanting to have it on my tongue.

“I want you,” I said, and I saw tears fill her eyes. I didn’t know what was wrong. All I could do was stare at her in confusion.

Kisa’s expression suddenly changed and she smiled at me, running her fingertip down my neck. “I love it when you do that—tilt your head to the side, I mean.”

My brows furrowed, not understanding what she meant, but I ignored it to ask, “Why are you crying?”

Kisa wrapped her arms around my neck and tucked her nose. “I’ve just got you back when I thought it was impossible and you don’t even know it yet.”

I felt even more confused. Then I pulled her back to face me, and, through her tears, she whispered, “I’ve seen who you’re fighting.”

I tensed. “So?”

“He’s huge, Raze. I asked around about him, and he’s never lost a match. He always gets his kill.”

“So do I,” I said tightly, not enjoying her lack of faith in my skill. I was a killer. Undefeated.

“I know, but…” She swallowed, staring into my eyes, leaning in to kiss the left one. “I’m terrified of losing you tonight. Abram had him brought in from under my nose. He’s scared, Raze. I know it’s because you could truly beat Alik in the final.”

My heart turned to steel as her words kindled my determination to beat Goliath. To fuck over Alik and his father.

Pressing my forehead to hers, I promised. “I’ll win.”

A sob escaped her mouth, but I caught it as I pressed my lips to hers.

“Please,” she spoke against my mouth. “I have so much to tell you. So much I want you to know. You need to survive.”

“I’ll win, Kisa-Anna,” I rasped again, feeling her fear for me pulsing through her slim body. But what she didn’t know was I thrived on fear. It pushed me further.

I wouldn’t lose … not when I had Kisa in my mind and her life to save from Durov.

“You’ll win,” Kisa said with a relieved sigh.

A cough sounded behind us.

Viktor stepped closer, shock etched on his face, and said, “Raze, we’ve got to go. You’re needed in the cage.”

I pressed another kiss to Kisa’s lips, took her finger and ran it down my stomach. “There’ll be another tally here tonight … and then I’ll have you again. When you come to me.”

Kisa tried to smile, but I could see the nerves racking her body. I stepped back into the hallway and pounded down toward the tunnel, right into the crowd, men moving back to let me through. I had the cage in my sight, filled with bloodlust and the need to kill. I saw my opponent already circling the ring but paid no mind to him. My only concern was for Kisa … surviving for Kisa. Surviving to protect and care for Kisa.

I ran up the steps and got to the steel door.

“Let me in!” I bellowed, banging on the door. A guard came up behind me and released the lock, and I immediately bounded into the cage, clenching my fists.

Then I looked up …

And my stomach dropped.

362?

362 was tattooed on Goliath’s chest.

As the door slammed shut, my opponent looked up. I saw the recognition flash across his face. He stilled. I stilled. And the gun fired a shot, telling us the match had begun.

Neither of us moved, too busy staring at one another.

He was your friend … Kisa’s words from last night ran through my mind.

“Friend?”

“Yes, your friend. You spoke with him, spent time with him. Confided in him … Liked him?”

“I trained with him. He helped me adjust to life in the Gulag. Taught me how to block things out. We would never fight. We were the Gulag’s two best fighters. When the riot happened, he came down and freed me.”

My heart beat faster than ever as I stared at 362 … Goliath? Kisa said he’d been my friend, and looking at him right now, sai in hand, for the first time ever in the cage, I couldn’t force my legs to move.

I couldn’t bring myself to fight …

*   *   *

“818, come. We’ll do weights,” 362 called from the other side of the gym. I cautiously joined him at the bench press and stood behind to spot him as he lay on the bench.

“You’ll train with me. You’ve got what it takes to survive. Training with those sniffling fucks you were brought in with will get you killed. They’re weak. Scared … They don’t belong in the cage.”

“You’re not afraid of fighting against me?” I asked.

362 smirked. “I’m older. It won’t happen. And when you get older too, if you become a champion like me, they’ll never pit us against each other. They’d lose too much money if they did.”

I nodded and spotted his first press. “Then I’ll train with you.”

362 smirked and began lifting his weights as though they weighed nothing. “Stick with me, kid, and together we’ll get out of this hell alive.”

“Why me?” I asked.

362 stopped and looked up at me. “Because I can see you didn’t do what you were brought in here for. It’s all over your face, in your eyes. You’re innocent, like me, but you’re strong, can fight, can survive … like me. Most kids here will die within the first few weeks, if not, by the end of their first year. But us, we’ll survive.”

“You want to get out for revenge on the one that put you here,” I said knowingly, because I felt exactly the same way.

“I do. And I’m going to have that day, as will you. Train with me, spar with me, and we’ll both get our revenge.”

362 got back to his weights, and we trained together for years, until we became the champions he envisaged.

We survived to get our revenge.

*   *   *

But now my revenge was blocked by my friend, my Gulag brother.

362 walked to the center of the cage, and my legs carried me forward too. My fists clenched, pointing the blades forward just in case he struck, but I could see in 362’s dark eyes that he wasn’t going to attack.

When we were face to face, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and he cursed under his breath. His face was pained, contorted.

“818,” he said quietly.

“362,” I said in return.

He lowered his head.

“This is your revenge? This is your path to the man who lied, who condemned you, who made you into one of us?”

I nodded. “And you?” I asked, beginning to hear the upheaval from the crowd, unease that we hadn’t started fighting.

“They caught me two hours away from the Gulag. I ran, but they caught me again. They’ve made me fight for them. Travel around the country, making me fight to the death. Then last night, I was sent here. To end the fighter who just stepped in the ring with me. I was told to make you suffer. To make it slow.”

I froze. “Durov,” I snarled.

362 narrowed his eyes. “The one who sent you to the Gulag?”

I didn’t reply. Hadn’t remembered the details yet, but Durov was responsible somehow.

Guards began to surround the cage, rifles at the ready. 362 moved closer still. “If I win tonight, I am to be freed. I will finally get my revenge.”

Closing my eyes, I understood what he was saying. We both wanted revenge. And only one of us was stepping out of this cage alive.

I opened my eyes, and 362 held out his hand. His face, for a brief moment, showed regret, and during that moment, I let slip a hint of compassion for my … friend.

Taking his hand in mine, I nodded and said, “I am grateful for your friendship.”

362 smirked. He always smirked. “Promise me this. If you are victorious tonight, you will get your revenge … for the both of us.”

I squeezed his hand and said, “Only if you make the same promise.”

362 dipped his head in acknowledgement. Our hands separated; all feeling, all compassion, fell away and supercharged adrenaline took hold.

We stepped back. The guards relaxed. Only one rifle was raised again, to fire the shot signaling the restart of the fight.

I knew this fighter, how he moved, how he thought, his weak areas, his strengths. But he also knew me. For the first time ever, I felt a pang of fear. This man could beat me. As we began to circle each other, I knew by the look on 362’s face he was thinking the same.

362 suddenly lurched forward and struck my arm with his sai, the blade slicing into my skin. But he didn’t get away unscathed, for as he withdrew his sai, I pierced him with a glancing blow to his thigh. 362 stumbled back as it sliced nearly to the muscle.

I felt blood running down my arm. 362 suddenly charged at me, dragging us both to the ground. The crowd went insane, their fists banging on the metal links of the fence. 362 and I grappled on the floor, both struggling for dominance, both evenly matched.

But 362 was bigger and he managed to pin me down. His face tensed and his expression cooled as his sai came down toward my face. The crowd volume increased to fever pitch.

I tried to push back, but 362’s strength was unrivaled and his size unmatched. Every one of my muscles strained. I could feel my veins throbbing in my neck and temple, but the sai came ever closer to my throat. This would be a kill. 362 would pierce my throat and I’d be dead.

My head tipped back as I pushed harder still against 362’s downward moving arms. I caught sight of Viktor on the side of the cage, screaming for me to live, to get my revenge.

But beyond Viktor, and at the entrance to the hallway, was my Kisa … and Durov stood behind her, pinning her against his chest, forcing her to watch me fight as tears filled her eyes. Durov watched me with a sneer on his psychotic face. It was all I needed to completely fuel my defense.

Kisa tried to turn her head as I felt the tip of the sai press against my skin, but Durov grabbed her cheek in his hands and wrenched her unwilling attention back to me, his tight mouth barking something in her ear.

Her blue eyes filled with terror as she watched me. And like an over-taut cord pulled too tight, I snapped. Roaring out in frustration, I rolled my hips, knocked 362’s sai from his hand, and flipped him on his back.

I saw nothing but red as I straddled his waist and speared a first bladed fist into his neck. Felt nothing but rage as my second bladed fist skewered his temple. Felt nothing but single-minded determination to slaughter Durov as I lifted both fists and, pointing them straight down, plunged them into 362’s chest, the wheeze of his dying breaths assaulting my ears, wrenching me from my anger.

362 was bleeding like a river, my skin coated with his blood. His eyes shone at me. I noted approval in his stare as my hands fell to my sides, an ache constricting my chest.

“Revenge…” 362 uttered, choking on blood washing back down his throat. “Make him pay…” Then 362 was gone, his chest stilling. The crowd erupted. But all I could do was stare at 362 lying dead on the floor of the cage. I couldn’t move my arms and legs, a sharp pain dead center of my chest.

The steel door opened and Viktor ran in. He crouched before me. “Raze. Son, we need to move.”

I looked up at Viktor, then down at 362 beneath me. “I knew him,” I said, my voice breaking.

Viktor nodded and laid his hand on my shoulder. “I know, son. I knew it the minute I saw his tattoo and your reaction as you stepped into the cage.”

“He was my … friend,” I managed to blurt out, the term unfamiliar and bittersweet on my lips.

Viktor gripped my bicep and helped me to my feet. “We have to go, son.”

Viktor and I walked straight out of the cage and down through the crowd. Hands slapped at my back in congratulations, I kept my eyes low and I started to move faster until I was in the hallway. Then I found myself sprinting into my holding room. Once inside, I went straight to the bathroom and puked into the toilet, my body breaking out in cold sweats.

Viktor was at the door, cursing under his breath. I didn’t know what the fuck was happening to me.

I slumped to the ground, seeing smears of blood on the grimy floor tiles. Viktor wet two washrags and pressed one on my arm and the other on my throat.

I didn’t flinch. “You need stitches, son. That sai got you good in places.”

“Then do it,” I said numbly.

I’d never ever felt this … this … ache before. This pain … this guilt? Was it guilt? I’d always blocked out the kills. Those men I’d faced were just animals for the slaughter, and I was the man that brought death. There was no over thinking. Just instinct and duty to the Gulag carrying me forward.

But this time … I felt everything: remorse, shame, devastation … I felt like death. I felt dead inside too.

“Where are you living, son?” Viktor asked as he pulled out a needle and thread from the metal cabinet above the basin. He began to patch up my arm. I didn’t feel the needle piercing my skin. Didn’t feel the thread pulling together my spilt flesh.

“At the gym.”

Viktor paused and shook his head. “Damn, son. Just … damn.”

After my cut was stitched, Viktor forced me to shower and took me back to the gym. When he’d gone, I closed my eyes as I lay on my thin mat. All I could see was blood, blood everywhere. And 362 staring up at me as life drained from his eyes.

I’d never felt remorse, regret, but right now, I was drowning in it.

Chapter Sixteen

Kisa

“Why am I taking you to the gym again, Kisa?” Serge asked as I met him on the sidewalk shortly after Alik dropped me off at my papa’s house. Papa was already out entertaining the Georgian mob that had brought Goliath tonight and Alik was en route to join them, so I knew I would have all night free.

It was always like this when the championship was on. The mob bosses had to get business in all avenues done. But tonight just seemed different, my stomach swirling with nerves like something bad was going to happen. I knew it was a combination of both Alik’s strange mood and Raze’s strange reaction after he won his fight tonight.

Alik had been furious that Raze had won. So furious that he hadn’t even used my body post-match as was his usual M.O. He’d just dropped me off at home and coldly ordered me inside.

Alik was fearful. I’d never seen him fearful before. But him seeing Raze beating Goliath tonight with such incredible skill and strength had taken him to a state I’d never seen from him before: introverted, quiet, pensive.

It scared me more than his aggression. It didn’t know what to make of a non-expressive Alik. Of a distant and non-possessive Alik.

But right now, I tried to push all thoughts of Alik from my head. I needed to see Raze. Alik had forced me to watch his fight, trying to assert his dominance over me. And, my God, Raze had nearly died. But something was wrong with him afterward. He didn’t look pleased by his win. He couldn’t get up, like he was shell-shocked, staring down at Goliath with a devastated expression. Viktor had to lift him from his knees to get him out of the cage, support him as he walked down the hallway. And worse, I couldn’t go to him. Instead, I had to go with Alik.

I resented Alik for that. For once, I completely resented him.

I looked to Serge, Raze’s cutting face prominent in my mind. “Please, Serge…” I begged, and he stood stoic in front of me before opening the back door of the Lincoln and gestured for me to go inside. I slipped into the backseat and Serge got behind the wheel.

He turned around. “Kisa? What’s going on? You sneaking out like this is putting us both in danger. I’m not doing it unless you start giving me some answers.”

I dropped my eyes to the sidewalk outside and warred with what to do. I looked to Serge again and my eyes filled with tears.

“Kisa, are you in trouble?” he asked, but I shook my head. “Are you … have you been seeing someone else? Behind Mr. Durov’s back? Are you meeting him at the gym?”

“It’s not like that, Serge.” I sniffled and wiped the tears from my eyes. “It’s more than just ‘seeing’ someone.”

Serge’s face paled. “Kisa! You are seeing someone else? Do you have a death wish? Mr. Durov will kill you both if he finds out. That man is unstable at the best of times, but about you? He’s beyond insane.” His gaze fell but then focused back on me. “Who is it?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. I can barely believe it myself.”

“Kisa, you’re not making sense.”

My stomach rolled with the words I was about to say, the secret I was about to confess. Serge sat farther forward, and I whispered, “You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“Try me,” he said curtly.

“It’s … it’s … Luka…”

Serge stared and stared at me like I was a moron. “Luka?” he asked. “Luka Tolstoi?”

“Yes,” I replied in a barely audible voice and clutched the purse on my lap. It was filled with photos and mementos from our childhood. Tonight I was going to try and make him remember. Tonight I wanted him to remember me … us … everything.

I just wanted my Luka back … at least I wanted as much of him back as was left. I’d have any part of Luka at all, I’d take any tiny scrap of him that remained.

“You’re being unfaithful with Luka Tolstoi?” Serge said dryly, confusion lacing his Russian accented voice.

I nodded, and he stared at me like I’d gone insane. “Kisa, Mr. Tolstoi died years ago in an accident. His body burned to death. What’s really going on? Who are you trying to protect?”

“Raze—”

“The new fighter?” Serge interrupted. “What the hell has he got to do with Luka?”

“He is Luka, Serge. Raze is Luka.”

“Kisa, I don’t know what—”

“He got sent away to an underground prison after Rodion was killed, off the grid, and he was forced to become a fighter. A death match fighter, Serge. I know it sounds unbelievable, but it happened. He has no memory of who he is, where he’s from, or who we all are to him. He was tortured and abused. He’s like an animal, just fighting and surviving, no humanity, but the fleeting glimpses I get when he looks at me…” I swallowed hard and said, “When he’s with me…”

“Kisa, this is all—”

“His eyes are the same as Luka’s, brown with a smudge of blue in his left iris. His mannerisms are the same. He tilts his head and purses his lips, his full lips that are the exact same shape … And he has these dreams, vivid dreams. They’re memories, Serge, not just dreams. I’m sure of it. Being back in Brooklyn, he’s remembering more and more. It’s Luka. He’s come back to me.” I looked up into Serge’s shocked eyes and said, “And he needs my help. I’ve got to make him remember. I need to know what happened all those years ago. We all do. There’s just so much pain. So many unanswered questions that have been swept under the rug.”

Serge sat in silence, and I knew he didn’t believe me. I didn’t care, because I knew the truth, and it was up to me to save Raze. It was up to me to make him realize his feet had found their way home.

“Just take me to the gym, Serge. And please wait because I need you to drive us to Brighton Beach later on.”

Serge went to argue, but I turned my head and leaned against the window, ending the discussion.

*   *   *

I entered the gym and headed to Raze’s training room. The whole place was mostly in darkness, but for a single light hanging from the ceiling. Raze sat against the far wall, his head hanging low and his torso covered with black and red. His legs were stretched out in front of him. I’d never seen someone who’d just won a match look so defeated.

“Raze?” I said in panic and rushed over to him.

Dropping to my knees, I grabbed a nearby towel and pressed it against a long fresh tally mark on his torso, twice as long, twice as deep, and twice as aggressive as his other kill tattoos.

“Raze, what have you done?” I asked and tried to look into his lowered eyes. He didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch when I applied pressure to his sliced torso. He sat gripping a broken pen and bloodied razor blade in his hands.

As I checked the rest of his ripped and scarred body, I noticed a huge stitched-up slash on his arm and stitches along the bottom of his throat.

I remembered the exact moment in the match when he’d gotten them—the moment I thought he was going to be taken from me. Having that happen only made me more desperate to teach him about who he was. He was to fight Alik tomorrow night, the two of them having progressed to the final, and tomorrow night, I would be losing one of the only two men that had ever meant something to me. But I knew who I wanted, who I’d only ever wanted, and right now, he was lying down on this hard floor like his world had just been torn apart.

Luka needed to come back to me. Finally, after all these years in captivity, he needed to be freed. He needed to know he was loved.

“Raze, please look at me,” I ordered in a gentle voice, fighting back tears, and Raze slowly lifted his head. His eyes were rimmed with red and he had the most haunting, devastating expression on his face. My heart lurched at the sight. I reached out and laid my hand on his cheek.

“Lyubov moya, what’s all this? Was it the fight tonight? Was it because you were hurt? Because it was a close match?”

I caught Raze’s hand lift from his side, and the razor blade fell to the floor. His rough, bloodied palm laid on the back of mine still on his cheek, and I froze.

“I killed my only friend,” Raze rasped out, and his fingers wrapped around mine. His grip was so tight … so telling of his internal emotional turmoil.

My breathing caught in my throat and my thoughts immediately went to Rodion. Did he remember? Did he remember that night? Was he talking of my brother? Had he remembered his past?

My hand began to shake with the gravity of what this could mean.

“What friend? What are you talking about, lyubov moya?” I asked, trying to keep the quivering nerves from my voice.

Raze’s gaze took on a blank stare, and he replied, “362.”

I blinked at his answer and immediately thought back to our conversation last night. “362? From the Gulag?”

Raze nodded slowly and his hold on my hand tightened. “Goliath…”

Suddenly, everything made sense. It wasn’t Rodion’s death he was remembering; it was the man tonight, the Georgian Goliath. “The man you killed tonight was—”

“My friend.”

My bottom lip trembled upon seeing this strong, untamed, and harsh man reduced to a hulking body of muscle filled with nothing but guilt and remorse.

“Raze … I’m so sorry,” I soothed.

“He was recaptured when we escaped, by the Georgian mob. He told me if he’d won tonight, they were granting him his freedom. And once free, he could get his revenge on the people that sent him to the Gulag. After all those years surviving, teaching me how to survive … He was innocent. He deserved that revenge, but…”

Raze’s eyelids fluttered, and I leaned in to press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, and to the back of his hand fixed upon mine. “But what?”

“But so am I…” he whispered, and my blood cooled to ice in my veins.

“You are what?” I pushed.

His eyes widened as something in his mind clearly hit home and his torso tensed as though in shock. “I’m innocent,” he whispered, clearly unable to speak louder. “Kisa … I’m innocent. I didn’t do what I was imprisoned for. I didn’t do what I was accused of.” Raze’s hand now fully encompassed mine, and he looked down at our clasped fingers. “You’re shaking, Kisa-Anna. Why are you shaking?”

A sob escaped my throat and I released my hold on the towel to plant it over my mouth. The tears of relief poured from my eyes. He hadn’t done it. Luka hadn’t killed my brother. He was innocent. I always knew he was innocent.

“Kisa? I don’t understand why you’re crying.” Raze’s head tilted to the side and I dived to his chest, breathing in the heady scent that was all him, not caring if my clothes became soiled by blood and ink.

Raze’s strong and comforting arms wrapped around my back and he kept me close. “Shh, solnyshko,” he whispered, and my crying stopped and I lifted my head and stared into his eyes.

“Solnyshko?” I questioned, and Raze looked up in thought before glancing back down at me.

“It means ‘little sun,’” Raze said matter-of-fact. “In Russian, I think.” Then his forehead creased and his eyebrows pulled down as if he didn’t understand why he knew that piece of information.

“You called me ‘my love,” he suddenly said, watching me, studying me like I was a problem he was trying to solve. I nodded and fought to keep my bottom lip from quivering. “Lyubov moya,” he said, repeating the words slowly, sounding out each syllable before his eyes widened. “It means ‘my love’ in Russian. You called me ‘your love.’”

“I did … lyubov moya” I replied and pulled out of his embrace, I caught his stuttered, shocked inhale, but just let him sit thinking of my old term of endearment for him.

Quickly wiping my eyes, I then ran my finger around his new tattoo. “Why is this so much longer than the rest? So much more pronounced than the others? You’ve really damaged your skin.”

“Because 362’s death was honorable where the others weren’t. He died proudly. He died like a fighter should.” Raze ran his fingertips over his scar and added, “He died before gaining his revenge. He was cheated out of retribution on those that wronged him. But he never gave up until the end. His recognition on my skin needs to stand out because he, as a fighter and a friend, stood out in my life.”

My heart shredded hearing him speak, and I realized no matter how far I delved into my imagination, into my worst nightmare, I would never fully understand what he went through in the Gulag. He was a child. A child forced to be a killer, and amongst that hell, he’d found someone to care for … and he’d just been forced to kill his friend in cold blood.

Sorrow made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t help but be grateful that 362 was dead and I still had my Raze.

“I thought … I thought for a moment he was going to kill you…” I trailed off, my voice catching in my throat at the thought of losing my soul mate twice in my life. No heart could sustain that.

