“Is she dead?” he asked, his voice betraying his fear.
“No,” I said, “she’s breathing. “I think Mistress has drugged her.” I pointed to the needle marks on her arm. And hell, they were all over.
A long exhale escaped Zaal’s mouth. Pointing to a Bratva byki, he ordered, “Go find me a blanket and bring it back now!” He pushed past me and covered Zoya’s body with my sweatshirt, which hung limply at her sides.
I watched, wanting to care for Zoya. I wanted to push the Georgian out of the way, to keep his hands off my female. But I forced myself back.
I stood, frozen, watching him press a kiss to her forehead. Then as a surge of rage swept through me I looked for Mistress.
When I scanned the room, it was Luka who had Mistress in his grip. He waited for me, expectation in his eyes.
Mistress’s eyes were fixed on me. I smiled coldly. For the first time in my life I saw real fear in their depths.
My feet slowly carried me forward. As they did, I said darkly, “I have been waiting for this day since the night you came into the orphanage and ripped the children from their beds.” Her cheeks paled, but I didn’t stop there. “I have been waiting for this day since the night you took my sister from my arms and beat me on the floor. Since you took my only family away and turned her into a fuck puppet for your sadistic pleasure.” I reached Luka and Mistress. Lifting my hand, I ran it through her hair. I took the clip from the back and wrapped my fists in the dry lengths. Wrenching her head back, my cock hardening at the cry coming from her lips, I closed in and said, “I have been waiting for this since the day you slashed my face and head, making the fucking scarred ugly beast I am today. And since you tied that collar around my neck and forced me to kill day in and day out.”
Tightening my fists in her hair, I finished, “Since the day you forced me to fuck your desert of a cunt.”
Releasing her hair, I paced before her, losing my shit. I stilled and closed my eyes, then inhaled a long deep breath. Getting my rage under control, I opened my eyes and looked directly at Luka.
“Tie her to the metal post. Wrap those chains around her so she can’t move.” Luka wrenched her back toward that post, but I shouted, “Wait!” Luka stilled. Mistress looked at me in fear. Staring into her poisonous fucking gaze, I ordered coldly, “Strip.”
Mistress’s chin kicked up. I heard the men murmuring around me. Turning to face them, I said, “This is about to get a whole lot worse. Leave now if you can’t stand the screams of a female.”
The males stared at me with wide eyes, yet none of them moved.
Good little Mafia soldiers, I thought. My narrowed eyes caught sight of Zaal holding Zoya in his arms, her slim body wrapped in a blanket. The sight of my little Georgian looking so pale and unmoving made my inner fire roar.
Facing Mistress again, I watched Luka release her arms and I ordered more loudly, “Strip, bitch!”
Keeping that fucking ugly old face stern, Mistress did not lower her eyes as she divested herself of her jacket and then her black dress. Of course she didn’t have underwear on; she was probably counting on raping Zaal when she got her claws into him, too.
Her clothes fell in a heap on the floor. Her fucking repulsive body was revealed for all to see. Unable to stand the sight of her bare flesh, I flicked my chin at Luka. “I’ll be right back; there’s someone who deserves to see her suffer.”
Turning on my heel, without looking at any of the guards, I tore through the house. I ran down to the basement, the long hallway with lots of doors leading off to isolated rooms. I threw open the doors one by one, empty room after empty room. My eyebrows furrowed when there was no trace of Inessa.
As I sprinted back up the stairs, my blood ran like lava through my body. I searched every floor, every door, every closet, everywhere, but Inessa was nowhere to be found. Seeing the Mafia guards near the exit, I asked, “Are there any buildings out back?”
One of them nodded. “Two small storage sheds.”
Hope sparked in my chest, then quickly faded when I asked, “Did you find anyone in them?”
“No, sir,” one of the guards replied.
Real fear sprouted within me, and feeling the panic I harbored inside coming to the surface, I smashed through the door to the room, immediately finding Mistress on the metal pole. “You!” I spat right in her face.
Mistress’s lips twitched, fighting a smile, and I just knew. I knew the bitch had sent Inessa away.
“You bitch!” I snarled. I threw my head back and thundered out a tortured cry. Unable to contain my anger, I walked to the nearest bed and flipped it on its side, roaring out my rage with every new step. I tore the fucking room apart, the Mafia guards staying well clear.
