Someone was fucking with my city, and that shit just wasn’t going to happen.
“How long has Zoya been missing?” I asked Avto.
His old eyes fell on me. “A while.”
Zaal must have heard the conversation. Taking Talia’s hand, he rose from the floor. He took a deep breath, his back still turned; then he faced us. And his face was stern. And set with fierce determination.
It was the first time since Zaal had killed Jakhua that I’d seen this look on his face. Stepping forward with Talia by his side, Zaal spoke to me. “The Georgian plan,” was all he said. I nodded my head. “The Pakhan was right. They’re here for me, for us. My … sister.”
Kisa looked up at me with a frown on her beautiful face. “There’s danger, again?”
I pressed another kiss on Kisa’s head and gave her a look that told her it was Mafia business. Sliding my arm around her shoulders, I kept her at my side and regarded Zaal.
“Well, what are you wanting to do? You know it’s your call. You have the backing of the Bratva.” I tipped my head at Talia and said, “We know where your loyalty lies. But I know more than anyone what it feels like to have this inheritance in your blood.” Zaal ran a hand down his face. “It’s who you are, Zaal.” I cleared my throat, fighting the sadness, and said, “Anri would want this for you. Even without the memories, he knew something back in Georgia was calling him home.” Zaal wrenched Talia to his side and held her close. “I think his soul told him he was coming back for you. Coming back to restore your family’s legacy.”
“Lideri Anri has died?” Avto’s weak voice drifted from the side. Zaal’s forehead fell into Talia’s hair, so I nodded my head at the old man. Avto’s shoulders dropped in sorrow.
“Zaal,” I called. Zaal lifted his head. “You’re not alone. Our families will unite. You and I will rule together, just like the Bratva always has. A brotherhood. A family.”
“Zaal?” Talia called.
Zaal looked down at his fiancée. “You want this for me?” Zaal asked doubtfully.
Talia sighed. I could see that she had no desire to be a mob leader’s wife, but she made me proud when she replied, “I want you happy, zolotse. And I want you to find your sister.” Talia smiled and said, “I want to meet her so badly, too.”
Zaal was still for what felt like an age. Then, releasing Talia, he approached Avto, who straightened where he stood. “I have few memories from my life. I regret that I do not remember you.”
Avto nodded his head slowly but hung on Zaal’s every word. “Firstly, I want to thank you”—Zaal’s voice was thick as he said this—“for saving my sister when I could not. You have my gratitude, and I am in your debt.”
“Lideri, no—” Avto went to argue, but Zaal held up his hand.
“You told me I have clan men here in New York?”
Avto nodded. “Many, Lideri, and more throughout the United States. They are good loyal men. Many were guards or advisors to your father.”
Zaal nodded again, then held out his hand. Talia walked over to stand beside him. Zaal brought Talia’s hand to his mouth, then puffed out his chest. “This is my Talia. She is a Tolstaia. I know that our families have a bitter history, but our coming marriage turns that into a bond. An alliance. If you have been living in New York, you will understand that the Bratva run this place. And now I am one of them.”
Avto swallowed but bowed his head. “You will get word to our people that I live and I am ready to take my place as the Kostava Lideri.” Avto smiled, but Zaal added, “You will let them know that we will work beside the Volkovs, and that any threat against them will be dealt with as though they had turned coat on a Kostava.”
“Yes, Lideri,” Avto said, then fidgeted with his hands. “But what about Zoya?” His eyes shone with fear. “We have no idea who took her, or what they may be doing to her.”
Zaal reached out and laid his large hand on Avto’s small shoulder. “We have an idea,” he said, “and they are Georgian.” Avto stiffened, but Zaal added, “Our people will be integral to rescuing her, Avto. To returning our Kostava daughter.”
Avto paused, then put his hand on Zaal’s arms. “Our people will die to save Miss Zoya, Lideri.”
Zaal dropped his hand, then let Talia cup his face with her hands. “We’ll find her, zolotse. My father”—Talia looked to me just for a second before looking back at Zaal—“and my brother will not rest until you see your sweet Zoya again.”