“He was winning,” Raze confessed.

I gasped, and Raze leaned forward and ran his fingertips down my neck. “But then I saw Durov forcing you to watch me die and it fueled me. Gave me the strength to fight back and overpower my friend.” Raze’s gaze dropped to my lips, and he murmured, “I have to protect you, Kisa-Anna. I believe I was made to protect you.” His face screwed up like he was trying really hard to remember something, and he added, “I had to protect you from Durov … again.”

My heartbeat drowned out the noise of the air conditioner whirring in the main gym. “Again?” I questioned, and his eyes crinkled with confusion.

“Yes. I think … I think I’ve protected you from him before…” Taking my hand, Raze pulled me forward, searching my face up close, and asked, “Have I? Have I protected you from him before?”

I nodded, nerves stealing my voice.

Raze swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he croaked out, “Did I…? Did I know you before?”

Stifling a threatening sob with the back of my hand, I cried, “Yes. Yes, you did. You knew me very well.”

Raze’s bare muscled chest began to rise and fall and lines framed his scrunched-up eyes. He was trying to remember, but by his held breath and frustrated exhales, I knew he couldn’t. Something was blocking him, preventing him from fully embracing who he was before.

Releasing myself from Raze’s hold, I reached into my purse and pulled out the old silver frame of two young children smiling for the camera and handed it to Raze, who looked down curiously at the picture.

He was like a caveman seeing the world’s treasures for the first time, unsure what to make of the strange world he had been suddenly thrust into.

I watched his face with fascination as his brown eyes studied the children. He pulled the frame closer to his eyes and scrutinized the snapshot while my heart fluttered as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

His thumb ran across the girl’s face and he looked up, watching my face with the same intense attention.

“I’ve seen this girl in my dreams.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and he lowered his eyes again and reared back his head.

“And this boy too. I know him too.”

“Yes,” was all I could say in response, praying to God he gave Raze the gift of memory. That he remembered who both of those children were, and when he did, he still wanted me … and in some deep, hidden part of him, realized he loved me just as much as I’d always loved him.

“This girl…” Raze said and lowered the picture frame and crawled toward me, his sculpted shoulders rolling at the movement, his packed abs flexing. Once before me, Raze pointed at my eyes, his head tilting to the side. His mouth hovered just before mine and his warm, enticing breath made me close my eyes.

“No!” he ordered, and my eyes snapped open on a gasp. Raze brought the frame forward and placed it next to my face. A knowing expression washed over his sharp, assessing handsome features. “You … you are the girl in this picture.”

I felt tears trickling down my cheeks and I nodded, unable to speak, and he sat back, staring at me as though he were seeing me for the first time. “You’re the girl from my dreams…”

“Yes, Raze, yes,” I answered excitedly.

He exhaled a long breath like he’d just run a marathon, and he slumped back against the wall again, clutching the frame to his chest, just staring at me.

I held his gaze, willing him to remember more, but when a single tear ran down his stubbled cheek, it took everything I had not to fall apart.

I lurched forward and threw myself into his arms. “Lyubov moya! Please … no,” I whispered and wrapped my arms around his neck and straddled his hips, feeling his heart thundering in his chest against mine. “It’s okay. We’ll get you to remember who you are. You’ll remember everything in time. I promise.”

His body shook and his nose tucked into the crook between my shoulder and neck, and he hugged me back, so tight it was a struggle to breathe.

We were silent, quietly sitting and comforting one another, when he asked, “Am I … am I this boy in the picture? The one holding you?”

I stilled and so very slowly pulled back to face him. Raze’s eyes had darkened, glittering with questions, and when our gazes collided, I replied, “Yes. I think you are the boy in that picture. At first I didn’t know, but now I’m sure. It’s you…”

Raze didn’t show any reaction, but his hand abruptly cupped my cheek and his head tilted to the side. We stayed that way for minutes and minutes, until his lips parted and a rush of breath poured through, and he whispered, “My Kisa-Anna … my solnyshko … God put a piece of your blue eyes in mine so we would always know we matched…”

Like a dam breaking, relieved excitement washed through me like a river amidst a hurricane, and I sobbed and cried, “Luka … my Luka…” before pressing my lips against this man’s, tasting the essence of the boy I had been created and destined to love. Loving the lost man I now held in my arms.

Raze froze against my mouth, and I broke away to see his eyes shining, looking lost. “Luka?” he questioned, only for his eyes to widen, and he sucked in a sharp breath. “Luka … I was called Luka … My name was Luka?”

“Yes.” I smiled and peppered kisses all over his face.

His hands clenched the thick strands of my brown hair. “Kisa-Anna, my Kisa-Anna,” he kept murmuring over and over, and I was sure I would never tire of my name pouring from his perfect full lips.

“Yes! Yes, Luka. I’m yours! I was made for you.”

We stayed clutched in each other’s arms for what could have been an age, when I eventually pulled back, gave him a long sweet kiss, and said, “Would you come somewhere with me? I want to take you somewhere … somewhere special.”

Raze tilted his head to the side but, without question, replied, “Anywhere. I … trust you.”

He trusted me …

Rising to my feet, I took Raze’s hand, led him into the bathroom and, wetting a rag, cleaned the area around his new tattoo and laid gauze over his new scars.

Raze slipped on a sweatshirt and sweatpants. I couldn’t help but smile when I realized it was that same gray hooded sweatshirt that I had first seen him in, and I held out my hand.

Raze lifted the hood over his head—I assumed it was instinctive for him to hide as we were going outside—and came forward and cautiously took my outstretched hand. I wrapped my fingers in his and squeezed.

Raze’s brown eyes caught mine from under his hood, and without a word, I led him outside, his huge frame dwarfing mine.

As we slipped out the back door, I spotted the awaiting Lincoln, and Serge jumped out of the car, his tall broad body tense like he was prepping for trouble.

Raze pulled me to a stop and pushed me behind him as if Serge were going to be a threat. I jerked on his hand and Raze growled, “Stay back.”

I pushed my way around Raze and pushed on his solid chest with my hand until his eyes dropped to mine. “He’s a friend, Raze. Like 362 was to you. He’s my friend.” I cast a glance back at Serge and knew Serge could hear everything I said out in this quiet parking lot, but I knew I could trust him. “You used to know him too. He used to be like an uncle to you.”

Raze’s head tipped to the side, and I could see his eyes squint under the shadow of his hood as he stared at Serge. I lifted my hand, laid it on his cheek and whispered, “Let yourself remember, Luka.”

Raze’s eyes slammed to mine at the mention of his old name, and as he glanced up at Serge again, I saw the moment the memory fixed in place. His tense muscles relaxed and a labored breath exhaled from his mouth.

“Serge,” he hushed out quietly. “Serge.” Raze rolled the name around on his tongue, and as I glanced back to Serge, his face was pale and he looked to me in shock. I knew he’d started to believe me.

Taking Raze’s hand once more, I walked him over to Serge, who couldn’t take his eyes off my fighter, my long lost love.

“Serge,” I greeted, and Raze froze, his head dipped down, and his hood covered his entire face.

Serge was silent.

Looking up at Raze, I said, “Raze, pull back your hood.”

Raze didn’t move for a few long seconds, but he eventually lifted his hand and drew back his hood, his downcast eyes slowly lifting and fixed on Serge.

Serge’s eyes were assessing as he studied Raze up close.

“Sergei?” Raze said, and Serge blanched further at the use of his full first name. He looked at me in disbelief, just as Raze said, “I … I remember you.” Raze gripped my hand and pressed it to his lips, the action almost making me drop to my knees in happiness.

“You would drive me and Kisa to school … and to the beach?”

“Yes,” Serge replied, and I heard the clogging of his throat and saw the tears build in his eyes. “Christ! It is you! You look different, but … yes, it’s you.”

“I told you I’d found him. That he’d come back to us,” I said, and Serge shook his head, astounded.

“We thought you were dead. We were told you’d died in an accident.”

I felt Raze stiffen and I panicked. I’d never talked about the murder or his apparent death. I’d never told him of his family, of Talia, of Ivan, of his mother, who still to this day could not move past the loss of her son. Raze had never mentioned any memory of his family, so I didn’t want to push. I couldn’t bear losing him again if it all became too much and he ran.

“What accident? What death?” Raze asked tightly, and I could see the pain etching his face. It was like it physically pained him to remember his life before becoming a fighter.

Serge’s eyebrows pulled down, and I subtly shook my head, telling him without words to go no further.

Lifting to my tiptoes, I pressed my lips to Raze’s and asked, “Would you go somewhere with me now? Serge will drive us there.”

Raze pulled back and, without hesitation, answered, “Yes.”

Serge made himself busy by opening the back doors of the Lincoln, and we climbed inside.

Raze was tense as he sat in the car and I stroked at his arm. “Are you okay, lyubov moya?”

Raze cleared his throat and shifted on the seat. Placing his hand on my knee, he squeezed. “Cars make me nervous. I … I haven’t been in many, and I don’t like not being in control.”

Picking up his heavy arm, I laid it over my shoulder and cuddled into his waist. Raze’s thumb stroked at my arm, and I sighed. I’d never felt like this. Even as a child, and infatuated with Luka to the level I was, I wasn’t old enough to understand that your feelings can deepen even further with age. I didn’t know believing you had lost your soul mate and then having them re-enter your life made the word ‘relief’ too simple of an emotion, because the reality of having your heart fixed back together was too indescribable for words.

Looking up, I saw Serge casting the odd glimpse at the two of us, and a happy expression filled his face. He’d always loved Luka, and in truth, he’d always hated Alik. I knew that by the way he now looked at me safe in Raze’s arms. It filled him with happiness. I knew he worried what my life would be like with Alik. And tomorrow night, my true love and my fiancé would fight to the death. I almost couldn’t breathe at that thought of that fact, so I chose to block it from my mind and focus on being joined with the other half of my soul right now, right this second. Just living in the moment.

Raze pulled me closer to his side and ran his nose amongst my hair. “We used to sit like this, didn’t we? You under the protection of my arm, safe.”

I smiled against his abs. “Always.”

“I think I remember that.”

“Good, lyubov moya. That’s really good.”

Chapter Seventeen

RAZE

As soon as the car door opened, the familiar smell of the sea hit my nostrils, causing flashbacks to assault my guarded mind.

A boy.

A girl.

The beach.

A late summer’s night.

Kissing … Something more … something big … something life changing … something that made my chest ache … something that just felt right.

Kisa took a red plaid blanket in her hands, yanking me from the memory as Serge opened the door.

“I want to show you somewhere, Raze,” she said, and I got out of the car. I closed my eyes as I heard the sound of the sea waves, as I smelled the salt in the air.

A calm washed over my body as the sea waves crashed against the shore. Hearing people’s voices in the distance, laughing and having a good time, somehow made me feel at home, for the first time ever. I tried to let myself enjoy this. I had never enjoyed … anything; too concerned with fighting, killing, training … revenge to ever let myself just be.

Tipping my head back, I sucked in a deep breath and let the muggy night air fill my lungs, only exhaling when Kisa took my hand in hers and began pulling me to the warm sand.

“I’ll wait for you here,” Serge shouted from behind us, and I glanced back to see him getting back into the car. He threw me a smile as he shut the door, and I gave him a curt nod in return.

Kisa and I didn’t talk as our feet hit the sand. We didn’t talk as she led me along the shore’s edge, only stopping so I could remove my sneakers. As soon as the grainy sand hit my bare feet, I sighed and stared out at the dark water, the moon hanging low and bright.

It made me think of the dream, the one where the boy had been making love to Kisa on the beach. My eyes darted down to Kisa staring out at the ocean too, and my heart slammed in my chest, so loud and hard I was sure she would hear it. But she just kept looking out into the night, and I just kept … remembering.

I was remembering …

They were young, very young, when they’d been together, but it had meant so much. They were nervous, too nervous, but when the boy was inside her, her pussy so tight and wet, it stole his breath.

She’d been so nervous as the boy took her on the sand, making her his, something switching inside of him as they came together, like the final piece of their souls had fixed in place and all that was left was them as one.

“It’s my favorite place on Earth,” Kisa whispered, suddenly breaking through the quiet of the night, and I stepped to the side until I was behind her, draping my arms around her shoulders and resting my chin on her head.

“You come here a lot?” I asked, seeing large boats in the distance, sailing across the horizon.

Kisa tensed up, then said quietly, “I haven’t been here in twelve years.”

I frowned in confusion, but before I could question why, she turned in my arms and took my hand. “It’s this way.”

Following her lead, I asked, “What is?”

Kisa’s beautiful face suddenly looked happy and she leaned into my side, her scent hitting my nose, keeping me calm. I didn’t like being out in public. I didn’t like open spaces. I’d been caged up too long, so long that freedom and open areas made me feel uneasy.

“Our cove.”

We walked for a while before we climbed over some rocks and, hidden away from sight, was a small blocked-off patch of sand. Kisa sniffed beside me. “It hasn’t changed at all,” she whispered and jumped off the rock down onto the sand.

Looking back, her blue eyes were bright, her long black dress clung to her fucking beautiful hourglass curves, and her long brown hair blew in the light sticky wind.

“Kisa-Anna…” I rasped out and went to jump down too, but suddenly I came to a stop as something big came back to me … something I think I’d known since the night I’d saved her. I just didn’t know how to actually feel, how to let it in, until now.

My eyes widened as I stared at my woman. “I had her…” I said under my breath and only to myself, memories of us together flooding my mind. “I had her. She was mine…” I repeated, as I thought of us on this beach, in this cove, in Serge’s car, on the pier.

I stretched up my neck and glanced over the rocks to see a long pier shining with lights, and my heart boomed like a crash of thunder in a thunderstorm.

Kisa laid out the blanket on a patch of sand nearest the rocks, and I leapt down beside her. Within seconds, I had lifted her into my arms. Her surprised blue eyes met mine as her hands gripped onto my biceps.

My eyes bored into hers, and I said breathlessly, “I had you. I had you since the day you were born. I asked your mama for you and she said yes.”

Kisa’s face filled with a gamut of emotions: happiness, sorrow, and … hope? I didn’t know, but she nodded and her eyes misted over, moisture threatening to fall.

Dropping to my knees, the memories so strong I couldn’t stand any longer, I laid Kisa on the blanket and hovered over her. Warmth filled my chest like the sun had moved its home inside of me. I’d only ever felt cold before. The cell was cold. Killing was cold … I was always cold, but right now, I was warm … I felt alive. No longer dead inside.

I gazed into her eyes and saw only happiness in her stare.

“Raze…” she murmured, stroking through the strands of my hair, but I couldn’t speak.

We’d always been together. Her and me, from birth, we were always together.

Urging Kisa’s hand from my hair, I threaded my fingers through hers and studied her slim fingers, the nails painted pink, through my cut and scarred hands, marks from years of fighting, my knuckledusters marring the skin …

*   *   *

As we sat on the sofa, Kisa pulled out a book to read, and I watched her eyes racing along the sentences, an excited smile on her lips.

“How long do you think our fathers will be in there?” I asked, wanting her to look at me, to pay me attention, not the damn book.

Kisa glanced at me over the page and shrugged. “Don’t know. Papa always takes a long time when he’s doing business.”

I nodded but never took my eyes from her face. Kisa dropped her head and blushed. I was nine now, she was eight, and I couldn’t stop staring at her face every time I saw her. She was so pretty.

Kisa began reading again, and I shuffled closer to her until our arms brushed. She glanced sideward at me and started chewing on her lip.

I tried to sit back against the couch, but I couldn’t stop watching Kisa-Anna. My hand started to twitch and I wanted to reach out and touch her. She was my best friend, and best friends should touch, I thought.

Without thinking it through, I reached out and took her hand in mine, wrapping our fingers around each other’s.

Kisa gasped and said, “Luka, what are you doing?”

I shrugged. “Holding your hand.”

“Why?” Kisa whispered, staring at my thumb stroking her skin. She was so soft.

“Because I have to,” I answered honestly, and she seemed to stop breathing for several minutes before exhaling, her long eyelashes fluttering when she looked at me.

“Okay,” she whispered, and something warm spread in my chest and down to my stomach. “I … I like it.”

I smiled and Kisa blushed again. “Me too. I’m going to hold your hand all the time now. I’m never going to let go.”

“I don’t ever want you to,” she said shyly, and I pulled her to rest back against the couch, her side tucked next to mine, our hands still fused together.

“Read to me,” I said and closed my eyes.

Kisa took a deep breath and started her story from the beginning.

“They were always meant to be together, one boy and one girl, two hearts split into two, sent to far-off lands on their own. For God wanted to see if true love could be tested. He wanted to see if two halves of one soul could find each other again, even against the odds. Years would pass, they would both be hurt, they would both be sad, but one day, when they least expected it, they would stumble into each other’s paths. The question is: would they recognize each other’s soul? Would they find their way back to love…?”

*   *   *

“We would hold hands,” I said, my vision snapping back into focus, almost like I had no control of the memories rushing into my mind like a waterfall. “You would read to me. I would hold your hand and you would read to me.”

Kisa nodded frantically and tears slipped out of the sides of her eyes onto the blanket. Her left hand raked through my hair, and my eyes squeezed shut, more images almost drowning me …

“I love your hair, Luka … It looks like gold and feels like silk,” Kisa’s young self had said as I lay on the grass in a park.

“Mmm … don’t stop. I love it when you play with my hair.”

I gasped at the images in my head, and concentrated on feeling her hand in mine. “You would stroke my hair in the park,” I said, my voice increasing in both volume and speed as more memories came racing back.

“Yes.” Kisa sobbed, her bottom lip trembling, but her blue eyes shone like she wanted more and more. “Yes, I would.”

*   *   *

“Kisa, quickly, follow me. Father Kruschev isn’t looking!” I took Kisa’s hand and we ran out of the church onto the steps, where I pulled Kisa to my lap and pulled her in for a kiss.

“Mmm … Luka.” Kisa moaned and gripped the collar of my shirt.

“I fucking hate church, it’s boring,” I whispered against her mouth, and Kisa pulled away, laughing at my confession.

“You can’t say that! God is watching!” Kisa hissed, and I tucked my head into her neck, just breathing her in.

“Nah, he’s already given me you. He obviously loves me enough to give me a free pass to sneak out of the service and kiss my girl.”

Kisa pulled me to face her, and I could see how much I meant to her in that one look. “Luka…” She trailed off and pushed her lips against mine. “Then he loves me enough too, because he knew I could only ever want you.”

*   *   *

“Church,” I choked out, my straining arms holding me above Kisa, now beginning to shake. “Us on the steps.”

“Yes! Yes, Raze! More, please remember more,” Kisa begged, and I closed my eyes again …

*   *   *

“Luka…” Kisa whispered, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“Kisa,” I said back, then looked at her wet lips. I blurted, “I want to kiss you now.”

“But I’ve … I’ve never been kissed before,” Kisa said, blushing, and I lost my breath at how beautiful she was, giving her a smile.

“Me neither.”

Shock spread on her face. “You haven’t?”

“Who else would I have kissed?” I said, pissed that she’d think any other girl would ever matter to me.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You have a lot of girls at church following you around.”

I laughed and shook my head. Squeezing her shoulders, I leaned down and rasped, “But none of them are you.” I pointed to my left eye, the one that had a smudge of blue in the iris. “We match. Why would I want anyone else? There was only one girl made for me.”

*   *   *

“We kissed,” I recollected and looking down, ran my hand through the sand. “Here,” I said in shock. “We had our first kiss here, on this spot.”

Kisa’s happy laugh mixed with her crying and she pulled me to her lips, her mouth wet and salty with her tears. Her hands were tight in my hair, and I cupped her face, not wanting to let her go, as her thighs wrapped around my waist.

Retracting her lips an inch from mine, she asked, “What else, Raze? What else did we do here? Can you … can you remember? Please … let yourself remember…”

*   *   *

Dipping my head, I pressed my lips against hers and she moaned into my mouth, her hand lifting to slip around the back of my neck.

The kiss grew deeper, and I broke away to shift Kisa down to the sand. I crawled on top of her, feeling her warm body underneath mine.

It didn’t take long to lose control, and I broke from the Kisa’s mouth on a gasp. Her lips were swollen and her hands gripped my neck, trying to pull me back down.

“Kisa-Anna,” I said and pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “We have to stop. I can’t … We can’t … I need to stop…”

Her blue eyes dropped and she turned her head to the side, staring at the moon. I lowered my head to her shoulder, trying to get myself under control, breathing through the tingling in my stomach.

Kisa’s hands rested on my cheeks and she pushed on my face until I lifted my head and stared into her eyes. “Luka,” she whispered, “I want to do this with you.”

My eyes widened and my heart beat hard in my chest. “Kisa, are … are you sure?”

Kisa nodded shyly. “Can I have you?” she asked.

Feeling like my heart exploded in my chest, I said, “Yes,” and I pressed my lips back to hers.

Later that night, Kisa lay in my warm arms, and I couldn’t stop myself from kissing her face. “I love you, Kisa,” I confessed, and she turned to me and dipped her eyes, overcome with a sudden rush of shyness.

“I love you too. I’m glad you were my first.”

“And last,” I promised and wrapped her tighter in my arms, both naked under the modest cover of my sweatshirt.

“I can’t imagine ever sharing this with anyone else … ever…” Kisa said on a sigh.

I couldn’t have agreed more.

*   *   *

A pained groan slipped from my mouth and my stomach clenched, my cock hardening as Kisa lay underneath me, her nipples beginning to poke through her dress. I lowered my mouth and licked along the bud over the material, my hips grinding against her hot pussy as she arched under my touch.

“Raze…” Kisa murmured, and I reached for the bottom of her dress and pulled it up her legs to her waist. Her panties were small and black, and a possessive growl fled my lips as I bent forward and licked along their seams, inhaling that musky smell that I was addicted to.

The need to taste her took control of me and in seconds, Kisa’s panties were scattered on the sand behind us. Her cunt came into view, only a small patch of hair on her mound and her lips drenched wet.