After I sent my fist into the wall, I turned. My eyes locked on to her plaited leather whip, the one she liked to carry around with her. Grasping it tightly, I walked to where she was tied up. Luka had wrapped the chains around her shoulders and hips, leaving plenty of flesh for me to rip to shreds.
Hands shaking, I went to swing the whip when it suddenly froze in my hand. Mistress was looking at me proudly. She stared at me like I was the greatest creation. Then it hit me: even as she faced her own death, pride shone in her face at the monster she’d created.
Her perfect killing machine.
Her perfect torturer … her prized bringer of death.
My heart pounded hard, the whip tightening in my grip. I wanted to kill her slowly and painfully. I wanted her to suffer, yet I wanted no part of her pride.
I stepped closer, and closer still, until I dropped the whip to the floor, watching Mistress’s face fall, too.
Leaning close, I stopped just before her face. Her dark eyes watched me, and grimacing she spat, “You were always a failure. Even now, given the moment you’ve waited for all your pathetic life, you’re going to fail again!”
“Where is she?” I demanded, ignoring Mistress’s taunts. The look of victory flashed across her ugly face.
“Back with Master,” she muttered happily.
My heart sank. I asked, “When?”
Mistress’s eyes seared mine. Any laughter, any happiness at sending my sister away, fell from Mistress’s face as she bit out, “When you fell for the Georgian Kostava whore. When you stopped doing as I ordered and began fucking her instead, holding her in your arms and calling her your kitten.” Her lip curled in disgust and she spat, “I trained you to be an unfeeling killer. A torturer, an evil beast. And you failed. You’ve failed. You made a fool of me. So I did what you feared most—I sent scared little 152 to the Blood Pit, to be schooled, to be owned by Master in every possible way!” Her dark eyes narrowed until they became slits. “You knew the rules, 194. You broke them. I followed through on the punishment.” Her head cocked to the side. “Tell me, was the taste of your little Georgian’s pussy worth losing your sister for?”
I heard the sound of raw fury from behind me. I knew it came from Zaal. My skin burned with the need to bring this bitch down. Mistress’s face never flinched.
The room was quiet, my anger too strong, until Zaal said, “I need to get Zoya home and to a doctor. If you are coming, just fucking kill her.”
My head whipped to Zaal and the still and pale Zoya in his arms. Urgency took hold. I turned back to Mistress.
Without even looking in her eyes, I lifted my hand and in one quick move snapped her neck. I turned, only catching her body slumping forward in my peripheral vision.
I was a monster, she had that right, but I would no longer be the monster she wanted me to be.
I suddenly fell forward, my body leaning on my fists as I fought to breathe. My body sweated and shook with the reality hitting home—she was dead. Our torturer, mine and Inessa’s captor, was dead.
Then pain filled every cell of my body as I thought of my sister. Adrenaline surged through my body. But I staggered to my feet, only to see Luka and his guards staring at me. I glanced behind to see Zaal staring at me, too, his green eyes tracking my ev
ery move. And I saw my Zoya in his arms.
Luka moved forward, reaching out his hand, but I snarled, “No!” and wrenched my arm free. Running to the wall of screens. My hands searched the counter until I found the remote control Mistress always used. Panting for breath, I randomly hit at the buttons until the screens turned on. I searched for Inessa. Then on the far right screen I saw her huddled in the corner of a cage, writhing on the floor with her hands between her legs, her dark hair damp as the pain took its hold. Then a male walked into the room, and I shook my head. “No,” I hissed under my breath.
“Master,” I whispered, and watched as he approached my sister. Inessa’s naked body arched on the floor, and Master dropped before her, crawling over her body. I watched, helpless, as he spread her legs and in one hard thrust slammed himself into her.
Inessa screamed out in relief. I had to avert my eyes. Emptiness and failure spread through my heart. Inessa was already in Georgia. She was already back in the Blood Pit.
My head stayed bowed until I heard the sound of my voice coming from one of the screens, followed by the crackle of my picana and a scream from her throat. “Tell me your name.” My voice sounded cold and unfeeling.
My heart tore when I heard Zoya’s timid voice reply, “Elene Melua. Kazrati, Georgia.”
I heard Zaal. I heard his heavy uncontrolled breathing from behind me. His strong arm hooked around my neck. Zaal Kostava, Lideri of the Kostava Clan, promised, “I am going to kill you, you lying fuck!”
I didn’t fight back. As Zaal threw me to the ground and straddled my chest, I searched for my Zoya. Luka Tolstoi stood in the corner with her in his arms and watched with seething eyes as Zaal began to punch my face. Blood filled my mouth, but I didn’t feel the pain.