Zaal brought Talia into his chest as Kisa squeezed my hand and said, “Lyubov moya, you must do this for Zaal. You must give him the peace his sister will bring to his soul.”
Pressing a kiss to Kisa’s soft lips, I promised, “It’s just a matter of time, solnyshko. With Zaal inheriting the Kostava Lideri seat, the Volkov Bratva have just become the strongest underground crime family on the continental U.S.”
“So you’re saying you’ll get Zoya back?”
“I’m saying it’s just a matter of fucking time.”
10
194
I entered the back room, then slammed the door shut, snapping the metal locks tightly into place. My back hit the door and my legs became weak. I lifted my hand and stared at my rigid fingers. I’d almost touched her. A hollow feeling built in my chest, and I squeezed my eyes shut. I am alone. I have always been alone. They were all killed—parents, grandmama, my younger siblings, and my brothers who I adored. I survived.… Most days I wish that I had died, too.
My heart beat rapidly against my ribs. Her voice, her voice was broken and cut. I could hear the devastation in her every word.
She felt just like me.
She felt like me.
Fisting the hand that was still raised, I moved off the door. I walked to the desk, and my eyes immediately fixed on the screen. The female was crying, her head down and her body shaking with sobs. My stomach tightened, and without my meaning it to my finger lifted to touch the screen. My index finger traced the outline of her face and naked body.
She was so beautiful as she hung off that wall. I gritted my teeth as the thought ran through my mind. She was a Georgian. I hated all Georgians. They’d brought nothing but pain into my life. Mistress was Georgian. The Wraiths that would come to the orphanage, stealing kids, were Georgian.
But no matter how hard I wanted to hate this suka, seeing her like this, broken over her dead family, made it impossible. And … Yes, I think you’re beautiful, too.…
She didn’t lie. She looked at my fucked-up face and didn’t lie. She thought me beautiful. No one ever looked beyond my scars. I was Mistress’s ugly beast, a killer, nothing more.
But this little Georgian’s eyes. Those huge dark eyes. Her lips, her tits, her body, that long dark hair. My chest warmed and I smirked—her refusal to break under my questions. Her strength and iron will.
I’d never met anyone like her.
I stared and I stared at the screen. And I watched as the female lifted her head and drew in a deep breath. As if feeling the weight of my stare, her dark eyes peered down the camera lens.
My heart pumped fast, blood soaring through my veins. My hand ran down my face. As I still watched her like she was right in front of me, my finger landed on my lips. Freezing. Remembering that my finger had been on her pussy, I slipped it into my mouth, my dick hardening until it was painful. I sucked and sucked on my finger, tasting the sweetness of her juices.
Moving my hand down, I gripped my dick—picturing her lean body twitching, tensing, and moaning as my fingers circled her clit.
She’d been wet for me.
My hand worked faster, my dick leaking with my just seeing her panting. Her brown eyes shone and her olive skin flushed red, her nipples hardening like bullets. She may have been untouched, she may not have wanted it to be me who made her come for the first time in her life, but she had mewled and moaned, until she’d screamed out her release.
My jaw clenched and my head threw back as I came all over my hand. I stroked my release along my prick, coati
ng the skin. My body jerked and I fought to catch my breath.
And the female still looked up at the screen, like she knew what the thought of her pussy had just made me do. My nostrils flared, as I imagined I was hovering above her, sinking my cock into her tight hole, but then just as my cock began to harden once more a buzz from within the desk drawer snapped me back to reality.
My heart dropped when I knew what it was.
Straightening, fighting back the rage that was already engulfing my body from the toes up, I slowly opened the drawer and pulled out the device Mistress always made sure was in the chambers I used.
Laying the device on the desktop, I pressed the button, the small screen immediately coming to life.
I wanted to look away. Then I wanted to reach into the screen and rip this prick apart. The prick who had pinned my sister down as she writhed on the bed. The Type B drug. The Type B drug that Mistress infused in my sister’s body from when she was a child. The one that took my sister away from me as a child. The drug that held her captive, held her body captive, internally writhing in pain until she was taken. Until some Wraith asshole—like the one that was slamming inside of her right now—took the pain away by fucking her into peace.