Reaching out, I ran my fingertip down her slit, and Kisa’s hips bucked and, closing her eyes, she released a long moan. Sitting up, I ripped off my sweatshirt, suddenly too hot. Kisa watched my every move, her blue eyes shining with need.

My cock throbbed, a steel pole, but when Kisa let her legs drop apart even farther and she palmed her tits, I leaned forward and, running my lips over the inside of her thigh, followed my instinct and swiped along her slit with my tongue.

As soon as the salty taste filled my mouth, I needed more. I began lapping, drinking her in. Kisa’s hands ripped at the strands of my hair. This only made me lose it more. Using my strength, I placed my hands on her inner thighs and pushed them apart as far as they would go, opening her wide to take her however I wanted.

Kisa’s hand slipped from my grasp and landed on her pussy, and I watched with held breath as she touched herself. Pre-cum dripped from the tip of my cock and my balls ached with the need to mark my woman, to have her again … but this time knowing who we were to each other, who she was to me.

Kisa’s fingers began stroking at her swollen clit, and my nostrils flared watching her mouth drop open and her tongue lick along her bottom lip.

“Touch me, here, Raze. Lick me. Suck me here on my clit. Make me come in your mouth.”

My heart pounded so hard at her words that I thought it would rip from my chest. I leaned forward, lowering my mouth, knocking her hand out of the way so I could do as she asked.

It was the first time I’d ever tasted pussy. Her scent drove me forward. Using my thumbs to spread her lips, I circled the tip of my tongue over her clit. Kisa moaned and jerked as soon as it made contact. My tongue became frenzied, licking her clit over and over, and Kisa’s legs began to shake, her nails clawing at my bare shoulders.

“Raze … lyubov moya … that feels … that feels … Ahh!”

Kisa screamed as my lips wrapped around her clit, sucking and my finger pushed inside her dripping hole, pumping back and forth.

My senses were going crazy. The musk of her pussy, the taste of her juices, the wet feel of her channel, and the noises slipping from her mouth. Sucking even harder and pushing a second finger inside her, Kisa stiffened and, digging her nails into my skin so hard I knew she’d drawn blood, Kisa came hard, screaming into the quiet night. Slowing my movements and removing my fingers from her slit, I traced over her lips with my tongue as Kisa panted and began stroking at my hair.

Lifting my head, I crawled over Kisa’s spent, beautiful body and I took in her hooded eyes and flushed face.

She stared into my eyes and ran the back of her hand down my cheek. “Did you remember, lyubov moya? Do you remember anything else?”

Closing my eyes, licking along my lips, I opened them again, only to nod and reach down, freeing my cock from my sweatpants. I was so fucking hard, and I needed to be inside Kisa. Needed to hear her call my name.

Crawling back over her body, I pulled the straps of her dress off her shoulders, her tits coming into view, her pink nipples hard and waiting for my mouth. Bending down, I sucked the right into my mouth, palming the flesh in my hand, only to reluctantly release it to do the same to the left.

“Lyubov moya, I need you inside me,” Kisa moaned, moving her hand to wrap around my cock and began stroking it back and forth. Lurching back onto my heels, I threw my head back and hissed through my teeth. My balls were tight as she worked me over and over, but when I felt a wet lick lap at the tip of my cock, my eyes snapped open and every muscle in my body tensed.

A low growl rumbled in my chest as I looked down to see Kisa on all fours, her tight ass in the air and her full lips wrapped around my dick.

“Kisa…” I groaned, my voice low and graveled. “Fuck, that feels good…”

Kisa moaned, her back arched, and she moved her head forward, taking as much of my dick into her hot mouth as she could, the tip hitting the back of her throat. Warmth started building at my knees and traveled up my thighs, and I knew if Kisa kept eating at my dick, I was going to come.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I fought back the need to have my woman swallowing my cum and managed to push her head away, her full lips red and glistening and those blue eyes bright as she looked up at me with the most beautiful expression on her face.

Unable to speak, I pushed her back until she was flat on the blanket, and I closed my eyes, clearly seeing myself in this position years ago, feeling nervous and inexperienced but felt so connected to Kisa below me that my arms were shaking as I entered her, as I broke through her virginity.

“Baby, look at me. Keep those eyes open as you make love to me. There’s no more bad, only good between us,” Kisa whispered, and I did as she asked, using my arm strength to hover over her small trim body and my thighs to push between her legs until the tip of my cock hit her hot slit.

Kisa’s hands stroked over every inch of my back, my taut arms, my neck, traps, and through my hair. Her touch almost undid me, and as I looked down at her, everything seemed to slot into place. This was my woman, my Kisa-Anna, the other half of my soul.

Lowering myself until I was propped on my elbows, I ran my nose up her cheek inhaling her scent and moved down into her hair, my mouth stopping at her ear.

“I remember taking you here on this beach. I remember it being our first time. We were kids, maybe teens? I don’t know. But I sneaked you out of your house and brought you here, to our cove. We kissed, and it turned into more … Then you asked if you could have me…” Kisa’s face was drowning in tears, and I tipped my head to the side, wiping her cheeks with my hand. “And I said yes.”

“Raze,” she cried, and her breath hitched.

Feeling like something wasn’t right, I froze.

Kisa’s expression changed from happy to worried. “Raze? What’s wrong?”

As she spoke my name, I knew that was it.

Raze … Raze, Raze, Raze …

Kisa’s hand raked through my hair. “Raze,” she murmured again, and I suddenly gripped her wrists, keeping her still, her blue eyes widening in shock. “Raze, what—”

“No!” I said through gritted teeth. “Don’t call me that!”

Kisa’s face lost color. “Why?”

Why?

Why?

“Be-because it’s not my name. I’m not prisoner 818. I’m not … I’m not Raze…” My chest constricted like I couldn’t breathe, and I let go of Kisa’s wrist to rub at my sternum.

“Ra—” Kisa stopped herself and stilled my hand with her own, then brought it to her lips to kiss. “Why were you called that?”

I stared toward the sea and my eyes lost focus, too lost in the memory. “The better I got at fighting”—I huffed a humorless laugh—”at killing, I couldn’t be stopped. I just got better and better, and the bigger and faster the opponent they brought to face me, the more vicious I became. With the blades on my knuckledusters, I’m unstoppable. The guards joked that I’d raze my opponents. Word spread and then the warden forced the tattoo on my back to please the crowd, who would chant it as I entered the cage.”

I blinked until my vision slipped back in place. Then I looked to my Kisa again. “So hearing that word doesn’t sound right from your lips. You don’t treat me like the guards did, like those men did.”

“No, and I never will … You’ve been wronged, but no more, baby.”

Folding my arms above Kisa’s head, keeping her close, I said, “I want you to call me by my name … my real name.”

Kisa’s expression finally changed from worry to understanding, and with tears once again filling her eyes, she nodded.

“You … you want me to call you … Luka,” she whispered knowingly, and hearing that name slip from her lips as I held her in my arms just about undid me.

My cock hardened even more, but it wasn’t enough.

“Say it again,” I demanded roughly, and Kisa swallowed hard, her legs widening, her thighs tightening around my waist, and she drew my cock in toward her pussy.

As my tip pushed through the entrance, Kisa’s hands wrapped around my neck and she lowered my ear to her mouth. Both of us groaning, I sank in my dick inch by inch.

Kisa stilled me with a squeeze of her thighs. Her warm breath blew past my ear. “Luka,” she moaned, “make love to me … my Luka.”

Like a door had been opened, I roared out loud and used all my strength to push forward, slamming into Kisa until I filled her completely, until she screamed my name. Luka. Until she screamed it over and over again.

Luka, Luka, Luka …

This time as I made her mine, there was no thinking, just feeling. For the first time ever I was actually feeling things. My throat choking with the amount of things I was feeling. I’d blocked out everything for so long, been numb for so long, that I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I focused on being inside my woman, on the moans and whimpers pouring from her mouth as I pressed against her swollen clit, as my cock brushed against that spot inside her that made her go crazy.

Her hard nipples brushed against my damp chest, and every time I pushed forward, Kisa gasped at the friction, at the feeling of my dick filling her, telling her who she belonged to.

“Luka, my Luka,” she moaned into my ear, and every syllable from her mouth drove me further and further, made my hips thrust faster and faster. “You came back to me…”

“Kisa,” I said in a tight voice, feeling my balls tighten almost to the point of pain. “I’m going to come, solnyshko…”

Her fingernails dug into my shoulders and her breathing stuttered. “Close … so close, Luka … Fuck me harder … harder, Luka, harder!”

With every bit of strength I had and with all the power I could draw into my thighs, I rammed forward, my skin slapping against Kisa’s pussy, the sound of us joined together like this pushing me over the edge.

My dick swelled, my mouth gaped, and hearing Kisa shrill out her orgasm, I reached forward and sank my hands in the warm sand beneath Kisa’s head and filled her with my cum as her cunt strangled my dick.

My forehead fell on Kisa’s mussed up hair.

I was catching my breath, minute by minute, trying to cope with this new beat to my heart, when Kisa whispered, “I love you, Luka. In all these years without you, I never stopped.”

Every fiber of my body froze.

“Love?” I asked, frowning. “What … what is that?”

Kisa’s thighs loosened around my waist and she pushed on my chest until I looked into her eyes. “Love, lyubov moya. You don’t remember what that is?” Her voice sounded sad, like I’d hurt her somehow.

I didn’t want to hurt her. The thought of hurting her, hurt me.

I dropped my head in embarrassment. “No … I don’t really understand what it means. I’ve heard of the word, but it has no meaning to me.”

Kisa reached back and took my hand, bringing it to lie over her chest, her heart thudding against my palm. My heart started thudding too.

“Love is an emotion, Luka. It’s shared between two people. Two people who can’t stop thinking about each other. Two people who think of each other every single day, every second, day and night. Two people who want to spend the rest of their lives together.” She paused to press her lips to mine, then pulled back. “Two people who make love, just like we did now, and know their souls belong to each other, and only each other.”

A tear ran down Kisa’s cheek, and leaning forward, I kissed it. Pulling back, I tilted my head to the side to stare at Kisa’s beautiful face.

“Then I … then I love you?”

Kisa stayed still for a moment, then surprised me by wrapping her arms around my neck and burying her face in my chest. “I hope you do, Luka. I pray you still love me too.” And I felt the wetness from her eyes on my skin.

I clutched her to my chest and rolled us to the side so I could stare at her face. I didn’t think I’d ever get sick of her face. Kisa sniffed but fought to pull a nervous smile on her face.

I laid my head on my bicep and pointed to my chest. “So this … ache I’ve had in my chest since I saw you is … love? When I see you in my dreams, and want you, it is because I love you?”

“Luka … Is that true?” she whispered, hope in her quiet voice.

I nodded, and she hooked her forefinger around mine. I looked at our fingers joined together and, for some reason, couldn’t look away.

“I have always loved you, Luka, and always dreamed you’d come back to me. I knew it was impossible, but I always prayed you, somehow, miraculously would.”

“My…” I cleared my throat, trying to put into words what was stuck there.

Kisa held her breath and our entwined fingers tightened.

“My … Something within me, here,” I pointed to my heart. “Here.” I pointed to my stomach. “And here.” I pointed to my mind. “Tells me I should have you. That you should belong to me. That you do belong to me, and that I belong to you.”

“And there,” Kisa said, pointing to my eye.

“Here?” I said, pointing at my eye too.

Kisa nodded and smiled. “That smudge of blue in your eye, says you always have.”

My pulse began to race and for once, my blood felt like it was pumping through my veins, not lying stagnant, finally bringing me back to life.

“Why, Kisa?” I asked. “Why is it like this between us?”

Kisa dipped her eyes, not saying anything for a while, but then she smiled shyly and murmured, “Whatever our souls are made of—”

“His and mine are the same.” I finished off, the words coming from some locked-away memory in my mind. My eyebrows pulled down, and I watched happiness flood Kisa’s face. “What … what is that? Why do I know it?”

“It’s Wuthering Heights, a book I used to read to you before you were taken away. It’s a line from that, one my mama used to say applied to us. We used to like it.”

“Where is your mama?”

Kisa sighed a shaky sigh and her eyes glistened. “She died, Luka. She died when I was fifteen.”

Death. It was everywhere.

Neither of us said anything for a while, but as the night drew on, I pulled Kisa to my chest. “Kisa?” I said.

“Mmm?” she murmured sleepily against my chest.

“I will kill Durov tomorrow night.”

Kisa stiffened, and I held my breath. She never talked about how she felt about him, just told me he couldn’t live without her and he needed her. But I needed her too, and the difference between Alik and me was that she needed me by her side, keeping her safe.

“I know,” Kisa finally whispered back, but I could hear the pain in her voice. A flashback from when I was a kid suddenly came to me, and my body jerked upright, Kisa falling to the sand.

I gripped my temples as the memory came quick, the pain piercing my skull almost too strong to endure …

*   *   *

“You killed him, Alik!” I shouted, covered in my best friend’s blood as Rodion turned cold in my arms.

Alik held out the knife he’d stabbed him with, his eyes were wild and a crazy smile spread on his lips.

“No, Luka, I didn’t kill him.” I watched as Alik drove the knife into his own stomach and he dropped to the floor. “You did! You argued. You fought, and you pulled out a knife and killed him.”

“What … what the fuck are you talking about? You’re insane!” I shouted, but Alik was already screaming for help.

“He’s gone,” Alik said, looking to me and gripped his stomach. His blood poured out as he pointed to Rodion’s body. “The Volkov heir’s no more. I did just what my papa commanded. Now, one day, I’ll be the Pakhan. Rodion was too weak to lead, too nice. Me, I was born to be ruthless, to kill anyone in my way.”

My blood turned to ice when I heard he’d killed Rodion for power. His father had ordered him dead so his son would be next in line.

Jesus Christ!

“And me?” I whispered, numbly. “Why the fuck are you setting me up?”

Footsteps approached and our fathers’ voices called our names. Alik shouted back, flopping back onto the ground, but not before he smiled at me and said, “Because I needed someone to blame and I want what you have.”

I shook my head in confusion. “What—”

“She was always meant for me, not you. I need her. She’s the only one who calms me down. She’s the only one who stops the voices in my head that tell me to hurt people. And her being obsessed with you is getting in the way of making her mine.”

I stumbled back as what he said registered in my mind.

Kisa.

He killed Rodion for power and was framing me for … Kisa? Before I knew it, I was on top of him, ignoring the blood pouring from his stomach, punching at his face.

“You won’t hurt her, you sick fuck! You’ll leave her alone! You’re insane! You should be locked up!”

Alik smiled at me as I beat his face, like he wasn’t feeling the blows. I stilled in shock and he slipped the dagger in my hand.

A man came bursting through the trees, and seeing his son dead on the ground, he dropped to his knees. All I could do was watch as he tried to bring him back to life, then scream into the air when the CPR didn’t work.

Another man came through next.

The men saw me on Alik, my fists coated with blood, my mouth tight with anger. I got to my feet and stumbled back until my ass hit the ground. My legs wouldn’t move as I took in the scene. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t speak to explain … my best friend was dead.

One of the men rushed forward and ran to Alik on the ground, then I noticed the men’s eyes slam to me, then to my side.

Turning my head slowly, I glanced down at what they were all staring at and saw the bloodied dagger under my splayed hand.

I opened my mouth to try and explain what happened, but just as I did, Rodion’s papa got to his feet, blood covering his coat, the move pulling my attention.

“Luka, what have you done?”

*   *   *

“Luka! Luka!” Kisa’s panicked voice cut into the night. “Breathe, breathe … You’re not breathing. Try and calm down.”

I focused on Kisa’s face, on her hand stroking back my hair. Finally able to move, I lifted my hand and took hers in mine.

“What is it, lyubov moya? What did you remember?” Kisa asked, and I could hear the nerves in her voice. “You’re scaring me.”

“D-Durov,” I stuttered out. “Durov killed Rodion, stabbed himself, then pinned all the blame on me.”

Chapter Eighteen

RAZE

Kisa’s hand began shaking as she held mine, and I saw her face pale, the reality of that fact hitting home just as the dam of my blocked-out past broke and memories came flooding out, blindsiding me.

“Rodion,” I whispered, feeling like I’d just taken a punch to the kidney. “Rodion was my best friend, wasn’t he? We were like brothers. Yes? Is that—”

I watched tears fall from Kisa’s eyes. My eyes grew wider as I pictured Rodion’s features: light-brown hair, blue eyes. I dreamed of him sometimes. He was the boy in my dreams. His features had always been blurred, and I was unable to ever make out his identity. But now I could picture him with crystal clarity. I knew him. I—

Shit …

I looked at Kisa again. She was slumped over, her back shaking with the force of her tears. And then in my mind, I saw her and Rodion together: at church, at the beach, round a table, by their father’s side …

Lifting my hand and pressing it on her back, I swallowed hard. “He … Rodion was your brother, wasn’t he? Fuck, Kisa, Rodion was your blood.”

A sob slipped from Kisa’s mouth and she slumped onto the sand. Crawling forward, I covered Kisa with my body and wrapped my arms around her waist. She leaned into my arms and cried harder, her hands reaching out to grip onto my thighs while I tried to breathe through the memories of my past hitting me with the force of a truck.

“Kisa,” I murmured. “Durov killed him … He killed him…”

Another loud sob ripped from her throat and she began shaking. Pushing herself upright with her hands on my thighs, Kisa lifted her head. Her beautiful face was red and wet with her tears.

“No! I always thought his death must have been an accident. A misunderstanding. Some other explanation. I-I—” Reaching out, she gripped my biceps, desperation in her expression. “Why? Why did Alik kill him? What had Rodion ever done to him? I don’t understand! They were friends!”

I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath like I could force the memory.

“Please remember. Please remember,” Kisa begged.

The Volkov heir’s no more. I did what my papa commanded.

Dragging in a gasp, I looked at Kisa and suddenly saw a man’s face in my head. He was tall, dark, older, a fucking evil glint in his eyes. Just like the guards, I thought. He had that sadistic, controlling look in his eyes that the guards always wore.

“His papa,” I said, and Kisa could only blink. “His papa told him to take out the heir … so he would be next in line. So he could lead when he was old enough.”

“No,” Kisa said, shaking her head. “No! Abram wouldn’t do that. He loved Rodion!”

“Alik stabbed Rodion because his father told him to. That’s what Alik said!”

The shaking of Kisa’s head grew faster. “No, no, no, no!” She staggered to her feet and wrapped her arms around her waist. Her feet suddenly stopped in the sand, and she asked, “And Alik? Wh-why did Alik stab himself and blame you? Why take you from me too?”

Every muscle in me froze and my heart thundered in my chest. Kisa saw my reaction and her arms dropped to her sides. “What?” she asked, her voice laced with dread, fear … anxiousness.

Feeling a sudden rush of protectiveness, I lurched forward and crushed my mouth against hers, Kisa moaning in surprise. Her hands slammed to my hard pecs, but her mouth moved against mine like she couldn’t resist what we had, the spark that was between us.

Pulling back, breathless, I pressed my forehead against hers, gripping tightly onto her neck.

“Luka … please … tell me,” Kisa begged, her voice barely a whisper.

Inhaling a ragged breath, I closed my eyes and answered honestly, “Because of you.” I opened my eyes, and Kisa backed away, her gaze searching mine. She was shaking her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “He needed someone to blame and he wanted you, Kisa-Anna. He wanted you away from me.”

“No!” Kisa turned her back to me and held on to a nearby rock. Her head shook back and forth, and all I could do was to stand there watching her, every muscle tensed with the unknown … the unknown of how to be with her … how to make her feel better.

I stood there like a mute and watched her fall apart. But when a pained scream ripped from her throat and she fell to her knees, my feet seemed to move of their own accord, and I dropped behind her, wrapping my arms around her slight body.

“He’s … he’s troubled. He’s always been troubled with voices in his head. Urges to hurt people. He needed me, even then, he needed me to stop the urges,” she whispered. “He’s always been so possessive of me. But I never thought … I couldn’t have imagined…” Kisa’s breath hitched and she began turning in my arms. I froze, unsure of what she was doing, when she crawled on my lap and laid her head on my shoulder. I fought to breathe quietly, her actions making something within me warm, like her touch her closeness thawing the thick ice in my blood.

Kisa’s bloodshot eyes traced the graphic demons I had tattooed on my chest—a gift from the guards who wanted me to look evil to the Gulag crowd—and her breath blew against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

“I can’t … I can’t take that he blamed it on you, my beautiful Luka, my best friend, my soul’s other half … because of me … because he wanted me…”

She sucked in a shuddering breath and her hand dropped to trace round my stomach. “That he would injure himself so … so … brutally to create such an impressive lie against you.”

I closed my eyes, trying hard not to lose grip of my rage at the thought of Durov and what he had done.

But that was shot to hell when Kisa said, “He never even let me grieve your death. He just swooped in and took me for his own. I was only thirteen. But I was his. My father didn’t complain, he was lost, and then a couple of years later my mama died of a heart attack—the pain of losing my brother was too much for her to bear. Papa’s only child was now with the only heir—it was the perfect outcome from such a horrific situation. And I was so numbed by grief of losing everyone I loved, that I never fought him. In fact, I was glad someone was there for me.”

Kisa lifted her head and pressed three kisses on my rigid jaw. “I had lost you … I didn’t care much about anything after that … until you saved me in the alley and my heart began to beat again.” She sucked in a breath. “I hadn’t even realized it’d stopped.”

Not knowing how to respond, I gripped her tighter.

“Luka?” she asked. I grunted a reply. “Where did you go? What happened?”

I narrowed my eyes and concentrated on my past. “Your father took me to his office, along with Alik’s.” My eyebrows pulled down, my head aching. “Someone begged for my life. Another man was in the room with us, I think, but I can’t make out his face.”

Kisa stiffened in my arms. “You don’t know who that man is? What he looks like?”

The man was older and maybe had light hair, but that was all I could see. I tried to keep going while I still had this memory in my mind. I was afraid if I focused too much on the man trying to spare my life, the whole memory would come tumbling down.

“He pleaded with your father to not kill me, but Durov’s papa wanted me dead. I…” My heart started pumping hard and I could feel my blood rushing through my veins. “I remember feeling fear, but I couldn’t open my mouth. Durov’s father was so angry that he intimidated me … He stole my voice with his glare. Gestured to me that he would kill me if I spoke. I was mute with shock. The man who tried to defend me started arguing with him, and … and guns were pulled.”

I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, parts of the memory becoming grainy. “The next thing I knew, your father told me there would be no cops involved in my crime, in my murder of Rodion, but that I was going to be sent to the motherland, to Russia to a contact he had there. He told me I would be punished. He told me I would be in a prison for kids, doing manual labor on a farm deep in the Russian countryside … He told me I would never come back to Brooklyn.”

Kisa came closer, almost melding herself into my chest like she wanted to crawl into my skin. “My God, Luka … I remember them taking you away. I was taken home … and all I remember is being numb as I lay in my bed.”

Kisa looked up at me and placed her palm upon my skin. “What happened next? Because … because after you left, and I didn’t know where they had taken you, we were told you were dead.”

The smell of smoke burned my nose. The sounds of screeching tires skidding to a stop. There was a bus …

“I was in a bus. It was cool outside. Night. I remember not being able to see through the glass because the windows were so steamed up. There were four, maybe five of us being taken away somewhere. Nobody talked. We all sat separately. But I could feel that we were all scared. We were all young … teens? Some could’ve been even younger. Some had been sold by their families to work on the farms.”

I stared off at the lights on the pier, almost feeling drained by how much I had remembered tonight. But the lights blurred and I could suddenly see something else in my mind. The lights … the screeching of tires …

“The bus was run off the road,” I blurted, my voice speaking aloud a memory it was currently processing. “Headlights from a van blinded us on a dark road. There was a loud bang and the driver of the bus swerved and we rolled into a ditch.

“We were all screaming, but the driver wasn’t moving. I remember climbing over the seats, hearing the other boys moan from their injuries, and crawled to the driver. But when I got to him, I could see blood. I could see a hole in his head … a hole I knew he didn’t get from the accident.”

I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, the pain of such memories coming too strong.

“Luka?” Kisa whispered and began rubbing at my back. “Don’t.… don’t push yourself too much. It’s okay, lyubov moya. It’s okay. Don’t rush yourself. This is all too much for you to go through in such a short space of time.”

Anger boiled in my stomach, and I began to shake violently, my inner rage almost too much to cope with.

“No,” I snapped curtly, my voice sounding deadly even to me. Kisa jumped and I heard her hold her breath at my sudden change in mood. “I need … to remember,” I forced out.

“Luka?” Kisa asked and slowly began backing off my lap. “You need to calm down. You’re turning red. Your skin is scalding!”

Tipping back my head, I roared toward the night sky, releasing all the confusion, the rage, and the frustration that had been bombarding me over the last few days.

“Luka!” Kisa cried, and I could hearing her sniffing, sobbing as she moved from my lap and scurried backwards into the rocks.

“The driver had been shot, and men stormed the bus … Georgians … Georgians stormed the bus.” I began rocking on my knees as the scene played out. “They beat us, forced us into the back of the bus…” I sucked in a long, stuttered breath and looked to Kisa, who was now dressed and pressed against the rocks as though she were facing a monster.

She was. I was a fucking cold, sick monster. This was what they had made me … what they’d been ordered to do to me by …

“They knew my name,” I spat out. “Those men … they asked for me by my name.” I blinked, but the memory of my full name didn’t come. “Luka,” I said and hit the side of my head with my fist. “Luka … Luka … ARGH!”

I couldn’t remember my last name!

“Tolstoi,” a soft voice uttered against the breeze. “Luka Jakob Tolstoi … that was your full name. That is your full name.”

Shoulders sagging, I tilted my head to the side as I witnessed the expression on Kisa’s face transform from fear to sadness.

Feeling my legs shake, I fell forward on all fours, my hands fisting into the sand.

“Luka!” Kisa shrilled, and I heard her drop beside me, her hand tentatively resting on my back.

“They had been sent for me,” I rasped, all energy seeping from my body into the sand beneath me. “Fuck … I can still feel it. Like a fucking dagger, Kisa, a dagger.”

“How?” Kisa asked cautiously, her fingers running down my spine. “Why were they sent for you? How did you know?”

*   *   *

“Luka Tolstoi. You’re coming with us,” the man with the gun said.

“Where? Where am I going?” I asked, but I got no answer.

“To fucking hell, boy. You’re going off the grid. Someone’s paid us a shitload of money to make you disappear.” The guy pointed to the other boys being dragged out of the bus. “You all are.”

“Why?” I asked. “Who ordered this?”

He smiled and shrugged. “You fucked with the wrong family, boy.”

All I felt was dread at his words. “Durov? It was Durov?”

The man looked taken aback, but then he laughed. “Well, at least you’ll know who’s to blame for what lies ahead. Abram made sure you’ll never ever return to Brooklyn.”

*   *   *

Lurching to a sitting position, I stared at Kisa. “Abram … Abram Durov…”

“What? What else do you remember?”

“He organized for the Georgians to intercept the bus. He emptied it and burned the bus. They filled it with dead teens from the Gulag so there was burned bodies. But it was Abram. He ordered me taken.”

Kisa’s eyes shone, but her face was calmer now, numb. “He needed to protect Alik,” she said, nodding. “He needed you gone so no one would know Alik killed Rodion.”

My teeth gritted together and I lowered my head, taking a long, deep breath. “They never expected me to survive. They thought I’d be killed in the cage.”

We were both silent for a while, but then Kisa stood and held out her hand. I looked up into her eyes and saw only strength. “But you did, Luka. You did survive. And…” She took a breath and straightened her shoulders. Resolve had settled within her. I could see it in her face. “We need to get you back to the gym. You have a fight to win tomorrow.”

I watched my Kisa-Anna, and the anger I had fled my body.

I had to win this fight.

I had to reclaim my life or forever live in the dark.

Slipping my hand in Kisa’s and seeing her eyes shine with tears, I got to my feet and pulled her into my chest. Her gaze met mine, and I raked back her long brown hair with my fingers.

Her eyes closed. “You have to win the fight, Luka. Justice must be served. It is the way we live. Blood for blood. You have to do it for you, for us … but I want you to win for Rodion. He should be avenged.”

Leaning down, I pressed my forehead to hers, just being for a minute. I finally pulled away, picked up my clothes and put them on. Zipping up my sweater, I pulled up the hood and finally faced my Kisa. She was staring at the ground, but she looked up and a sad smile pulled on her lips.

I strode toward her and tugged her into my chest, once again inhaling her scent. “Will you still want me after I kill Durov?”

Kisa froze, but her head began to nod against my chest. “Yes, lyubov moya,” she said almost silently. “I have been with Alik for so long. He needed me to live, couldn’t stand being without me.”

Kisa pulled back from my chest but didn’t look up. Her hands played with the string on my sweater. “I’ve always known he was … different, dangerous. Always known he wasn’t like everybody else … but I put up with it because, well, he was all I’d ever known for so long, and I knew he’d kill me if I tried to leave. He wouldn’t survive without me next to him. He’d unravel, he become too dark, too unrestrained.” Kisa sucked in a deep breath as my heart ached at the tone of her voice. “But I didn’t know he’d taken you from me, taken my brother from me. I’d asked him about that day so much in the beginning and he swore to me that you had killed Rodion. Now everything I’ve ever believed has just come crashing down.”

“And your father? What will he do?” I asked, feeling a wave of possessiveness over Kisa. Jealous that Durov had had her all these years. That he’d made her believe he needed her so much she could never be with anyone else.

She was mine. Not his. Never his … MINE!

Kisa glanced away, seeming lost in her head. “When Papa finds out what Alik did to his son, his heir, his pride and joy, and then finds out who you are, that you are innocent, he’ll want Alik dead too.”

“He will?” I asked in confusion.

Kisa faced me and her head tilted to the side. “Luka … do you remember if you had any family here in Brooklyn? Do you know how you know me? Why we grew up together? Why you knew Rodion and Alik?”

My hands started to sweat and my headache grew stronger again. My eyes squeezed shut and my stomach clenched, my breath pausing in my throat.

“Luka! Luka!” Kisa prompted, and I let out a long exhale as my eyes snapped back open. Sweat beaded on my forehead and I felt as though I’d been punching a bag for three hours straight.

“Don’t try and remember right now,” Kisa instructed, and I focused on her eyes, on her hand that rested on my cheek. “Don’t. You’re tired. You’ve put yourself through too much tonight. The color has gone from your face.”

Kisa’s fingers stroked my stubbled cheek and the feeling was hypnotic. I breathed with the rhythm of her caress until my heart began to slow.

“Good, lyubov moya,” Kisa soothed.

Once I had calmed, I nodded my head, telling her I was good.

Kisa’s question stabbed at my mind. A family? People who … loved me? I couldn’t even imagine it. Another stab of pain tortured my mind, but I knew I had to block it out. To block out everything but the fight against Durov.

I would finally get my revenge.

“We need to go,” Kisa said reluctantly, and taking her outstretched hand, we walked back over the sand toward Serge, climbing in his awaiting car.

A while later, we arrived at the gym and I kissed Kisa on the lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Luka,” she whispered. “I’ll try and come to you before the fight.”

Nodding my head curtly, I opened the door of the car but paused to look over my shoulder, thinking how beautiful Kisa truly was. “I…” I cleared my throat, tipped my head to the side, and said, “I … love … you.”

The words felt strange coming from my lips, but when Kisa’s eyes began filling with tears and her mouth pulled into a huge, watery smile, I knew these three words were right.

Love. A new yet somehow familiar emotion for me.

Kisa scrambled over the seat and crushed her lips against mine. As she pulled back, she whispered, “I love you too. So much. So, so much.”

Nodding again, I hid the sense of warmth filling my body. It took me by surprise. I didn’t know how to deal with such things.

“Tomorrow,” I said, stroking my thumb across her soft face and stood.

“Tomorrow,” Kisa said in reply.

Serge tipped his hat at me from the driver’s door.

I backed away into the shadows of the gym, once again one with the darkness.

With each step I took to my training room, I mentally chanted the words:

Durov.

New York.

Revenge.

Kill.

Tomorrow night, I would finally get my revenge.

Chapter Nineteen

Kisa

“Are you okay, miss?” Serge asked, looking back at my blank face through the rearview mirror.

I continued staring out the window, an array of emotions tearing through me like burning flames. Alik had killed my brother. Alik, the man that had controlled me and possessed me all these years, the man I’d devoted my life to serving. And he’d blamed Luka, my Luka, for Rodion’s death … God! Just so he could have me?

The thought made me feel sick. Feel racked with guilt. Despair and a million other emotions.

And tomorrow night, my two loves—one pure yet broken and one so dark that I now realized I didn’t know him at all—they would fight to the death.

Tomorrow night I would lose one.

I knew in my heart who I wanted—no, needed—to survive … Luka. It had always been Luka.

Alik deserved to die.

“Miss?” Serge pushed again, and I met his worried gaze. “What’s happened? I know that look on your face, devastation. I’ve only ever seen it one time before … and that was when we were told Mr. Tolstoi died in that crash.”

I felt the tears tracking down my face, and I sniffed and wiped at my cheeks. “Serge … I’ve just found out who killed Rodion. I … I…” I trailed off, unable to finish my sentence, the pain too much to bear.

I noticed we had pulled up to the side of my papa’s house, crawling to a stop in the shadows of the dark street, out of view.

As the car came to a stop, Serge turned in his seat. “Mr. Alik?”

My eyes widened and my pulse throbbed in my temples. “You … knew? All this time?”

Serge shook his head. “No, miss. I didn’t. But, well, I’ve watched him his whole life, watched him grow from a boy to a man and something was never right with him. Like he’s disturbed, deep in his soul.”

I swallowed hard, listening to everything coming out of Serge’s mouth. And he was right. Alik had always been different. Thriving off violence, off control, off his possession for me … off his kills. Kills he had to make or he would turn to the streets or the rival mobs to work off his rage. The Bratva decided five years ago that he should fight for The Dungeon during the Championship. My papa wanted him to have an outlet for his rage, one that wouldn’t cause trouble with rivals, and one that would also bring in a profit.

“When the news of Rodion’s death was delivered to the staff, I couldn’t believe Luka would do such a thing. He was a good boy, a good Bratva boy: stern and hard, but not overly cold. But mainly, he was loyal to his family. Loved his family. His papa had brought him up well, unlike Mr. Abram. He had raised that boy of his to be a killer. After his mama ran off when he was a baby, he brought that boy up without any affection.” Serge’s eyes seemed to lose focus and he shook his head. “There’s just something within his eyes … something that has never sat well with me.” Serge shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I remember finding him as a child, killing a cat—no, torturing it. He saw me watching him in horror and he smiled. He smiled at me, Kisa. I knew then that something sinister ran in that boy’s blood. He enjoyed killing that cat. He liked hearing it in pain.”

“Oh God, Alik!” I cried. “What’s wrong with him? What lives within him to make him like that?”

Serge ran his hand over his head in distress. “And the day we were told Luka had died, Miss Kisa … Everybody cried. Even though they believed he had killed your twin, they mourned for him. But Alik, he was cold, calculated, and dare I say, happy? Abram displayed no reaction either. Something about that whole day just never sat well with me.”

“Serge,” I cried, finally submitting to the sob choking my throat. “I don’t know what to do!”

Serge laid his hand on my knee. “Mr. Luka is back, Kisa. I don’t know where from, and I don’t need to know, that isn’t my business. But I can see he’s no longer the Luka that left. He’s darker now, tormented. His memory is in pieces. Lord, the confusion on his face tonight when he saw me, it was vast. But not a day went by from the time you were born that boy didn’t look after you, protect you. And even now, with his mind warped, with the hell I know he’s been put through, he won’t let Mr. Alik leave that cage tomorrow night alive. Of that I’m sure. He’ll kill Mr. Alik to protect you. He has earned the right to this revenge. He has earned the right to retake his place among the Bratva and know his family and where he’s from.”

“He doesn’t remember them, Serge. None of his family. Papa Ivan, Talia, his mama, none of them.”

“He will in time. But right now, he has one goal, only one thing occupying his mind … to right what Mr. Alik made wrong.”

“God! How the hell has it all come to this?” I said, wiping at my tears. “So much death, so much pain! All because of greed and jealousy.”

Serge smiled sadly. “This mafiya life is never an easy path. There has been much death, much pain. But the Lord has brought back your love, Kisa. Despite the pain, a miracle has occurred.”

My stomach swirled with dread. “But … what if Luka can’t get past all of what happened? What happens when he remembers everything? Will it be too much?”

“He will have you, Kisa. You saw his soul, yet you didn’t recognize his face. And he knew you, even when his memories were not there. You are his light, his guide back to this life.”

“He showed me his eyes,” I whispered and Serge’s eyebrows furrowed. Taking a deep breath, I explained, “Since the day I met him, I’ve noticed that he keeps his eyes down, his hood pulled over his face as if somewhere in his subconscious he knew that his distinctive eyes could be recognizable. But he let me see them. He showed me those eyes almost immediately. And as soon as I saw them, I saw my Luka.”

Serge’s gray eyes glistened and he dipped his head, only to raise them again. “Then he knew you too. Even if he didn’t remember you, his soul did. That boy was always besotted with you. I’d never seen anything like you two kids. A love so fierce it was like you’d been together for a millennium.”

My heart swelled at Serge’s words. I leaned forward to kiss him on his cheek, but just as I did, the passenger door flew open and Alik climbed inside, his eyes red raw with rage, and he placed a gun at Serge’s head.

“Drive,” he ordered in a terrifyingly guttural voice, and I instinctively started trembling. Fear seized my voice and any movement my mind willed me to make.

“Alik … baby,” I whispered, trying to sound natural, unafraid. Alik’s back stiffened.

“Shut the fuck up!” he snapped, his tone deadly, his eyes bloodshot and red. He pushed the barrel of the gun harder against Serge’s temple.

“Take us to my dockside apartment,” Alik ordered, and Serge risked a glance back in the mirror. Alik drew back his gun and butted Serge with the barrel, leaning forward. “I said take us to my fucking dockside apartment!”

I cried out when blood trickled down Serge’s face, but he put the car in drive and we rolled off down the streets, sticking to the shadows.

“Alik, please? What dockside apartment?” I whispered, watching his jaw twitch and redness run up his neck. I could physically see his anger engulf his pale skin.

“I got a dockside apartment, Kisa. Had it for years. I do what the fuck I want there.”

I gasped when I guessed what that could be. “And what’s that?” I asked fearfully.

He turned and smirked at me, but his eyes were on fire. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. “Whatever the fuck I choose to do to keep me from ripping people apart.”

Alik watched my expression, which I knew was betraying my abject fear. My blood ran cold. He leaned forward as the car built up speed.

“You’ve fucked up, Myshka. I know what’s been going on, and with who.”

I sucked in a stuttered terrified breath. “Alik—”

Alik’s foot kicked out and smashed against the dashboard on an incensed roar. “I said shut your fucking mouth!”

As I cowered back in my seat, Alik panted, his chest rising and falling. I watched him like a hawk, his head twitching and his feet tapping with impatience. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t show any reaction.

I was so terrified.

I’d never been on the receiving end of this Alik before. I’d never defied him or hurt him … until now.

He knew about Raze and me.

And I wasn’t sure I was going to come out of this alive.

*   *   *

The docks came into view not too far from The Dungeon, but far enough away that nobody would know Alik came here. It wasn’t an apartment as such, more like a fisherman’s shack that had been refurbished.

Serge stopped the car, and for a moment, we all sat there in strained silence. Lowering the gun, Alik turned to Serge.

“Stay the fuck here.”

Serge looked at me in the backseat and sadly shook his head. “I can’t do that, Mr. Alik.”

Alik laughed and held up his Beretta, rolling the gun in his hand. “You’ll do whatever the fuck I say, old man.”

Serge straightened in his seat, and I saw Alik smile. I knew that smile. That sadistic smile. And I hated that it was directed at Serge. My kind old Serge.

“No, Serge, please just do what he says,” I begged.

Serge’s eyes set with resolve. “I can’t, Miss Kisa. I could never live with myself if I let anything happen to you. You’re … you’re like the daughter I never had.”

A tear trickled down my cheek as I began to plead with him, but Alik didn’t give me a chance as he aimed his gun at Serge’s temple. I opened my mouth to shout out, but Serge met my eyes in the mirror and he shook his head no. He was saying goodbye.

A second later, Alik pulled the trigger. Serge slumped forward, dead, and this time I did scream.

In no time at all, Alik jumped out of the car and opened the back door. “Get the fuck out,” he ordered, and heart struggling to beat despite the shock of Serge’s violent death, I moved to the door, but Alik groaned, leaned in to grab my arm, and wrenched me forward. “Fucking move!”

Crying out once more, Alik dragged me toward the apartment, unlocked the door, and pushed me inside.

I blinked and blinked, trying to take in the room. It was sparse, only minimal furniture—a ragged couch, a small kitchenette, and a bed. My stomach rolled when I saw the sheets were messed up, used condoms on the bedside table … but that wasn’t what had me recoiling in shock. No. That honor was bestowed upon a clearing at the left side of the open space. A clearing covered in plastic sheets … plastic sheets stained with blood.

“Alik,” I hushed out. “What is this place?”

I felt Alik’s warm body at my back, and he gathered my hair and pushed it over my left shoulder. His mouth moved to my ear. “My sanctuary. Where I can be the man I am. Not the one I’m forced to be out there.”

“And … and what man is that?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.

He pressed kiss after kiss along the side of my neck, sending shivers down my spine. Every part of me was tense. I didn’t understand why he wasn’t screaming at me. This quieter Alik was too unnerving.

“Free,” he replied, making me jump.

My eyes drifted to the unmade bed, and I felt sick. “You fuck women here?”

Alik’s lips froze and in seconds I was spun round by his hard grip on my biceps and slammed against the nearest wall. His harsh stare bore into mine, cold and unfeeling.

“They’re not you, Myshka. They were whores. You’re my woman, my whole fucking life.” Darkness clouded Alik’s crazed red eyes and he leaned so far forward that the back of my head ground against the hard wall. “At least you were. Until you fucking betrayed me. Opened your fucking whoring legs.”

Alik’s voice was quiet, too quiet, the softness deceiving. His head twitched and his jaw ticked as he lifted the Beretta and ran it down my cheek. He suddenly looked broken, completely devastated.

“How could you, Myshka? How could you fuck that cunt, baby? How could you let him into what’s mine?”

“Alik—” I tried to speak, but Alik moved the gun over my lips, shaking his head as his other hand wrenched up my dress and cupped roughly against my pussy.

“Shh, Myshka,” he whispered. “You betrayed me. You opened your legs to that fucker Raze. You made me angry. At you, Myshka. You hurt me. The only one who can keep me calm, the only one who gets me.”

I shook my head, my breath coming too fast. “No! Alik!” I protested and tentatively lifted my shaking hand to rest on his cheek. As soon as my palm met his skin, his eyes closed and he took a deep breath, his head nuzzling into my flesh.

“Baby,” I whispered, needing to keep him calm while my heart thundered to the point I thought it would fail to function from over-exhaustion. “I know … I know what you did … to Rodion … to Luka…”

Alik’s head stilled in my palm and his gaze darted to mine, the whites of his eyes unusually bright. Then, eyes narrowed, he said, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Tears blurred my vision and my bottom lip quivered. “I know … I know it was you who killed Rodion … I know your papa ordered you to kill him so you could be the heir to the Pakhan.”

Alik’s nostrils flared and his lips set into a tight line. “Really? You found this out?” he asked, his thoughts unreadable through his indifferent tone.

Swallowing, I said, “And you framed Luka, stabbed yourself in the stomach … and your papa faked Luka’s death.” I saw the flinch in Alik’s eyes, and my heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t know Luka wasn’t in that accident … My God! He believed he was dead. That meant …

He didn’t know Raze was Luka.