Mistress. It was all Mistress. Promising she’d give me my sister back after the next hit, the next kill, the next torture. But there was always a next time. Never the reward of freeing my baby sister, now twenty-two, from this hell.
Fury built inside me when the screen clicked to black. Just as I was about to throw the device against the wall, I forced myself to back up three steps. Lowering my head, I breathed and breathed, pushing the image of my sister being taken against her will from my mind.
When my head lifted, it was to stare into the small mirror on the wall. I glared at my reflection, not even recognizing the ugly beast I was now. My hair was shaved, scars and tattoos covering every inch of my skin. A scar on my right cheek, my left, my head, and my lip—the right cheek scar trailing from my temple to my chest—that I’d gotten when I spat in Mistress’s face as a child. The scar she’d caused by having a Wraith pin me down as she ran her switchblade through my flesh, narrowly avoiding my eye, all to teach me that I was her property. All so I’d look like a fucking nightmare. All so no other female would ever want me but her.
My body was over-muscled, years and years of Type A drug use the cause. And I hated it. But the collar, the damn collar around my neck, controlling my life. The clear sign to everyone in the Wraiths that I was Mistress’s dog, her pet whom she controlled to exact her revenge on anyone who pissed her off. The pet whom Master, Mistress’s brother, let her have, to keep her the hell away from him and his enterprises.
The bitch was poison. A poison that someday I’d destroy.
I wasn’t sure how long I stood in the center of the room, but when I was sure no more rage could flow through my veins I looked over my shoulder and to the little Georgian on the TV screen.
My eyes narrowed. She knew something about Kostava. My mind raced, and my head tilted to the side. She said all her family had died, been massacred, but as I thought of her screams, of her cries, I detected a shake in her voice as she’d mentioned her brothers.
I didn’t doubt that her family had died. But my little kotyonok was lying about who had actually died.
I stepped forward, ready to reenter the chamber. As I did, my body came to a stop. My heart began to pound and my stomach fell.
Realization hit. I didn’t want to hurt the little Georgian anymore; I wanted inside her. I wanted to hear her moan as I took her over the edge. I wanted her to suck my dick as I gripped on to her hair. I wanted her to look up at me with those brown eyes and not to see them filled with hate.
I wanted to feel her small hand back on my chest.
Shaking my head, I tried to refocus, but all I could see was her dark eyes, her pink lips.
Suddenly the image of my sister being fucked like an animal sprang into my mind. My hot blood cooled rapidly.
Keep focus, I told myself. Get the information from this suka, dispose of her body, and then kill Kostava.
Running that thought repeatedly through my head, I unlocked the door to the chamber and walked down the narrow hallway to come face-to-face with the female who had gotten under my skin.
Hundreds of kills and she was the first to have any effect on me.
Her eyes immediately bored into mine. Nothing was said for minutes as we stared each other down. And all thoughts of my sister fled my head, only to be replaced by the little kotyonok.
Forcing myself to move, I approached her and held her head in my hand. Her cheeks were heated, but our eyes met. As they did, that strange feeling once again broke out in my stomach.
She thought me beautiful. She didn’t lie.
The female licked along her lips and whispered, “Water.”
Mistress had taught me to use victims’ wants against them. But as Kotyonok’s beautiful face stared up at me in desperation I wanted nothing more than to get her a damn drink.
Propping her head on my shoulder, her chest against my chest, I reached up to the cuffs on her wrists and unlocked each one. Kotyonok’s limp arms fell down beside her body. Bending down, one of my arms now wrapped around her pinched-in waist, I freed her feet, the heavy chain swinging to the side, the cuffs now lying on the floor.
A strange warm feeling entered my body as I held her in my arms. Her hot breath blew against my neck, and lifting my hand I found myself running it through her long dark hair. The feel of her hot skin rubbing against mine caused a low growl to build in my chest. A wave of possessiveness took root.