He didn’t know I’d been sleeping with Raze because he was Luka.

Alik quickly schooled his features. “Luka died, Kisa.”

“But you killed Rodion? Put the blame on Luka?” I sniffed and wiped at the tears on my cheek. “You stabbed yourself to ensure everyone believed Luka had flipped and killed Rodion.” I met his gaze and said, “All because you wanted me to yourself?”

Alik’s stern expression melted and he looked at me again with that disturbingly possessive adoration, his gun-free hand lifting from my pussy to push back my hair.

“You’re mine, baby. You know that. And Luka was getting in my way. He was always there, touching you … touching what I knew was mine.”

I held my breath and squeezed my eyes shut. I felt Alik’s warm breath splay across my skin, and the barrel of his gun ran down my neck to lie over my breasts.

“Rodion needed to die, Kisa. He would never have been a Pakhan. He wasn’t strong enough. I am. And I knew I’d have you by my side. It has made the Bratva feared more than any other mob on the East Coast.”

I dropped my arm to my side, removing my hand from his face. My brother, Luka … Alik had zero remorse. He was proud of what he’d done.

“You are insane,” I whispered, my throat feeling too tight to breathe in much-needed air. “I just never let myself see it before.”

Alik smiled but backed away, aiming his gun in front of him, shifting its target from my head to my heart and back again.

“Insane, baby?” Alik said coldly and stepped forward, my body filling with dread. “You haven’t seen anything. Because, Myshka, until now, you’ve always been my little mouse. My fucking light, the beat to my heart. The only thing I could love as much as killing.”

Alik stepped closer still and ran his hand up my arm, then brutally gripped my bicep, squeezing until I screamed out in pain. Alik’s face was right before mine, his expression blank.

“That was until you fucking betrayed me and fucked that asshole.”

My eyes widened and he nodded. “You thought people weren’t going to realize you were missing? The Byki reported your empty room last night, so I followed you tonight, Myshka. Followed you right to that fuck Raze … and then to Brighton Beach of all places.” His jaw clenched. “I fucking hate that place.”

Alik’s hold tightened still and tears ran down my cheeks. His face then showed every single nuance of pain and rage he felt and his mouth moved right to my ear.

“I watched you fuck him. I watched you kiss him. I watched you fucking hold him, watched you stroke his hair!”

“Alik—” I cried, but just as I did, Alik stepped back and the back of his hand smacked across my face.

Losing my footing under the force and shock, I slumped to the floor, Alik pacing in front of me, hitting at his head with the heels of his hands. “Why? WHY?” he screamed and whipped to face me, his head tilted to the side.

“Kisa, baby, my Myshka, why did you make me do this?” Alik’s voice was gentle, apologetic, completely opposite to a moment ago. I rolled my head to face him, my cheek throbbing from the hit.

Alik bent down and stroked across my forehead with the same firm hand he hit me with. “I watched you fucking him, Kisa. You fucked another guy, and now I gotta make you pay. That pussy of yours belongs to me.”

I shook my head, tears spilling down my face. “No, Alik, please … You don’t understand.”

Sighing, Alik looked away, and when he turned back, I began to speak, but Alik gripped my hair and dragged me to my feet.

“Alik!” I cried, but he didn’t stop, just yanked me forward until I stood at the bottom of the large bed.

“Alik, please,” I begged. “I love him! I … I love him.”

Alik froze and pulled me forward by my hair. “Say what? You want to tell me that again?”

“I … I…” Alik fisted my hair tighter, to the point I thought it was going to rip from my head.

“Tell me again!” he ordered, and I sobbed.

But then a wash of numbness filled me and, looking Alik straight in the eyes, I declared, “I love him. He’s my soul mate. I want him … I want him…”

Alik paled and reared back as if I’d physically hurt him. I could actually see the pain in his face. “Alik—”

Another strike knocked me onto the bed. I didn’t scream this time, just landed on the mattress and felt the blood from my bust lip trickle down my chin.

“Your soul mate? You’ve only just fucking met him!” Alik roared and, beyond seething, ran his hands through his short hair, then sent a punch straight into my stomach.

I coughed and spluttered as the blow robbed me of my breath, and Alik roared again. Bending down, he had tears in his eyes. “Kisa,” he said quietly, running his finger down my cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you, but a good Bratva wife doesn’t fuck around. You’re making me do this to you. You need to be taught a lesson, Myshka. You’ve betrayed me, but…”

Alik sighed and pressed kisses all over my face. My body was curled inward, trying to find the ability to breathe.

“But I need you. But…” His body tensed again. “I can’t stand the fucking thought of you with him, baby. Can’t get the thought of you riding his dick from my head.”

Alik tipped back his head and growled in frustration. Facing forward once more, he pushed me back onto the mattress and crawled on the bed. “I need to fuck you,” he said firmly. “I need to show you who you fucking belong to.”

My heart sank as he spoke those words. “No … please, Alik … Please…”

But he didn’t listen, didn’t care. Alik snapped open the fly of his jeans and pulled off his shirt. Once he was undressed, he reached for my dress. I freed my arms from around my stomach to push his hands away, but Alik took my wrists in one hand and struck me across the cheek with the other. In the aftermath, he acted as though nothing had happened.

I resisted, fought back for as long as I could, picturing my Luka in my mind. I didn’t want Alik to take me and rid me of Luka’s feel. I didn’t want him to touch me.

He killed my brother.

He framed my Luka.

Alik leaned down, teeth bared and squeezed my wrist until I heard a crack. I was sure he had broken it. Spots danced in front of my eyes with the searing pain. He ripped away my dress, running his nose up my neck, almost tenderly, then his hand wrapped around my throat.

Tears filled Alik’s eyes as he stared me down, my sight fading in and out of blackness as his grip on my throat cut off my oxygen.

“Myshka, you’re mine,” he said as he pushed my thighs apart and placed himself at my entrance. “I need you to be mine.”

As he slammed his cock inside me, his hand slipped off my throat, allowing me to gasp in a breath, and his hand took tight hold of my hips. He took me roughly, bruisingly, making sure I knew he was in control … that he, and only he, possessed me.

As he drove into me faster, Alik leaned forward, my eyes unable to focus through the blows to my face, the choking of my throat, the sexual assault.

“I’m gonna kill that fucker tomorrow, Myshka. Take him out. So get him out of your mind. Then no more fucking waiting. We’re marrying the day after and you’ll learn your place once and for all. Do you hear me?”

My head was cast to the side, my eyes trying to focus on anything around the room. Suddenly, Alik’s hand slammed down on my cheeks and he forced me to look at him. Another blow branded my cheek with pain, and he shook my head as his hips slammed into my pussy. “I said do you fucking hear me?”

I tried to speak, but my cheeks were numb, my lips too swollen to move. Instead, a desperate noise slipped through my lips, and Alik smiled down at me, accepting it as my submission.

“Fuck, I love you, baby,” he whispered, closing his eyes and biting his lip, getting a kick out of my helplessness. “Your cunt’s so fucking tight … so fucking mine.”

He stilled, neck straining as he came, and he flopped on top of me. I lay disconnected and disorientated while Alik moved about the room as though nothing had happened, but I felt everything when he crawled over my battered body and slid into me once more.

It felt like the punishment never ended, and when Alik rolled to my side, spent, wrapping me in his arms, I let a tear fall, the salty drop stinging my open wounds, until I couldn’t hold on anymore and I slipped into darkness.

A slap to my face woke me. My head pounded practically blinding me and my body ached so badly that I immediately vomited to the side of the bed. I tried to move onto my back, to open my heavy eyes, but my lids wouldn’t fully function, only tiny slits of the room coming into view. I tried to move my legs but they wouldn’t work. I was trying to focus, struggling to remember what had happened, when suddenly, I was flipped over onto my front, my body screaming out at the action.

Alik hovered above me. “Wake up, baby.”

My eyes rolled trying to obey his command and my breathing wheezed through my heavily bruised throat.

“Good, Myshka, you’re learning,” he praised, his voice proud. I felt Alik push into me from behind and screamed a voiceless scream at the burning pain between my legs, the force of my cry like razor blades slicing at my throat.

Pain. All I felt was pain as I was taken again, glimpses of daylight breaking through the windows.

Daylight?

How long had I been here? Like this?

Alik pushed forward like a man possessed, his lesson for me to submit and never defy him again, not yet over. The more he thrust into me, the more I lost my vision, and as Alik bellowed my name, coming within me, he exhaled in relief and turned my head to lay a hard kiss on my lips.

I whimpered as his lips pushed against my swollen ones, and he flashed me another sweet smile before he got off the bed. I watched through aching eyes as Alik got dressed as though I wasn’t lying here in agony, unable to move … all by his hand.

Minutes later, Alik turned to me and strode forward, kneeling at my head lying askew on the mattress. He sighed and shook his head, running his fingers through my matted hair.

“You brought this on yourself, Myshka. But now you know what’ll happen if you try to fuck around on me again.” Alik’s eyes narrowed and he leaned closer and whispered in my ear, “Then again, if you do this again, I won’t ever be able to trust you, baby. So I’d just have to fucking kill you … and I’d kill myself too. Then we’d be together … always.”

My heart throbbed, and I came undone as he kissed my forehead and stood. Lifting a training bag over his shoulder, Alik looked back at me and said, “I’m gonna kill this fucker … slowly … make this bastard regret he ever fucked my woman.” He laughed, clearly amused. “He had no idea who he was fucking with, did he? They call me the butcher for a reason.”

I wanted to cry, to beg and to stop him from leaving, but I couldn’t move … could barely even cry.

“When I come back after the fight, with fresh blood on my hands, we’re gonna go to Vegas and get married, Myshka, once and for all. I’m tired of waiting.”

With that, Alik left, locking me inside this shack.

All I could do was cry and lie still until I lost the fight and submitted to the heavy pull of sleep.

Chapter Twenty

RAZE

“You’ve got this, Raze,” Viktor said as I pushed up from the ground, warming up my muscles, the fight only minutes away from being called. I’d trained all day. Blocked everything out of my mind but one thing … to kill Durov.

I could hear the roar of the crowd; it sounded bigger than on previous nights. It was the final, the ultimate fight unto the death, The Dungeon Championship.

Raze versus The Butcher.

“He has strength and experience, but so do you. He has speed and skill, but you’re more advanced. He’s unrivaled with a dagger, but you’re second-to-none with your spiked knuckledusters. He’s insane, but Raze,” Viktor stopped before me as I jumped to my feet and began sparring against the punch bag. Viktor reached out and held the bag, forcing me to look up. “But you’re here for revenge. Nothing even comes close to that as a drive.”

I grunted my agreement, my muscles firing up at his words. The only thing that would’ve made this better was Kisa. She’d said she was going to come and see me before the fight, but so far she hadn’t showed up.

“Kisa?” I asked Viktor as I pummeled the leather of the bag with my taped up fists.

Viktor shrugged and shook his head. “Not here yet. She isn’t even with Durov.”

That made me pause. Kisa was always at the gym when we trained. She was always with Durov before a fight. Where the hell could she be?

A slap to my cheek pulled me out of it and I snarled as Viktor pulled back his hand. “Focus, Raze. This is it, this is your chance. It’s life or death out there, get Kisa from your head.”

“I know,” I growled, his slap thrusting me back into a whole world of rage.

“Good,” Viktor said, “Because there’s more than just you who wants Durov gone.”

I glanced up at Viktor, his milky eyes boring into mine. “He’s made a lot of enemies, Raze. That crowd out there are like hungry wolves. You’re the first real contender Alik’s ever had. The rest he’s just played with like a fucking tiger plays with food, but with you, we all know you could be the one to kill him.” Viktor stepped forward and laid a hand on my shoulder. “You could kill the Bratva heir. There’s more than just gamblers here tonight, son. The Chinese, The Italian Mafia and Chechens want to see if the Bratva will be left vulnerable by your win.”

Confusion clouded my mind. I knew that even with Durov dead there’d still be an heir, but I couldn’t picture who?

A hammer on the door told me that it was time. It was time to take Durov down.

Rolling my neck from side to side, I loosened my shoulders and walked to the bench to pick up my knuckledusters. I slid them in place, the cold metal feeling like an extended part of me.

The roaring of the crowd grew louder, my feet rocked from side to side. I closed my eyes and visualized winning. Visualized Durov beneath me, bearing the brunt of my fatal blows. Visualized the moment that his eyes lost life and his black heart stopped.

“You ready, Raze?”

I blinked my focus back to the here and now. Viktor stood in front of me.

I nodded my head.

I was more than fucking ready to end Durov’s life. I was twelve years ready. This was twelve years overdue.

The steel door opened and I followed Viktor out into the dank, musty hallway. I could hear that the volume of the crowd had increased from previous matches, telling me how excited they were for this championship final. I could tell by the dust falling from the stoned walls of the hallway that more spectators were here than ever before, the stamping of their feet vibrating along the long hallway.

My skin burned with adrenaline as I rocked from side to side on the balls of my feet, dressed in my fighting black shorts, Eye Black under my eyes, my heart pumping vengeance through every vein.

Lights from The Dungeon suddenly filled the mouth of the hallway and I stilled at the entrance, just drinking in the biggest crowd I’d ever seen. The crowd, filled with criminals, gamblers and worse, all screamed in my direction. I couldn’t make out what they were shouting, my focus slamming to the heavily lit cage, Durov stood dead center of the octagon, his image drowning everything else out.

Chest heaving, I could hear the echo of my breathing in my ears, feel the too-fast pounding of my heart in my chest. Every muscle in my body twitched in excitement; I trained them hard for this—every single fight I’d fought was in preparation for this moment. I rubbed my palm across my stomach, across my kill inkings.

Every single kill was in preparation for this moment.

My palm ran over last night’s kill. Goliath … 362 … my friend … and my eyes closed.

Lifting my eyes to the rafters, I briefly closed them, sending a promise to 362, wherever he now may be. I will get my revenge for you too … brother.

The clinking sound of metal upon metal pulled my attention. Durov had his crazed eyes fixed on mine, pacing along the edge of the cage like a psycho, his muscled body dripping with sweat, his nostrils flaring and his dagger dragging along the sides of the cage.

My lips curled over my teeth in anger, in bloodlust for this fucker who had robbed me of my life. A hand slapped on my shoulder and glancing down to my left from the corner of my eye, Viktor was staring up at me.

“Your time has come, Raze. Take it. Seize your fate.”

Taking in a deep breath, drinking in his words, my legs began pushing forward down the concrete pathway, hundreds of hands slapping on my back; but I only had one target, and right now he was cracking his neck, turning his dagger in his hands, his eyes blazing with fury.

A Byki saw my approach, opening the cage door and I dived into the ring, storming straight for Durov. Durov’s eyes flared with the excitement of the charge, his corded neck bulging as he braced for my tackle.

There was no time for the firing of the gun.

No time for any introduction. This was personal, this was two enraged monsters fighting to the death.

Using my speed and larger size to my advantage, I wrapped my arms around Durov’s waist and tackled him to the ground, a rush of adrenaline filling me as his back smashed on the hard cage floor. Durov’s arms were iron around my back, forcing a grapple on the ground, both fighting for dominance.

Gaining the upper hand, I reared up, slamming a spiked fist into his shoulder. My blade pierced his skin, but the fucker still kept coming like I never even got in a hit. Jerking his legs, he forced me onto my back, my hand losing grip on his sweat-ridden biceps. In a flash, Alik had raised his dagger and plunged it down, but I managed to roll at the very last second, his steel blade scraping the floor.

Using my feet, I kicked him onto his back, launching my body on top of him, slamming his wrists above his head. Durov’s psycho gaze met mine and I could see the hatred in his eyes … my memories telling me that I’d had this look off him many times before.

Alik fought with everything that he had, but my grip was too strong, his weakening shoulder shedding blood from where I’d pierced him with my blade. I stared down at Durov and squeezed at his wrists, Durov’s teeth gritting so hard that I heard a loud crack coming from his molars.

Leaning forward, I spat, “I’m going to fucking kill you, Durov.”

Durov held his breath, and his face turned bright red; the evidence of his rage. “I’m finally going to get my revenge.”

“Your revenge?” he asked, every vein protruding from his skin. “Your motherfucking revenge?”

My jaw clenched and I leaned in closer still. Alik was watching me, trying to wrench his arms from my hold. But I wasn’t letting this fucker go.

“Look at me,” I ordered.

Alik’s good shoulder lifted to a point that it almost popped out of its socket, but I slammed my head against his, Durov’s head falling back to the floor. Durov glared at me and I knew the fucker was imagining how to murder me. But this fight wasn’t going anywhere until he knew who he was facing, or at least, the shadow of the boy he once ruined.

“I said fucking look at me!” I screamed, Durov’s eyes narrowing and searching every part of my face. “Look at every inch of my face, Alik. Do you recognize me? Do you see anyone you once knew? Anyone you completely fucked over?”

Durov’s eyes were frantic as they darted from side to side, his numbing fingers tightening around his dagger.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Durov hissed, jerking his hip, fighting to throw me off.

Lifting his wrists, I smashed his hands down to the floor again, Durov’s cheek only slightly twitching at the pain. “Then let me remind you. There was you, me and Rodion at the falls.” Alik stilled in my hands, his legs stopping kicking. “We were fucking around, doing nothing when you, the fucking psycho that you are, abruptly got to your feet and pulled out your knife and fucking stabbed your friend in the heart…” Turning my fists inward, my blades began stabbing into Durov’s wrists, the shaking of his hands showing the pain.

His eyes were fixed on mine and I could see him trying to work out how I knew all this information. My eyes flared as blood began dripping from his wrists.

“Then you stabbed yourself in the stomach,” I lifted my knee and rammed it into his still-prominent scar, “And then put the blame on…” Alik’s eyes widened as I paused and I knew he’d seen my left eye … the one that used to fuck him off when we were just a couple’a kids … the one with Kisa’s smudge of blue.

I lowered my mouth and said, “Me … Luka.”

Alik’s body froze then began to convulse. But it wasn’t in fear, no, this bastard was convulsing in outright rage, his face contorting to show the fucking demon he was coming loose.

“See, your papa had to cover for your little fuck up. Your attack on me. Because I had the only thing in the world your insane ass wanted: Kisa. When I was heading to the Motherland, to some fucking work camp Kisa’s papa ordered me to, your father organized for me to follow a different road. See, I was sent to a Georgian prison, the Gulag, we called it … a cover for a motherfucking death ring,” I flicked my chin to the crowd, “Just like this.”

Alik was as still as ice as I spoke, but I could see his pulse beating wildly on his neck.

“They pumped me with drugs, tortured me, filled me with so much shit that I didn’t know who the fuck I was, beat me until I forgot anything but how to kill … until I came back here and knew one thing, the only thing that’s ever occupied my mind … killing you.”

I watched Alik. He watched me back, until Alik pushed at my arms, his body packing a strength like no one I’d ever fought before.

Alik’s body jerked, twitched and then he fucking went insane. “You fucked Kisa!” Alik screamed, spit flying from his mouth, his arms and legs thrashing around like the crazy son of a bitch he was. “You fucked my woman! YOU! I should’ve killed the betraying bitch when I had the chance!”

The blood drained out of my face when his words finally sunk into my mind. Every inch of me tensed and I released Durov’s hands and rolling to the side, dragging him to his feet by his hair and slammed him into the walls of the cage. The crowd erupted, spectators rushing forward, slamming their hands against the metal of the cage calling for me to kill him.

Durov, the fucker, just smiled and wiped his fingers under my nose. “Smell those, Luka. They were just all up in that whore’s pussy.” His eyes lit and he said, “When I beat the shit out of her for fucking you…” his eyes stormed over, “When I took the bitch over and over until she couldn’t fucking move, until she passed the fuck out through pain … for fucking you.”

I tried to suck in a breath, but I couldn’t inhale. Kisa. Fuck. What had he done?

“Yeah, fucker. I saw you last night, fucking my woman, so I taught her a fucking lesson. If I’d known it was you, Luka fucking Tolstoi, I’d have slit both your throats in that cove you love so fucking much.”

Stepping back from the side of the cage, I clenched my fists together and Alik smiled, shrugging off his shoulders.

“So are we doing this shit, Luka?” he said, curling his lip like it amused him that I’d been trapped in a hell because of him for twelve damn years.

“This ends tonight.”

Alik smiled.

The crowd went wild.

And we both ran straight for each other with death in our eyes, my fist plunging straight into his stomach, blades first.

Chapter Twenty-One

Kisa

My mouth was dry.

My tongue was like sandpaper and my lips were swollen and split.

I cracked open an eye, my eyelid like lead. I took a glance around the strange room. It was dark. My breathing was too fast when I tried to remember where I was. And then my eyes landed on a cleared space at the far side of the room. A clear space covered in plastic … blood residue spattered up the walls.

My mind raced.

The beach.

Raze … my Luka.

Him remembering.

The gym.

Serge—

Serge!

A pain-filled sob escaped my mouth when I thought back to the night before.

Alik!

No!

Alik had found out about Raze and me. He’d threatened Serge, and Serge … no, Serge died trying to protect me. My sweet, protective Serge …

Tears dripped heavily from my eyes, sorrow overwhelming me and I forced myself to push up from the bed. Every part of me ached, my dress bunched around my waist, my skin covered with blood and bruises … He’d beaten me half to death.

Suddenly feeling nauseous, I scurried to the edge of the bed and puked all over the floor, my head thudding like a drum.

I could barely see a thing.

An incessant ticking made me wince, the tinny pings shattering my brain. I slowly rolled my head left, only to see an old clock on a battered bedside table. I stared at the face, reading the time, knowing it meant something to me.

I tried to focus on what that was, my cheek lowering to the soiled sheets. I watched the second hand tick around, my eyelids lowering with every stroke, when, suddenly, The Dungeon flashed into my head and I stilled.

The Dungeon Championship!

My chest heaved as I stared at the time. Alik and Luka were about to fight!

Forcing myself off the mattress, working hard to breathe calmly through the pain, I managed to get to my feet. Reaching down, sobbing through the excruciating aches, I slowly fixed my dress and spotted my shoes and jacket flung haphazardly on the floor.

It was a struggle, but when I had everything on, I stumbled to the door, using my hand on the wall to guide my steps and keep myself upright.

I had no idea where I was. I knew I was near the docks, but I had no idea where.

Luckily the door unlocked from the inside. Alik obviously planned that I wouldn’t be able to move through his punishment or else he would have bolted me in. But I needed to get to The Dungeon. I had no choice.

Opening the front door, the hot, salty breeze immediately smacked at my face and I cried out as it stung my wounds. Ducking my head, I kept walking forward, praying to find a phone. I walked and walked for what felt like an age, my body exhausted, the apex of my thighs burning with every single step.

That sensation almost had me crying again … Alik had raped me, beat me … My fiancé had nearly killed me.

All these years defending him, submitting to him, when I—when we all—knew Alik was disturbed … Alik was a psychopathic murderer. The fact that he was an heir to the great Russian Bratva could no longer disguise that truth.

And when my papa saw me like this—if Luka didn’t kill him in the cage—my papa would, and I was now resolved to that.

As long as Alik lived, I would never be free.

“Miss? Miss? Are you okay?”

I lifted my head to the side to see an older man walking toward me. He looked like a fisherman or something, or a worker on the docks.

“Miss, are you okay?” he asked again. Then his face paled when he took in the sight of me. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?”

“Do you have a phone?” I asked, my voice barely audible through my severely bruised throat.

“Miss, I need to get you an ambulance!”

“No!” I argued. “Just … do you have a phone I can borrow?”

The man nodded and pulled out his cell, handing it over. “Miss, I don’t feel right not calling you help.”

“This will be my help,” I said and weakly dialed Talia’s number.

She picked up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Talia?” I said as loudly as I could manage.

“Hello? Kisa? Is that you? I can barely hear you.”

“It’s me,” I replied. “I need you to come and get me.”

She paused. “Why aren’t you at the fight? It’s about to start!”

“Talia, please. I need you to come and get me … now, please—”

“Okay. Okay. Where are you?” she asked, and I could hear her moving, keys rattling in her hand.

I turned to the man. “Where are we?”

He told me the address and I relayed it to Talia.

“Kisa, what the fuck are you doing there?”

Pressing my hand to my forehead, I said, “I’ll explain everything when you get here.” My stomach rolled in nerves, “I … I have something big to tell you. But you need to hurry.”

“I’m on my way.”

*   *   *

A while later, headlights glared on the road to the dock, the bright beams blinding. Lifting my hand to my face, I watched the man who had helped me wave Talia forward.

The car came to a stop and Talia lurched out the door and headed straight for me, her hand over her mouth.

“Kisa…” she whispered, and I caught her brown eyes shining, filling with tears. “What’s happened to you?” she said and tried to reach out her hand, but she pulled it straight back for fear she would hurt me.

I pushed off the Sea-Can, and Talia caught me in her arms as I struggled to walk. “Alik … Alik did this … to me,” I said breathlessly as I made for Talia’s car.

She stopped. “Alik?” Her eyes widened. “Shit! I knew he wasn’t right, but I never thought he’d ever hurt you.”

“Talia, please, we have to go! I’ll … I’ll explain everything in the car.”

Talia led me past the old man, and I laid my hand on his arm and said, “Thank you.”

Talia helped me into the passenger seat, and I slumped back against the warm leather. It felt like paradise to my exhausted body.

In seconds, my best friend jumped into the car, and beneath the car’s interior light, I watched her truly take in my injuries. I hadn’t seen my reflection, but I could feel how messed up I was, how bad I must look.

“Kisa,” Talia said quietly and a sob escaped her mouth. I lifted my hand to land on her knee, and as if it snapped her to action, she turned on the car and began pulling away from the docks. “I’m taking you to Dr. Chazov. Then I’m calling Papa Kirill to tell him what Alik did to you. He’ll gut the fucker!”

“No!” I protested. Talia looked at me like I was crazy. “We need to go to the fight. To The Dungeon Championship.”

“Kisa! Have you lost your damn mind? You’re not looking good, sweetie. I’m worried you’re injured internally. Your face … your wrist! Shit, Kisa, I think it’s broken!”

“Talia, I need to go there.” I looked up at my best friend and took a deep breath. “We both need to go there.”

Talia’s eyebrows pulled down in confusion. “Kisa … you know I can’t go to those things. All that death … I can’t … I’ve never been able to face it after Luka.”

We both sat in silence until Talia asked, “Why did Alik snap? What the hell happened?”

I stared out the window as The Dungeon’s warehouse came into view in the distance. “I … I’ve been sleeping with Raze.”

The car swerved as Talia gasped in shock. “Kisa,” she said in disbelief. “What were you thinking? You never betray your man in this life! Especially Alik!”

Tears sprang to my eyes. “Raze isn’t just any man.”

“He’s a killer, Kisa! A killer you took off the streets and put in The Dungeon! What the fuck am I not getting here? You’ve known him all of a couple of weeks!”

“Talia, please. Come with me tonight and I’ll explain everything.”

Talia sighed and reached over to put her hand on top of mine. “Okay, sweetie. I’m just…” Her hands began to tremble. “You’re all I have left to remind me … to keep my brother’s memory…” Talia trailed off, unable to finish her sentence, and I almost fell apart. I wanted to tell her now that it was Luka that I was with, but she needed to see him herself. I needed to tell them all together.

I rolled my head to face her and flipped my palm.

Talia squeezed my hand.

“Through the back door, Tal. Take the back way so we don’t have to face the crowd.”

Nodding, Talia helped me walk round the back of The Dungeon. Max, my papa’s head Byki, widened his eyes as he stood vigil by the door and saw us approach.

“Miss Volkova! What the hell has happened? Does Mr. Durov know this has happened to you?” he asked in shock, reaching out to help Talia take my weight.

“Max, please help me up to my papa’s box,” I replied, bristling when Alik was his first concern.

Alik was feared. Feared by everyone.

Max glanced to Talia, and she nodded her agreement. Together, they helped me through the narrow hallway, my papa’s men standing back, appalled at my state.

The sudden roar of the crowd made me stumble, and I looked up to Max. “How long has the fight been on?”

“About five minutes, miss.”

My heart began to pound again, and I looked up the stairs to my papa’s private box. “Quickly, I need to speak with Papa.” I looked to Max. “Who’s in there with him?”

“Just your father and Mr. Tolstoi, miss.”

I exhaled in relief, and Max and Talia helped me up the stairs. As soon as we reached the top, Talia opened the door and helped me inside.

Papa and Ivan were watching the fight, the overfilled crowd visible through the large bulletproof glass window.

“Papa?” I said quietly, and my papa looked over at me, a smile still on his face as he watched the fight. But as soon as his blue eyes fixed on mine, all happiness drained from his face. My papa shot out of his chair and ran over to me, Ivan doing the same. They ushered me to a seat, my papa’s face reddened with anger.

“Who did this to you?” he asked curtly. “We need to get you to the doctor.”

“She won’t listen. She insisted on coming here. And … it was … Alik,” Talia answered from beside me. “He beat her, and I had to pick her up at a shack he owns on the docks.”

“ALIK!” my papa roared, rushing to his feet and glaring out the window.

I leaned forward and looked out onto the cage too. The floor was smeared with blood, Alik and Luka rolling around, grappling for dominance.

“Who’s winning?” I asked, and my father glanced to the cage and then back at me.

“Kisa—”

“Who?” I pressed.

“Raze gets the upper hand more than Alik, but right now, it’s anybody’s fight,” Ivan answered, and I pressed my hand on my head.

My heart raced with what I was about to do. “Is Abram cage side with Yiv?”

My papa looked at me like I was insane. “Yes, of course. Kisa! You need to start talking. Why did he do this to you? He’s a dead man!”

Taking a deep breath, never taking my eyes off the cage, watching my Luka face Alik, and trying not to cry, I said, “I have to tell you all something.”

I glanced to Talia and Ivan. “About … about Luka.”

Ivan paled and Talia’s eyes darted to her father. The pain flashed immediately across their faces. Talia then kneeled down and felt my head. “Kisa, does your head hurt? Are you confused? You’re worrying me.”

“No!” I snapped, but then I gripped Talia’s hand. My eyes filled with tears and my heart kept time with the quick stamping of the crowd’s feet below.

“Then what, Kisa?” Ivan said in a softer tone. “What of my boy?”

“He didn’t do it,” I blurted and immediately felt the atmosphere in the room change. I looked up at all three sets of eyes. All were looking at me like I’d gone insane.

Closing my eyes, I pictured Luka’s face and said, “I need to say something. Please don’t interrupt me. I need to get this out.”

Ivan, Talia and my papa nodded their heads.

“Luka didn’t kill Rodion all those years ago. Alik set him up. They were at the falls. Something happened and Alik stabbed Rodion and then stabbed himself to make it look like Luka was guilty.”

I caught Talia sucking in a sharp breath, but I kept my eyes shut.

“Abram had told Alik he had to kill Rodion so he would be next in line, that Rodion wasn’t strong enough to lead when they were older. And Alik placed the blame on Luka because…” I cleared my throat and felt the pit of guilt that lay with in me expand. “Because he wanted me to himself … and believed I would never choose him with Luka still around. He was right. I never would have given up Luka for anything. You all know that.

“Abram didn’t plan for Alik to harm Luka. Why would he? Alik would be next in line because of where Abram stood in the Bratva, but he had to protect his son. He couldn’t let you find out what Alik had done. It would jeopardize everything he’d planned … planned under your noses.”

The room was still silent, so I continued. “When Papa sent Luka away, Abram ordered for the Georgian Mafia to intercept the transport. They burned the bus, put bodies in place of the boys en route to Russia, and took them to Alaska instead.”

“What … what was in Alaska?” Talia’s tiny voice asked.

Trying to stop my bottom lip from quivering, I said, “An underground prison, nicknamed the Gulag, ran by the Georgians. A gambling ring just like this, where their prisoners are forced to fight to the death. They torture them, force them to take drugs, build them up to a frightening size. They make them into killers, drug them and torture them so badly that they block out their past and any memories they had before the Gulag. Any memories. All memories.”

Tears flooded my cheeks and my chest grew tight.

“And what happened to my boy?” Ivan asked, and I finally opened my eyes. “Did he die? Did he die in the Gulag ring? Did my boy die?” Ivan’s voice cracked, and when I cast a glance at Talia, she appeared numb with shock, her hand cool on mine.

“No,” I whispered. “He became a champion, unrivaled … He survived, Ivan. There was an escape, and he fled, having no other memories but that of New York … He knew he had to come back to Brooklyn.” I inhaled, watching as Luka and Alik circled one another around the cage, praying Luka would be victorious. “And his need for revenge on Alik.”

My papa moved my hair back from my face. “How do you know all this, Kisa? Who told you? How can you be sure it’s all true? This accusation against Abram is serious. You know it means death for his betrayal if you are correct, Kisa.”

I nodded my head. “I know it’s true … because…” I steeled my nerves, took a deep breath, and confessed, “Because Luka found me again. We found each other again, and he told me so himself.”

Talia stood abruptly. “He’s … he’s here? In New York? My brother is back?”

I nodded.

“I don’t … I don’t believe it … Why didn’t he come to us? Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” she cried.

Another tear fell. “He doesn’t remember you, Tal. He barely remembers me, just fragments of his past. He only remembered all that Alik did to him when he was with me last night. But then I dropped Luka off at the gym. Alik had followed us.” I looked to my papa. “That’s why he attacked me, Papa.” I dipped my eyes. “I was unfaithful to Alik with Luka, and Alik found out. He punished me. He said I betrayed him, but he has no idea it was with Luka. He doesn’t even know Luka is alive, that he’s back. Abram didn’t tell him he never died.”

My father jumped to his feet and threw his head back in anger.

Ivan stepped forward with urgency. “Kisa? Where’s my boy? Where’s Luka now? I need to see him!”

I got to my feet as fast as I could and pressed my non-injured hand against the glass. “He’s in the cage.” Ivan’s eyes lit with confusion, and everybody moved to the glass. “Ivan, Luka is Raze, our newest fighter … and he’s finally getting his revenge.”

“No!” Talia cried.

My papa moved quickly, and I heard him order Max, “The minute the fight is done, no matter the outcome, you seize Abram.”

“He doesn’t look anything like I always pictured he would,” Ivan said, and I could see water glistening in his eyes. “He’s too big, scarred … all those tattoos. He … He looks like an animal in that cage, a killer.”

“They hurt him, Ivan, for years in that Gulag. They hurt him. But Luka’s still in there. He’s still there underneath. We just have to bring him back.”

Talia’s sobs came thick and fast. “What if he doesn’t win? What if Alik kills him for real this time?”

Ivan put his arm around Talia’s shoulders. “He has to, Talia. God wouldn’t be so cruel to make us lose him twice.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

RAZE

I was sliced. I was stabbed. I was bleeding.

But so was Durov. He was sliced more. Stabbed more. Bleeding more.

Every part of my body ached with exhaustion, but Alik was lagging too. His body worse than mine, and the slash across the gut from my first strike was leaking so much blood that he wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Come on!” Alik hissed at me. “Let’s finish this shit.” Alik’s words were slurred. I stared at his face and just felt numb.

“Alik, get it the fuck together!” I glanced to the side of the cage to the man who was shouting and instantly had a flashback.

Alik’s papa; Abram Durov.

My lip curled in anger and I looked across the crowd, the men chanting at me to kill Durov. They all knew I had the upper hand. They wanted me to spill blood.

And then movement from higher up caught my attention, and my gaze immediately slammed on a woman stood behind a huge glass window. She was badly beaten. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, something making me stare … and then my heart fell.

Kisa.

Whipping my head to look at Alik, he had followed my gaze and his eyes bugged when he saw Kisa stood at the glass.

Without pause, I ran at Alik and swept his legs with my feet. He fell to the ground, but used the movement to stab his dagger straight into my thigh.

Roaring out in pain, I turned, flipping his body, twisted my leg around his and locked him a chokehold, his arms unable to strike.

“You did that to her?” I growled and I saw Alik smirk as looked down. I tightened my hold, his face growing red.

“I’m going to make her pay,” he threatened. “When I kill you, she’ll be sorry. I’m going to break her.” And that was enough to break me. He’d threatened my Kisa.

I was done.

Done with it all.

Using my legs to roll Alik, I straddled his waist and let the pent up aggression I’d been holding for years fill my muscles. Alik lifted his dagger and sunk the blade into my calf, but I clenched my fists and began punching at his face, the spikes from my knuckledusters slicing at his skin, mangling his features.

Screaming out in rage, I couldn’t stop, fueled even further by the volume of the bloodthirsty crowd. Hands were shaking the wire of the cage, testing its strength. Abram was screaming for the fight to be stopped, but I was caught in the bloodlust. Alik’s breathing slowed, his body jerked and my fists froze in the air as I started to see him dying underneath me.

I expected relief. I expected to feel whole again … but seeing him breathing his last made me feel nothing … absolutely nothing …

“Do it,” Alik whispered, his eyes, although losing life, still taunting, still as fucking as crazed as they had always been.

Glancing up to Kisa at the window, I could see tears streaming down her cheeks and I knew I had to save her. I had to protect her.

She was mine. I wanted to have her again.

I wanted to be me again …

Tightening my fists, I lifted them above my head, turned them inward and, on a final shout, ran my bladed fists right into his chest … and straight into his heart.

Alik gurgled on his own blood, his eyes blazing fire, until they stilled and glazed over …

Durov was dead.

Removing my fists, I slumped my shoulders, my heart racing too fast and my breath coming too hard.

The crowd exploded, the volume almost deafening. The cage began to rock and I saw the Byki pushing through the crowd, making a pathway, butting men with their guns and firing warning shots into the air.

The place was lifting, the atmosphere charged with the excitement of the crowd. I’d killed the reining champion.

A lot of money had just been lost.

And I felt none of it, just stayed staring at his corpse. The sure win had just been slaughtered.

Durov’s still-warm body was bleeding out as memories flooded my mind like a torrent. Me as a child, Rodion … and Kisa … my Kisa. Always with me, stroking my hair, kissing me, reading to me …

Suddenly, the cage door flew open and Abram pounded in, dropping to his knees to look at his son dead on the floor, shock and pain etched all over his face. A path suddenly appeared through the crowd, another man leading the way.

Jumping off Alik’s body, I got to my feet, legs apart and fists clenched bracing for the punishment for killing their number one fighter … the Bratva heir. I’d fight my way out of here if I had to, slaughter them all. And I’d be taking Kisa with me.

A man with long gray hair entered the cage, two Byki following behind, who ran straight to Abram and wrenched him up off the floor. Abram was too numb to fight, still staring at his slain son on the cage floor.

As he looked at his son, he appeared dead too.

The man with gray hair approached me, his eyes assessing. Every muscle tensed to strike, my head lowered and I clicked my fingers, reforming them back into fists.

The man held out his hands, placating, and confusion trembled through my body. My head tilted to the side and my eyes narrowed.

The man studied me. I was dripping in blood and fucking ready to fight anyone who got between Kisa and me, when he suddenly dropped to his knees, water spilling from his eyes.

I reared back in confusion.

“Papa!” another female cried and, unable to take her hand from her mouth, tears flooding her face, she dropped beside the man and they both looked up and stared at me.

My body grew hot and I felt sweat bead on my forehead. I couldn’t stop staring at the blond girl and gray man, my chest heaving and pain building at the back of my head.

Looking around The Dungeon, I could see the Byki clearing the crowd, pushing them into the hallway, deserting the dank basement. A man standing at the back pulled my attention: Viktor. I cast him a curt nod in thanks, and with a lift of his hat, he disappeared into the crowd.

For once the man looked … happy?

Two people began to slowly approach the cage, and my heart fell when I saw one of them was Kisa.

“Kisa,” I whispered, as her father, the Pakhan, helped her up the stairs to the cage. Kisa staggered in, her face black and blue, the sight making me shake with rage.

Tears were streaming down her face, but her eyes never left mine.

“Kisa!” I bellowed and went to move toward her, when the man on his knees pushed out his hand.

“Wait!” he called, catching my arm in his grip.

Snarling, I ripped my arm back and raised my spiked fists to strike.

“No!” Kisa cried and staggered over to me, pushing at my chest. “Stop! Please, Luka, stop!”

Pausing, I looked into Kisa’s swollen eyes and she shook her head. Something inside told me to trust her and lower my fist. Ripping off my knuckledusters and casting them to the floor, I ran my finger down her cheek.

“He … he hurt you,” I stated, my voice broken.

Kisa nuzzled into my palm, so lightly that her skin almost didn’t touch my flesh. She was in pain. This caused me to feel more rage.

“It’s over now, Luka,” Kisa whispered and pulled me closer with one hand, her other hand clutched over her waist, her wrist seeming limp.

“He broke your wrist?”

Kisa nodded, tears streaming, but repeated. “It’s over now. He’s gone. I’m free … you’re free…” Her voice broke and I knew it was all too much for her. But she tried to smile at me. “You did it, baby. You got your revenge.”

I exhaled and instantly felt drained, but when movement from the floor caught my eyes, I wrapped my arm around Kisa and pulled her back against me in protection. My body crouched and braced for any danger.

The gray man got to his feet along with the other woman, holding out their palms and Kisa gripped my arm. “Luka. Listen to me.”

My eyes darted all around the cage, assessing, taking note of who was here: Kisa’s papa, Abram, the Byki, the gray man and the woman … and they were all looking at me like they’d seen a ghost. Staring into my eyes. I immediately lowered my head.

Kisa moved around me and I tried to push her back.

“No, Luka. Baby, please look at me.”

I hesitated, but eventually flickered my attention to her and her eyes which were glistening. She ran her hand through my hair and I instantly relaxed some. “No one here is going to hurt you.” She ran a fingertip underneath my left eye. “You can look at them. They can see you. They can see the real you. You’re safe.”

I searched the faces of everyone in the cage again, and my eyes kept fixing on the man with gray hair and the woman with brown eyes. A pain throbbed in my temple when I looked at them. But I fought it. I took Viktor’s advice and tried to let everything come to me.

“Luka, I need you to remember something,” Kisa said softly. Her tone was strange, like she was preparing me for something big.

I frowned and stared into Kisa’s blue eyes, my stomach tensing. “I can’t,” I replied. “I can’t remember anything else. I’ve tried.”

Kisa nodded in understanding, her eyes wincing at the movement. “You’re hurt.”

“It doesn’t matter about me right now. Lyubov moya, I need you to remember.”

“What? What do I need to remember?” I asked, feeling agitated, my eyes blinking as the pain in my temples grew stronger.

“You. Where you came from. Who your parents are … your family…” Kisa clutched her hand in mine and squeezed.

The gray man cleared his throat and he was staring at me again. I closed my eyes trying to break through the empty block in my mind, but all it caused was more pain.

I was done with the fucking pain!

“I don’t … I don’t remember, solnyshko!” I shouted out, when the gray man stepped forward, the blond woman openly sobbing.

“Do you … do you remember me, son?”

I looked to Kisa whose grip had tightened on my hand and she nodded at me in encouragement. I held onto Kisa like a lifeline and my pulse began to race.

The gray man never took his eyes from mine. And images danced in front of my eyes. My eyes widened and I searched the man’s face more. It was him … it was him.

I was older, a teen, and I was in a car with a man. We were driving to a meeting. It was my first meeting with the Bratva—

“I was a part of the Bratva,” I whispered and looked to Kisa. She nodded and pressed her broken lips to my cut up hand. Her touch calmed me down.

“Keep going, Luka. Keep going.” I nodded and squeezed my eyes back shut.

I was a child. It was Christmas. There was a tree, presents. I was sitting on a couch, and a man gave me a gift. A man with brown eyes and light hair … a man with the gray man’s face …

“Merry Christmas, son,” the man had said.

“Thank you, papa,” I had replied.

I gasped for breath and stumbled back, my back hitting the side of the cage. I stared at the gray haired man and couldn’t seem to breathe.