Leaning down to the floor, I picked up a bottle of water and watched as she drank the liquid down. Her lips were glistening wet, and I threw the empty bottle to the floor.
Moving to the bare wall at the rear of the room, I walked to the long piece of material hanging to the side and pulled it down. The bed built into the wall immediately fell, its small mattress covered in a white sheet. Pushing the bed to the floor, clicking it in place, I slumped down taking the female with me. As I backed up until I was sitting on the mattress, my back against the wall, she lifted her head.
Her eyes met mine, until they dropped as she inhaled softly. Her legs were apart and straddled over my waist; the feel of her warm heat caused my dick to twitch.
I watched her in fascination as she blinked in the room and the mattress we were sitting on. Licking her lips, she faced me and, without meeting my gaze, said. “We are on a real bed.”
My hand was still in her hair. As she spoke, my hand trailed down over her neck, then down over her shoulder. Once I’d reached the end of her arm, my eyes were drawn to her hard nipples. Gripping on tightly to her waist, I dragged her slight body farther up my torso, until her hard buds were in front of my mouth. My hips rolled, my balls aching, as I leaned forward and flicked the tip of my tongue over the red flesh. The female’s breath hitched and then became heavy. The flesh around the nipple bumped and hardened. On a low groan, I wrapped my mouth around the mound and lapped at the nipple.
She froze, and when I looked up she winced. Releasing her tit from my mouth, I reared back and studied her body. Seeing me watching her, the female bowed her head and whispered, “I am aching. My body feels … strange.”
This breathy timid admission saw my heart swell in my chest. She was hurting. I knew from personal experience what the body felt like after being tied up for hours at a time.
Without noticing, my hands had lifted to her arms and begun massaging the aching muscles. When she released a pained moan, my attention snapped to what I was doing and I pulled back my hands. Anger swept through me. I was meant to be torturing her, making her reveal what she knew about Zaal Kostava. Instead I was trying to make her feel good.
My arms had locked at my sides as I fought to calm down when a shaking hand landed on my cheek. Every part of me stilled, and when I looked up it was the little Georgian’s hand. Her eyes were shining, her lips were trembling
, but she didn’t say anything.
The way she was looking at me, the closeness of her body, unnerved me. No one but Mistress had ever gotten this close. I had seen no one but Mistress and the Gvardii since I was captured at the age of twelve. Mistress told me I was thirty now. I had seen no one but Mistress and the Gvardii for eighteen years.
The female sat on my lap, her legs wrapped around me. Her naked beautiful unmarked skin pressed up against mine felt better than anything I’d touched in my life before.
But her hand on my cheek was fucking with my mind. Her touch, her soft touch on my face, was bringing me to my knees.
Her throat moved as she swallowed. I waited. I waited, holding my breath, for her to speak. With another lick of her lips, she finally said, “That felt good.”
My stomach flipped, shots of fire traveling down my legs. Unclenching a hand by my side, I brought it forward to land on her free arm. The fingers on my face clasped my skin harder as my fingers wrapped around her biceps and began massaging the skin. The female groaned deeply. Her eyes rolled back in her head. Her lips parted and I watched as an expression of relief spread across her face. At the noises slipping from her mouth, I worked harder on her muscles. Her small body bowed forward, and as it did her hand stroked forward, until it clasped the back of my head. Taking my other hand, I placed it on her other arm and worked that muscle, too. The female’s eyes fluttered shut. As more noises slipped from her mouth, my hips began to roll, the feel of her hot pussy growing wetter by the second pressing on my skin. My cock began to throb.
“That feels so good,” she murmured.
I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, fighting back the pressure building in my balls. Her fingers dug into my head. As another groan left her mouth, I gripped her arms and turned her round. The female stiffened in fear, but I planted her over my dick, my hard flesh slipping between the crack of her ass, sliding forward to be coated with her wetness.
I wrapped my arm around her waist, pulling her back against my chest. Once her body relaxed, I kicked her legs open, my legs bending, caging them on either side. I paused at the feel of my body pressed against hers; she stilled, breathing deep.