The man stepped forward again. “Luka? Do you … Do you remem—”

“You’re … my papa?” I questioned and relief spread on the man’s face. He nodded his head unable to speak. “You’re my papa. Ivan Tolstoi,” I said again and tensed as he lifted a hand and put it on my shoulder.

“My son,” he rasped out and tears fell down his face. “My Luka … you have returned to us.”

My heart was beating erratically, and I found myself stepping forward as my papa took me into his arms. I froze at first, refusing to let go of Kisa, but then as more and more memories returned to me, I found myself sagging in his arms.

I was huge compared to him, but I felt like a child again, in his arms.

A sobbing over his shoulder made me look up and the blond woman was watching me and my father, an expression of happiness on her face. A picture of a young girl sat beside me at a dinner table annoyingly stabbing me with her fork in my leg played in my head. Then that Christmas scene from before deepened and I saw her sitting next to me at the tree, her arm around my waist.

My papa must have felt me freeze, for he moved back and saw me staring at the woman. Kisa’s hand slipped from mine. And I walked forward and saw the woman was shivering.

“You’re my sister,” I stated and the woman tentatively nodded her head. “Tal … Tal…” I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to remember her name. A hand wrapped around mine and the woman said, “Talia. I’m your sister Talia.”

“Talia,” I said, the name sounding familiar, right, “My … sister.”

Talia cried and threw her arms around my waist. I tensed at the contact, fighting the urge to throw her off and attack. I didn’t know what to do. “You’re alive,” she sobbed. “I have you back. I have my brother back.”

Glancing at Kisa, I could see her hugging her father. She was happy for me, her blue eyes bright.

Talia pulled back and I stumbled back toward Kisa and held out my hand. “Kisa,” I said, desperately needing her close. It was all too much. My mind and body were exhausted and she was all I really knew. But as I held out my hand, the Pakhan—Kirill … his name was Kirill—took it and pulled me forward.

I braced my body again, but he said, “I never knew, Luka. I never knew … I believed you had killed my son and that is my sin to bear. I was so saddened that I didn’t suspect Abram or Alik. Abram was my brother in this life, I would never suspect he’d do such a thing. You were innocent and paid for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Kirill looked at Kisa. “And my action took you from her. My wife would be spinning in her grave if she knew that I had separated the two of you unnecessarily,” he dropped his head, “and gave her over to a lesser man … a sick man … a murderer.”

I stared at the pakhan and could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Papa!” Kisa cried, but Kirill held up his hand.

“It’s the truth.” Kirill looked over my head and in the direction of Abram and pulled out his gun. He walked to my father and handed the gun to him.

“It’s your vengeance to kill him, Ivan.”

My father straightened his shoulders and a cold look spread on his face. “He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun, handing it to Kirill. “It’s both our kill. He ordered for Alik to kill Rodion.”

A sense if familiarity filled me. These were Bratva men. These were men that shouldn’t be fucked with. This was my family … this was where I belonged.

My father walked to Abram, Kirill followed behind. Abram was still staring at his son dead on the floor. My father took off his coat, wearing a black suit underneath, and in one strike, backhanded Abram across the face. Abram looked like he didn’t even notice it.

Kirill and my father lifted their guns. No words were spoken. And after a few tense seconds they both fired shots into Abram’s chest and he slumped to the ground next to his dead son.

Kisa wrapped herself in my arms and I kissed her head, gripping her tight.

My father came toward me and asked, “Luka? Do you remember your mama?”

My heart beat wildly and my muscles tensed, but now that the key to my past was opened, a dark-haired woman’s face came into view and I exhaled like I’d just ran for hours.

Kisa squeezed my waist and lifted her head. “She’ll be so happy. She never gave up the belief that you were innocent. She knew you couldn’t have done it. She always believed in your innocence.”

Nerves suddenly racked my body and I leaned down and pressed my forehead against Kisa’s. “But I’m not the Luka she knew. I’m a monster, a murderer. This version of her son isn’t innocent.”

“You are our Luka. You are our son,” my father said sternly from beside me.

“Kisa, we need to get you home so Dr. Chazov can see you,” Kirill said moving behind Kisa. “You need a cast on that wrist. You need stitches, and medication.”

Kisa reluctantly nodded and put her hand in my cheek. I hadn’t noticed how pale she was, how in pain. “You’ll be fine, Luka. I’ll come straight to your parent’s house afterward. You need to see a doctor too. You’re hurt, bleeding.”

“No,” I said aggressively. “I go with you. I see your doctor.”

“Luka—”

“No! Kisa, solnyshko. I go with you,” I bent down to whisper at her ear, “I need you with me. I only feel at home with you. I don’t … I don’t know these people like I know you. You’re my now, they’re still my past.” I stared at her helplessly. “I can’t be without you. I need you.” I swallowed and fought to breathe, as I admitted, “I have fear in my heart … I am fearful of all of this.”

Kisa’s eyes saddened and I knew everyone around us had heard me. Kisa took my hand and turned to my father and Talia while I kept my head low.

“I’ll go see the doctor with Luka, then we’ll come to you. You’ll have time to prepare mama Tolstoi.”

I kept my eyes lowered like a coward. But I’d felt more in the last five minutes than I had in my whole life and it was too much.

A hand placed on my bicep and I looked up to see my father. “It’s okay, Luka. Go with Kisa. Get fixed up. We’ll see you soon … son.”

I nodded, feeling that word settle in my heart and wrapped my hand over Kisa’a shoulders, leading her from the cage. In the holding room, we didn’t speak, but I could feel her watching me. I threw on my old familiar gray sweatshirt, the one I’d worn since the Gulag and followed Kisa to a back door. Keeping close to the other half of my heart and, for the first time ever, keeping my hood pulled back.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Kisa

“Are you ready, lyubov moya?”

I turned to Luka, and he was stock still, staring at his mama and papa’s brownstone with an anxious look on his face.

I squeezed his hand and Luka finally looked down at me. He blinked, then blinked again. A completely lost look covered his face.

“I don’t know,” he answered in a husky voice. “I’m remembering so much, but none of it is making sense. I just get flashbacks of broken memories. None of them are in order. Just glimpses of what my life used to be like.”

He pointed to the brownstone that was as much a home to me as it was him. “Like this house. I remember sitting on these steps with you. I remember being in my bedroom, I think … with you.” Luka moved to stand in front of me and lifted my hand, the one free of a cast, and pressed it to his chest. “Every memory I seem to have has you in it.” His head was down, unable to meet my eyes.

A lump clogged my throat at how scared and lost he seemed right now. He had only a few hours ago killed the man that ruined his life. I think that goal drove him for so long that now without it, he had no idea what to do next.

The rabid killer of the cage was gone, a lost boy taking his place.

I moved forward and lifted his head with my finger under his chin. When Luka’s gaze met mine, those brown eyes, the left with a smudge of my blue, my heart soared. “That’s because we were never apart. Since we were kids, we were one. It has always been that way. We found a way back to each other, my love.”

Luka’s eyes bored into mine, a flare of possession in their glare. “And will always be that way,” he said assertively. “I’m never losing you again.”

Tears filled my eyes. “And will always be that way.”

The door of his parents’ home opened and Papa Ivan walked out onto the steps. I held up my hand sporting the cast, and Ivan smiled sadly at me.

Luka had frozen, his expressive eyes now showing every bit of his apprehension.

“Let’s go, baby,” I whispered, just for him to hear.

I pulled on Luka’s hand and led him toward the house. He had showered back at my house after we had both seen Dr. Chazov, both now patched up. One of my papa’s men had brought him some blue jeans and a white shirt.

He looked so stunning that I almost couldn’t take it. His huge muscles tested the material of both his jeans and shirt, his defined traps pronounced and his blond hair messy in the most attractive way.

I wanted him more than ever.

Luka gripped my hand, his hold like a vise as we ascended the stairs. Ivan embraced me, then awkwardly hugged his son, and I couldn’t stop the tears tumbling from my eyes.

“Your mama is desperate to see you again, son. She—” Ivan’s voice broke. “She won’t believe it until she has you in her arms. She’s climbing the walls with excitement.”

Ivan led us into the foyer, and I could feel the tension pulsing from Luka, his hand rigid in mine. With a jerk of my arm, he pulled me into his chest, almost like he was using me as a shield as we walked into the living room. Talia was sitting on a chair, bouncing her leg in nerves and chewing on her thumbnail.

Mama Tolstoi paced in front of the marble fireplace, and when she saw us enter the room, she froze and stared.

I felt Luka stiffen behind me, and when I glanced up, his eyes were clenched, his head tilted to the side, and his cut full lips were pursed.

He remembered her. I now knew what his expression looked like when a memory fixed itself in place. My chest filled with happiness. He remembered his mama.

A sob escaped Mama Tolstoi’s mouth and she reached behind her to hold on to the mantel to keep upright. “Luka? Luka … is it you…?”

Luka’s hand fell from mine and he stepped round me. “M-Mama?”

Luka’s mama rushed forward upon hearing him speak and she held him in her outstretched arms. “Luka. It’s you … my son … my boy…”

“Yes.” Luka exhaled, and his mama wrapped her arms around his waist, her small frame tiny next to his large, broad heavily-muscled body.

“You’ve come home,” she cried. “You’ve come home to us … I knew you were out there. I could feel in my heart that you were still alive.” She pulled back and lay her hand on his stubbled cheek, standing on her tip-toes to do so. “My son … my son…”

Feeling like I was an intruder in the room, I backed out into the hallway as mother and son were reunited and walked through to the kitchen and out into the backyard. As soon as the fresh air hit my face, I immediately felt better.

Walking to a white bench in the small yard, I slumped down and closed my eyes, drawing in a long, deep breath.

I couldn’t believe everything that had happened. It all seemed so unreal. Like some dream I was about to wake up from.

Feeling the gravity of everything that had gone down of late—finding out Luka was alive, that Alik was responsible, the pain Luka had been put through over the years, and now Alik dead and Luka back in my arms—all I could do was submit to conflicted feelings of grief and joy.

Dropping my head into my hands, I just let it all go, my emotions pouring out of me through my tears.

“Kisa?”

Startled, I lifted my head, frantically wiping at my bruised face with my good hand and swallowed back my sobs. “Talia, you scared me,” I said, clearing my throat as she sat beside me, her stare fixing on the night sky.

Without a word, Talia’s hand reached out and held mine. I closed my eyes, just breathing in the Brooklyn summer air, when she whispered, “Thank you.”

Snapping my eyes open, I looked to Talia’s face that, I noticed, was changed, more relaxed. My chest tightened when I realized that for years, since Luka had “died,” this was the first time she seemed truly at ease.

How had I not noticed before?

“Tal—”

“I would never have believed you if you had told me you suspected … Raze … of being my brother. I wouldn’t have believed it for a second. Even if I’d seen him with my own two eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him. He’s so big, so aggressive looking.” Talia sniffed. “Kisa, I wouldn’t have recognized my own brother.”

“He’s changed, Tal. He doesn’t look the same,” I said, trying to be a comfort. “And he would always wear a hooded sweatshirt with the hood over his eyes. I think somehow he knew that people would know him when they saw his left eye. He didn’t know that though. He doesn’t know much. He needs to learn life all over again.” I squeezed Talia’s hand. “Nobody would have recognized him.”

She turned to me. “Nobody but you. You felt drawn to him, from the night he saved you in that alley. You pursued him and realized who he was. You brought him back. You never gave up. Saw through the bulk, the tattoos and scars. You saw it was him.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but I couldn’t speak, my emotions too high. So we just sat there, breathing properly for the first time in years.

“You saved him,” she then whispered and holding each other’s hands just that little bit tighter, I knew all our lives had changed for the better tonight.

After a while, I got up from the bench and entered the house. Mama Tolstoi was in the kitchen. As soon as I entered, her eyes fell upon my limping, beaten body.

“Kisa … my daughter,” she said quietly, holding out her hand for me to take, before wrapping me in her arms.

“It’s okay, Mama. Everything will now be okay.”

She pulled me into her chest and murmured, “God put a part of my son’s soul within you so when he lost his way, he would follow his feet and find his way back you. You’re the other half of his soul. You’re his savior … you’re all our saviors.”

Fighting back even more tears, I pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek. There were no words.

“Your mama will be rejoicing in heaven.”

“Mama…” I said, fighting a lump in my throat.

“Shh … all is well now. No need to fill it with words or explanations. Everything is as it should be. The past is in the past. Follow the newly lit path to the future. My son has returned, the man who took him away is dead and you love him with every part of your being. What more could I ever want?”

Drinking in those words, I smiled in pure joy and asked, “Where—”

“In his old room,” Mama Tolstoi interrupted.

Still smiling, I laid another kiss to her cheek and walked through the living room and up the stairs, hearing Mama Tolstoi singing for the first time in years.

Papa Ivan was in his office at his desk, and for a moment, I could almost pretend the last twelve years hadn’t happened. He was on the phone and I frowned when I heard him discussing the Gulag … discussing number 362.

“I want to know his name, where he was from and the names of the men that put him in that place.” There was a voice coming through the other end of the phone, but it stopped when Ivan slapped the desk and said, “I’ll pay whatever I need to pay, money’s no object, this is for my son! Find the men responsible and have them killed.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and sorrow filled my stomach. Luka was getting revenge for 362, his friend … on the men that falsely accused him.

Luka wanted to do this for his only friend. It almost broke me.

Opening the door to Luka’s old room, I entered to see him slumped on his old narrow bed, his head downcast. He looked huge sitting on his faded blue comforter. My stomach flipped. It was surreal seeing him now, older, in this room.

“Luka?”

Luka lifted his head and his brown eyes were shining. Shutting the door behind me, I walked to the bed. I went to sit beside him, but before I could, Luka carefully scooped me up in his large arms and sat me on his lap, tucking his head into my neck, breathing in my scent.

It made me smile how this was one trait he hadn’t let go of.

I stroked his hair and pressed a long kiss to his head. “Are you okay, baby?”

He shook his head indicating ‘no’, and I held him tighter. I couldn’t imagine the turmoil he was going through right now. The shock of being back here. The shock of realizing that he wasn’t alone in the world. Quite the opposite in fact.

He was loved. He was loved so damn much.

“It will all be okay, you know,” I soothed.

Luka lifted his head and his brown eyes met mine. “I don’t know what to do now. I’ve spent so long with one goal, one drive, and now it is done with.” His eyebrows pulled down. “What now, solnyshko? What do I do now? What if I can’t do anything else but kill?”

I cupped his cheeks and laid my forehead against his. “You learn how to live again. And I’ll be there every step of the way with you.”

Luka’s eyes filled with tears and a single drop fell down his scarred face … and it was quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing I’d ever seen.

“Baby, don’t cry,” I said, my throat clogged. “Everything is okay. I love you, I love you so much.”

Luka’s eyes met mine, his long dark lashes wet and he lifted a hand to lay over mine on his cheek. “I’m free … I’m finally free … I can’t … I can’t…”

Heart exploding in my chest at the relief on his face, I held my soul mate as hard as I could against my chest.

Moving my mouth to his ear, I asked, “Can I have you?”

Luka stilled for a moment. Then I felt a decade’s worth of pain and loss flee his body. “You can have me, solnyshko. You can have all of me. You always have, and you always will.”

Epilogue

Six months later …

“Lyubov moya…” I moaned as Luka moved within me. I raked at his strong back, my head tilted as he kissed and nipped at my throat.

“Solnyshko,” Luka groaned, his hips picking up speed, his cock like steel, swelling within me the closer we came to release.

Our breathing came quick, and my hands moved to fist his hair. Luka stretched out his arms and gripped the iron of the headboard, thrusting powerfully inside me, making me lose control.

“Baby!” I cried, feeling my orgasm approach, clenching my legs around his waist. Luka’s head lifted to press his mouth to mine. Our tongues instantly clashed, wild and erratic.

“Kisa … Kisa…” Luka roared, breaking from my lips as his neck tensed, his muscles cording as he came, taking me over the edge with him.

Luka jerked inside me, then collapsed on my chest, his skin damp from hours and hours of lovemaking.

Yesterday we got married.

Finally. In our childhood church, by Father Kruschev.

I was officially Luka’s wife, and there was no one happier on Earth than I was right now, right at this second.

I ran my hand through Luka’s blond messy hair as he caught his breath. Lifting his head, Luka pressed a long, lazy kiss to my lips and said, “I love you, solnyshko.”

Running my finger down his cheek, I replied, “I love you too.”

Smiling shyly, Luka, after six months of never spending a day apart, still found his freedom impossible to get used to and he felt undeserving of my unconditional love for him.

Memories of his past in the Gulag gave him nightmares and he would wake up in cold sweats, the faces of the hundreds of men and boys he was forced to kill haunting his sleep. The nightmares got so bad, Luka refused to sleep those first nights. I couldn’t stand seeing it, so I defied my papa and ignored orthodox tradition. The very next night I slept next to Luka in his childhood bed, and he never woke up once.

He needed me to sleep.

I kept his nightmares away.

We’d never spent a day apart since.

Moving his face to mine again, I ensured our eyes met and said, “I have always and will always love you, all my life.”

Luka awarded me with a blinding smile and kissed down my neck, down my chest, and down to my belly, where he peppered me with kisses.

Glancing up at me with hope in his eyes, he asked, “You think you’re pregnant yet?”

Laughing, I held on to his arms and pulled him back up over me. “We got married yesterday, Luka.”

His face fell into a serious expression. “I want a child with you.”

“I know you do, lyubov moya. And it’ll happen. Nothing will take me away from you again.” I ran my finger over his wedding ring. “We’re married now. Together forever, remember?”

He exhaled through his nose and nodded, slumping beside me, and laid his head over my naked chest. He nuzzled his head into my breast, and I smiled, knowing what that small action meant.

I began running my fingers through Luka’s messy sandy hair, loving the feel of his arms tightening around mine. He loved me stroking at his hair. Said it made him feel like the last twelve years had never happened.

It broke my heart because he wasn’t the Luka from our childhood.

He was damaged.

Jaded.

Tormented by his past.

Permanently changed … but he was the man I loved now, the man who was always my protector. Now he was even more so. And although life was hard for him now, with me, he was at peace.

We were each other’s peace.

“Read to me,” Luka murmured, completely relaxed in my arms. Smiling, I reached out for our favorite old book that was worn and aged through years of overuse. I had never thrown it away.

Maybe I always knew I would need it again someday.

“You ready, lyubov moya?” I asked.

“Mmm…” he murmured in reply. “Read to me.” He reached up and held my free hand in his.

I smiled.

I was so unbelievably happy as we laid here in our new bed in our new home, our new brownstone, three doors down from his parents’ home.

“They were always meant to be together, one boy and one girl, two hearts split into two, sent to far-off lands on their own. For God wanted to see if true love could be tested. He wanted to see if two halves of one soul could find each other again, even against the odds. Years would pass. They would both be hurt. They would both be sad, but one day, when they least expected it, they would stumble into each other’s paths. The question is: would they recognize each other’s soul? And would they find their way back to love…?”

Looking down at Luka, his eyes closing as he traced his finger over my belly, a small contented smile on his lips, I knew he was praying I was pregnant.

I was too.

“You recognized mine,” he murmured sleepily, slowly opening his eyes. I stopped reading and lowered the book. “You recognized my soul when I was lost.”

Tears building, I replied, “I did, baby.”

“And you brought me back to you,” he finished and pressed a kiss to my stomach.

I shook my head. “Now that’s where you’re wrong.”

Luka raised his head, tilted it to the side, and pursed his lips in confusion. My heart flipped at the action, and, releasing his hand, I stroked my thumb along his stubbled cheeks. Taking his hand again, I pressed it against my heart.

“I couldn’t bring you back because you never ever left. Not in here.” I patted my chest where my heart was.

Luka smiled and laid his head back down. Closing his eyes, he picked up my hand and placed it back in his hair, nudging me to stroke him again.

My heart melted as my fingers began to move back and forth through the silky blond strands. I picked up the book and started where I left off …

“Their love story began on the day she was born…”

RAZE

Bonus Scene

Luka and Kisa’s Wedding

Kisa

It wasn’t like I’d always dreamed it would be. It wasn’t the picturesque fairytale wedding I’d pictured as a child … but that didn’t make it any less perfect.

My wedding. The day I’d been waiting for all my life. The day I showed devotion to my soul mate … the man I was destined to love for eternity, in front of God and our families.

My heart fluttered, and butterflies danced in my stomach with the surreal acknowledgement that today I become Mrs. Tolstoi.

Mrs. Luka Tolstoi …

As I closed my eyes and savored that sound in my head, a slow smile spread on my lips. Taking my one true love’s name was my ultimate wish, a name I would forever wear with pride.…

Kisa-Anna Tolstoi …

I knew that for most, personal ambitions were filled with quests for success in their chosen fields of work, with striving to become a “someone” in this world, achieving that “something” that cemented them in the history books forever as a legend. But for me, I had only ever had one goal, one wish that I prayed would manifest into reality. That I would marry the boy who had stolen my heart from birth. The man that I’d thought I’d lost for twelve years, grieved for in every waking hour and accepted I had lost forever, only to have him thrust back into my life like a thunderstorm, his presence and fire bringing with him an awakening, rescuing me from the suffocating darkness my world had become.

He was it for me … lyubov moya… my love.

Wiping away a stray tear that had escaped my eye, I stared at my reflection, and had to take a slow and controlled deep breath. My hands were subtly shaking as they lay by my side, my blue eyes were glittering brightly under the soft swoop of brown eye shadow and the gentle dusting of black mascara.

It was happening.

It was all really happening … my wish fulfilled.…

I was dressed in a white fitted lace slim-line Vera Wang gown my father had had custom-made—only the best for the only child of the New York City Russian Bratva Pakhan. My long brown hair was swept up in a low bun, a diamond-encrusted Tiffany’s hair ornament—another gift from my father—curling delicately around my up-do.

I looked every inch the perfect Bratva Princess.

A double knock rapped on my bedroom door. “Come in,” I shouted, never taking my eyes from my reflection. The door creaked open and heavy assured footsteps approached from behind. My papa came into view, looking so handsome in his black tailored tuxedo, his salt-and-pepper hair pristinely combed back from his stern Eastern European face.

“Kisa…” my papa murmured as I met his eyes in the mirror’s glass. I watched, frozen in shock, as my emotionally cold and guarded papa’s eyes filled with tears and his voice hitched in his throat. “You look … you look beautiful, Kisa … like an angel.…”

“Papa,” I whispered, emotion stealing my words and turned to face him. Reaching down, I took his rough hand within mine and lifted my other hand to wipe away the tears tumbling down his cheeks. “I love you, Papa,” I added and his head bowed.

He inhaled a long breath and his hand squeezed mine tighter. “Your mama … she would have loved to have seen you today … like this … marrying your Luka … finally … after everything you’ve both been through.…”

My stomach clenched. “Papa…” I cried and wrapped my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his broad chest. Papa’s hand cupped the back of my head, being careful not to mess up my hair.

“You’re a good daughter, Kisa,” he rasped out and I cast a watery smile against his black jacket, “A good girl who’s only ever done her duty. Everything I’ve ever asked of you. I … I love you, my girl.” My papa wasn’t good with affection, and I knew it had taken him a great deal to express that sentiment. He was a formidable Pakhan—tough, fair, always intimidating. But I knew I was his weakness, his one area of vulnerability. Even if he never expressed this to me, I knew it to be true.

“I love you too, Papa … so much…”

The sound of a throat clearing came from the doorway, breaking this rare and sentimental moment. Pulling back from my father, I looked over his shoulder to see my one bridesmaid, Talia, my best friend and Luka’s only sister, standing in her lilac floor-length bridesmaid dress. Her long blond hair flowed down and cascading over her shoulder. She was smiling as she witnessed me in my father’s embrace and, catching my eye, held up my bridal bouquet.

My papa, glancing back to see Talia in the doorway, released a soft sigh, leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be waiting outside to ride with you to church.” He hesitated long enough to squeeze me tighter one last time, then, adorning his Pakhan mask once more, swiftly exited my bedroom.

On hearing my bedroom door close, Talia’s lips spread into a wide smile. Carefully placing the bouquets on my bed, she ran at me, crushing me in her arms. “Kisa!” she squealed and pushed me back, her deep brown eyes scanning my body, “You look incredible! So perfect!”

“Thank you,” I said on a laugh, “you look beautiful, too. Then again, you always do.”

Talia shook her head, dismissing my comment, and stepped backward. “I can’t believe this day is finally here. You, my best friend, marrying my big brother.…” A soft expression flitted across her face. “You’ll officially become my sister in just over an hour. I’m just so happy I could burst!”

Smiling wide, my gaze dropped to the soft carpet beneath my feet. But my smile quickly faded as I pictured Luka on his own this morning … without me by his side.

“How is he? I left this morning before he awoke … I didn’t want him to see me on the morning of our wedding. I wanted to keep some semblance of traditionalism … for my papa’s sake.”

Talia was silent until I looked up. Her round brown eyes were sympathetic and tense. She shrugged. “He’s holding up. Once we calmed him down after he woke alone without you, he … he’s trying his damnedest to hold it all together until we reach the church and he can be with you again, Kisa.”

My stomach flipped at her response and my heart began to race. Luka didn’t do well without me by his side, not even for a few hours. He was still confused, tormented and riddled with flashes of fragmented memories from his past … only being with me gave him any rest from the guilt of his many kills. Only I could pacify the ever-present monster inside his head.

Lifting the hem of my dress, I set to walk toward the door. “Maybe I should go and—”

Talia stepped forward and gripped my hands, cutting off my sentence. “No.”

I closed my eyes and sighed. All I could see in my mind’s eye was a frantic Luka, pacing the floor of his childhood bedroom, his fingers gripping his hair, fighting his demons alone … his beautiful face riddled with the pain of his past and his breathing becoming erratic. I couldn’t stand it. “But—”

“But nothing. Mama and Papa are with him. You’re about to leave for church. He’s safe. You’ll be together again soon.”

I nodded in defeat and Talia’s tense shoulders relaxed. A gentle hand rubbed at my arm. “This is your special day, Kisa. After today you and Luka are together forever. My brother can cope for another hour before he sees you. He has to learn to bear his past without you being there to soothe him. He has to find his own way eventually. He begins his Pakhan training soon, and you won’t be with him for that. This time apart is a good thing.”

I didn’t agree with her. Luka and I shared something deeper than anyone could ever understand, but I knew, right now, I didn’t really have a choice. And what our families failed to realize was that it wasn’t just Luka who struggled alone. After thinking I had lost him for over a decade, and being subject to Alik Durov’s severe brutality since I was a teen, being beside my Luka, touching him, joined with him, was the only time I felt truly safe … like I was complete.

Talia released my hands and walked to my closet, taking the long lace veil that delicately draped over the closet door in her arms. After carefully placing it over my head, Talia stepped back, her bottom lip quivering as she regarded me. “Luka will be floored when you arrive at his side. You’re beyond beautiful.”

A rush of elation soared through me. “You think so? You think he’ll like how I look?”

Talia laughed at my question, rolled her eyes and picked up the bouquets. “I know so. You could be wearing a hessian sack and that brother of mine would think you were a heaven-sent vision!” Her eyes glossed over. “The way he looks at you … like nothing else matters to him but you.…” She shook her head and snapped herself around.

I watched as my best friend, looking so stunning in her fitted gown, got my things together. She was so beautiful, so ready for love …

Talia, feeling my stare, glanced my way and frowned. “What?”

“I want for you what I have with Luka,” I looked up at her through my lashes and added, “I don’t want you to be lonely anymore. I want you to be as happy as I am.”

A flash of pain seemed to cross Talia’s face and she batted her hand in the air. “I’m fine, girl. Plus, I’d have to get out from under the Bratva’s iron fist first. You were lucky you had my brother since birth and he was already a huge part of this life. Where me? How the hell do you find a date in this city when your papa and brother are two of the most feared men in the state and the byki follow you everywhere you go?”

“He’s out there, you know,” I said, believing my every word. “Your true love, your forever, he’s out there just waiting to be sent to you. God is simply waiting for the right time to push him your way.”

Talia’s brown eyes glistened at my words, her throat swallowing hard to mask her reaction. Lifting the bridal bouquet of lavender roses and ivory lilies, Talia walked toward me, handing me the delicate spray of flowers. “It’s time to go, Kisa. It’s time for your dream to at long last come true.”

Unable to speak, I nodded my head followed my best friend, my future sister, out to the awaiting town car. The day was bright and the cold air caressed my hot face …

It was the most perfect of days.

Luka

I closed my eyes, breathing through the fucking anxiety pulsing through my body. This church was too big. Too many echoes and noises creaking through the old stone building. Everything was too strange without Kisa-Anna by my side. She anchored me. Made me feel somehow rooted to this strange outside world. A world I still didn’t understand … a world I wasn’t sure I ever would.

When I woke this morning to find her gone, I couldn’t move from my bed. She’d told me last night she would be leaving early to get ready, but waking on my own had me frozen in fear … transporting me back to the endless cold mornings in the Gulag, to the fucked-up days of my childhood … not knowing if that day would be my last.

Kisa kept me calm as she slept in my arms, threading her fingers through my hair, kissing along my neck. She kept the demons of the Gulag from getting inside my head. I needed her … I needed her to breathe, to live … to fucking be “Luka,” not 818 … not the death-match fighter … not Raze … but Luka Tolstoi … the heir to the Volkov Bratva … and the other half of Kisa’s soul.

My parents had tried to keep me from pacing the floor, from breaking into cold sweats … tried to make me sit still, but they couldn’t help.

I needed Kisa … I fucking needed her beside me.…

A gentle hand suddenly landed on my shoulder. Ripping away from the surprise touch, my arms flew up, bracing to fight, and I snapped my eyes open. My mama stood behind me, a blank expression on her face and an understanding look in her eyes. “It’s just me, my son,” she said softly. Sucking in a long deep breath, I let the tension leave my shoulders.

She isn’t a threat … she’s your mama … I told myself over and over again. My eyes darted around the small back room of the church for anyone else, but we were alone.

My mama stepped forward again, her palms held in front of her chest. “It’s time, Luka,” she said, her lips pulling into a timid smile. “Your Kisa will be arriving shortly. You’ll have her by your side in a matter of minutes.”

As her words sank into my mind, my heart began to slow in its rapid beat and the feeling of unease began to drain from my body.

She would be here soon … by my side … silencing the demons.…

“We need to wait at the altar. Father Kruschev is waiting.”

Rolling my neck from side to side, I met my mama’s eyes and nodded. I walked forward toward the door, when Mama abruptly stopped in front of me, blocking my way.

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked down at her aging face and I saw her eyes shine with unshed tears.

I had no idea why she was crying.

Reaching up, Mama began to fix the tie of my tuxedo. “It’s all crooked,” she said through a tight voice. “You could never keep yourself all straightened out. I was forever fixing your untucked shirts, polishing your scuffed dress shoes, or”—Mama looked up and smiled a weak smile, smoothing back my hair— “your unruly, messy hair.”

Seeing a tear fall down her cheek, I tilted my head to the side, lifted my hand to grip hers and brought it to my chest. “Mama…?” I asked and Mama shook her head.

“I’m being a silly woman. Getting too emotional … I’m just so sorry … I’m … I’m—”

“Mama?” I questioned again and, with my free hand, lifted her head up with my finger under her chin. “Why do you cry? I don’t understand? Are you not happy that I’m getting married?”

A sob slipped from Mama’s throat and she squeezed my hand, shaking her head. “Of course I am.… It’s just … seeing you like this. So broken by life,” she sniffed, “no calm in the storm … no reprise from your bad thoughts.… I don’t know how to make it better.…”

I frowned deeper because I knew the answer to that question. “I have my Kisa. She makes me better,” I said bluntly, and my mama held her breath for what felt like hours, her eyes gradually losing their sadness.

Her top lip curled into a small smile. “You do, my son. I thank God every day that you have found your soul mate. Kisa brought you back to us … she keeps you going.…”

Mama dropped her hands and stepped back, forfeiting her obvious pain to smile proudly. “You look so handsome, my son. The perfect Russian boy,” she reached up to smooth back the front of my hair again, “even if this hair of yours can never be tamed.” She stepped back again and wiped away a tear. “So, so handsome.”

I glanced down at myself, unsure what to say in response. I felt strange being in this suit. None of this shit made any sense to me … not one single bit. This whole wedding felt strange. I had had Kisa from the minute I’d seen her all those months ago. I was never leaving her again … but her papa had insisted that we get married in this church. He wanted things to be done right. As the Pakhan, no one questioned his wants.

Mama suddenly threaded her arm through mine and began leading me out into the main body of the church.

As we entered the altar, my papa and Father Kruschev smiled at my mama and me. Mama released me and walked toward my papa, but I stopped and looked around the huge church, the bright pictures of the holy saints all staring down at me with their serene faces.

My heart began to race again as I next snapped my attention at the empty pews. The church was so big, so empty and bare … I knew it should have been filled with hundreds of people. The Pakhan had wanted it that way, to honor his people with witnessing this day … but I couldn’t have our wedding any other way than empty. I couldn’t be around too many people. Word had spread of me returning to Brooklyn, bringing too many questions as to where I’d been, and that had brought me too much attention. Everyone in our society had been trying to see me for the last six months as I tried to be normal … tried to heal. They all wanted to see the fucking freak show. They wanted to see the monster I’d become … that was why they wouldn’t be here today.

Kisa had insisted on it.

There would only be me, Kisa, Talia, Mama, Papa and the Pakhan attending this wedding. I knew nobody here on the outside world anyhow. Nobody mattered to me but my Kisa and our families.

And after today, Kisa’d be mine … completely mine.

A hand clamped on my shoulder. Turning my head, I saw my papa, and he nodded his head. “She’s here, son.”

Releasing a pent-up breath, I followed my father to the altar and stared at the wooden doors, willing them to open.

Music began playing from somewhere upstairs. I didn’t know what song it was; I didn’t care. I could only look at the doors, waiting for the moment my solnyshko stepped through, giving me that sense of home.

Every muscle was taut as my papa came to stand by my side. He would be Koumbaros, my best man.…

A quick flash of 362’s face flickered through my mind as I thought of my only friend, bringing with it that usual sense of devastation. He should have been my best man … he was my best friend.… I pushed the painful memory aside and focused on my future wife, who was about to stand by my side.

Nothing would ruin this day.

Glancing down, I saw that my hands were shaking. Inhaling deep, I clasped my hands together just as the music switched songs, and the wide wooden doors at the back of the church began to open.

My eyes fixed on the slice of daylight spilling between the doors, when suddenly, Talia, my sister, walked through, smiling wide as her eyes fixed on mine.

Everything stopped as I focused on movement behind Talia, and like a ray of sunshine bursting through a darkened sky, my Kisa-Anna reached the top of the aisle, holding on to her papa’s arm.

Any traces of anger, confusion and pain I felt faded away to vapor as soon as Kisa came into view. She stole my breath as she strode toward me, her slim figure looking perfect in the long white lace dress.

My hands itched to hold her and I had to do everything in my power not to run down the aisle and wrap her up in my arms … to feel her touch … to help me believe all this was real.

My papa’s hand gripped onto my arm, holding me in place. I could feel his huff of a laugh as he fought to keep me still.

As Kisa approached the altar, I watched her downcast eyes lift up through the material of the heavy veil, the bright blue of her irises immediately clashing with mine.

A wave of peace washed through me and I felt like I could breathe again … I fucking felt like I could breathe for the first time since she’d left my bed this morning. No iron fist choking my lungs, twisting my stomach … just … peace.

Father Kruschev indicated for me to move forward to take Kisa’s hand from her papa. I moved as quickly as I could, stopping as I reached Kirill Volkova, my Pakhan.

He watched me move toward his daughter with a smirk upon his face and his assessing eyes tight. With an air of unapproachable arrogance that I was becoming familiar with, Kirill turned to Kisa and slowly lifted her veil.

I sucked in a breath as her perfect face was revealed … she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

Familiar blue eyes snapped to mine, and a loving smile spread on her full pink lips. I heard the echo of sobs behind us, but I couldn’t move from my Kisa to see who was crying.

Kirill cupped Kisa’s cheeks and she broke my gaze and glanced to her papa with tearful eyes. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and silently stepped back.

Kirill held out Kisa’s hand for me to take, and I didn’t hesitate in pressing her palm against mine, but not before shaking hands with her father.

As his steady, strong hand gripped mine, he said, “Take care of my baby, Luka. I’m trusting you to protect her.”

I was shocked still at the unfamiliar show of affection by the always-cold Bratva boss, but I nodded my head with nothing but certainty. “Nothing will ever happen to her, sir. She’s my everything … she’s the reason I live … breathe … exist. She’s my entire world. There’s no safer place for her than being beside me.”

The Pakhan’s face softened and he curtly nodded his head. As he moved away, I took my place by my solnyshko’s side and fought the ghost of a smile that was pulling on my lips … she was here … she was finally becoming mine.

Kisa’s arm pressed against mine and she whispered only for me, “I have never been so happy as I am right now, standing beside you. I have never been so in love as I am right now, only minutes away from becoming your wife.”

Exhaling a shuddering breath at her words, I lifted our joined hands and brushed the back of her hand across my lips.

Father Kruschev stepped forward, fighting a smile, and began the ceremony. It was a traditional Russian Orthodox service … and it was long … but I absorbed every second, thanking the Lord over and over that I got this chance … that my Kisa recognized me when I’d lost who I was … that she’d pulled me from my hell … that she’d never given up on the fucked-up man I was now, day by day striving to put me back together.

As the betrothal rings were exchanged and our candles were lit … as our hands were bound by the priest’s cloth and our crowns were placed upon our heads … and as we drank from the common cup and circled the table, I felt the constant states of pain and sadness within me melt away.

And as the blessings were read and Na Zisete was called by our witnesses, my heart felt full with nothing but love for my solnysko … the woman that brought me home … the woman that brought me back to life.

Father Kruschev led us down the aisle and out of a side exit of the church—a private garden just for us. He kissed us farewell, giving us a moment without our family and finally … finally … left us alone.…

Left me alone with my wife.

The cold winter wind whipped around Kisa and me, and the world seemed to fade away until all I could see and feel was us. Tears filled Kisa’s blue eyes as she looked up at me, pressed her palm to my cheek and smiled so brightly that she almost blocked out the sun.

Then she spoke two words on a sigh that squeezed my fucking heart. “At last…”

I sucked in a stuttered breath at the overwhelming expression of happiness on her face and backed her against the wall. Kisa gasped as I caged her against the cold stone of the church. Leaning down, I moved forward and pressed my lips against hers, the immediate taste of her tongue filling my mouth.

On a breathy moan, Kisa’s hands found the skin of my stomach under my jacket and shirt. My cock grew steel-hard as her fingernails raked my abs and I broke away on a pained groan.

My hands clenched into fists as I breathed hard, fighting the urge to take her here, out in the open, right up against the side of this church. But when those blue eyes collided with mine once more, all I felt was a new truth hit home … she was all mine.…

Officially all mine …

Kisa, my solnysko, my life … was now my wife … her soul was now soldered to mine … and we never had to spend another day apart.

“Lyubov moya?” Kisa’s soft voice broke through my thoughts. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Talk to me.”

I drank in her beautiful face and lifted my hands to run my fingertips over her full lips. Kisa’s eyes fluttered closed as I journeyed my fingers across to her high cheeks and down along her slender neck, only to reach down and feel her wedding ring now forever on her finger.

“Baby?” she asked again and, this time, a disbelieving smile appeared on my face.

Kisa’s breath hitched at the rare sight of my smile and, swallowing, I said, “I have you … I finally have you as mine.…”

Tears spilled over Kisa’s eyes and ran down her cheeks. “Yes, baby. You have me … always … in this life and the next and whatever comes after that.”

My heart thundered in my chest and I whispered, “I love you, solnyshko. You’re the only reason I’m here.”

“Luka … I love you too, baby. More than anyone has ever loved anyone else before.”

“I need to take you home. I need to be inside you … as a husband is to his wife. I need to feel your naked body against mine … I need to release myself inside you … I want you full with my child.”

Kisa cried out in happiness and pressed her forehead against mine. “Then take me home, lyubov moya. To our home. Make me yours in every possible way … at long last … knowing we both now have each other for eternity.”

RAZE Playlist

The Avett Brothers — I and Love and You

Little Big Town — Live Forever

Labrinth — Jealous

Lana Del Ray — Gods & Monsters

Coldplay — Lost

The Script — Superheroes

JAY Z — Young Forever (feat Mr. Hudson)

Jennifer Nettles — This Angel

Marina and the Diamonds — Happy

Eminem ft. Sia — Guts Over Fear

One Republic — I lived

Whiskeytown — Everything I Do

Breaks Co-Op — The Otherside

Emeli Sande — River

Greg Holden — The Lost Boy

Jonny Fears — Boyfriend

Ellie Goulding — How Long Will I Love You

Adele — Don’t You Remember

A.A.Bondy — Killed Myself When I Was Young

Sam Smith — Stay With Me

http://tilliecole.com/raze/

Acknowledgements

RAZE was a very different book for me to write. It was a lot darker than I’d attempted before, brutal and complex … but I loved every minute of it! And, as always, I have lots of people to thank!

Firstly, my mam and dad. Thanks for all of the support. Love you both!

To my husband, for putting up with me releasing TWO novels in December. Love you. It was crazy, but we got there!

To my fabulous beta readers: Thessa, Rebecca, Kia, Rachel and Lynn. Your comments and advice were invaluable and you worked like the clappers to get them to me in record time!

Thessa, my lovely, thank you for manning my Facebook page and keeping me in check. Thank you for being a RAZE/Luka enthusiast and encouraging me to write this novel. Love you, missus!

Kelly, and Have Book Will Read Book Blog for hosting my blog tour and just being a fabulous friend. I appreciate everything you do for me. You’re priceless.

Cassie, my fantastic editor. Thank you so much!

Lysa, my wonderful web designer. I love you!

Liz, my fabulous agent. Thank you for all of your support. I’m so excited about the projects we have planned for 2015! So much to look forward to!

Gitte and Jenny from TotallyBooked Book Blog. You know how I feel about you sassy gals! Love you both to bits!!!

Neda from Sub Club Books. Love you girl!

And a huge thank you to all the many, many more wonderful book blogs that support me and promote my books. I adore you all.

Tracey-Lee, Thessa and Kerri, a huge thank you for running my street teams, Tillie’s Hot Cole’s and The Hangmen Harlots. Y’all kick ass! And to all of my street team members—LOVE YOU!!!

And lastly, my wonderful readers. Your support, your enthusiasm and your love means the world to me.

Here’s to 2015!!!!

Big Hugs,

Tills xx

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Or drop me an email at: authortilliecole@gmail.com

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http://tilliecole.com

Don’t miss the next Scarred Souls novel, Reap, coming Autumn 2015.

About the Author

Tillie Cole hails from a small town in the North-East of England. She grew up on a farm with her English mother, Scottish father and older sister and a multitude of rescue animals. As soon as she could, Tillie left her rural roots for the bright lights of the big city.

After graduating from Newcastle University, Tillie followed her Professional Rugby player husband around the world for a decade, becoming a teacher in between and thoroughly enjoyed teaching High School students Social Studies for seven years.

Tillie has now settled in Calgary, Canada, where she is finally able to sit down, write (without the threat of her husband being transferred), throwing herself into fantasy worlds and the fabulous minds of her characters.

Tillie writes Romantic comedy, Contemporary Romance, Dark Romance, Young Adult and New Adult novels and happily shares her love of alpha-male leading men (mostly with muscles and tattoos) and strong female characters with her readers.

When she is not writing, Tillie enjoys nothing more than strutting her sparkly stuff on a dance floor (preferably to Lady Gaga), watching films (preferably anything with Tom Hardy or Will Ferrell—for very different reasons!), listening to music or spending time with friends and family.