“You fucking hurt her!” Zaal roared, and tore at the flesh of my chest with the tip of his sai. As I never took my eyes off Zoya in Tolstoi’s arms, my body began to turn cold. I vaguely saw someone pull Kostava from my body, but by that point it was too late.
Darkness closed in; the last thing I saw was Zoya’s limp arm hanging loose from the blanket.
And I smiled.
I smiled knowing she was safe.
Knowing that she was back where she belonged—with her family and her blood.
But as I stared at her hand I wished I could hold it in mine.
Hold her hand as I finally passed.
Just one last time.
20
ZOYA
I woke, an incredible heat setting my body alight. Deep confusion and a thick fog clogged my mind. My heart raced as I tried to think where I was. Opening my eyes, I was met with near darkness; the only illumination came from a lightly draped window at the far side of the room.
I tried to push myself from the plush soft bed in which I lay, but as I did my teeth gritted together at the aching in my limbs. I exhaled a long breath through my nostrils as I racked my brain. Where was I? What had happened? No matter how hard I tried, the fog wouldn’t clear.
Panting through my discomfort, I managed to slide to the end of the bed and swing my feet over the side. Hardwood floor; I jumped at the cold feeling. My hair hung over my shoulders and I ran my fingers through the silky strands. I frowned. My hair smelled of coconut. It was soft to the touch like it had been washed and carefully dried.
As I stared down at my body, I saw I was dressed in a long black nightdress. I couldn’t remember if this was mine, but as my hands felt the silk I knew it was expensive. Somehow I knew it wasn’t mine.
Needing to find out where I was, I pushed myself to stand up. As I scanned the room, I walked toward the window. I stayed to the side of the large pane but took a peek through the drape to see a busy street below me. I was up high; the building I was in stood tall compared to its surroundings.
Dropping the drape, I stood back. In front of me, across the room was a door, light spilling out underneath.
My feet moved me across the hardwood floor. I opened the door, making sure I did it silently. A large ornate hallway lay beyond the door. I stepped out, immediately searching left to right.
I listened for any sign of life; to my left I heard the murmur of low voices. Running my fingers through my hair to calm my nerves, I slowly walked forward, my eyes widening at the tall ceilings and old pictures hanging on the walls.
My skin crawled at the unfamiliarity of such richness. I pushed my mind again to remember something, an ache at the back of my head telling me that I had to remember something important. But no matter how hard I tried, nothing sprang into my mind.
I reached a room; the door was open and voices came through. My heart initially raced when I realized the people were speaking Russian. Fear spiked down my spine, and I spun on my heel to flee, but I heard a deep voice that froze me mid-motion.
My head cocked to the side to listen harder. The voice was speaking in Russian, but it held an accent, an accent that sounded familiar to me. I couldn’t place the person, but instinct and a lightness in my heart prompted me to walk to the doorway.
I peered down at my hand, only to see it shaking. Tears pricked in my eyes, and I squeezed them shut, unsure why I was overcome with such emotion. The voices grew louder, many people contributing to the conversation. On a deep inhale, I edged through the door. This room was massive, dripping with expensive decoration. I padded silently along the floor, until the room turned to feature a living area. I stopped dead when I saw four people sitting on couches—the source of the conversation. All seemed young. One couch faced a huge roaring fireplace; a large blond man with his arm around a brown-haired woman at on its plush cushions. My pulse quickened, but no recognition came.
I couldn’t move. I couldn’t move when my eyes fell upon the couple with their backs to me. A blond woman rested her head on an olive-skinned man’s arm. His large back was covered in a white T-shirt the material of which was severely tested by his muscles. His black hair was tied back in a messy bun at the top of his head. For some reason my lungs ceased to function as I stared at him.
My body was rooted to the spot. I feared I would never be able to move. Perhaps sensing me, the blond woman leaning on the dark man turned her head. Brown eyes collided with mine. She froze. I stared at her and she stared at me. Something inside of me cooled as her lips parted. I couldn’t remember why, but something inside told me I was not meant to like her. My mind was filled with a thick fog. I was struggling to organize my thoughts, to put anything into the correct place.
The man beside her turned to the blonde. The blonde, seeing him move, laid her hand on his arm. The man stared at her, his sharply defined profile coming into view. But he didn’t look back toward me. The blond woman rubbed at his arm and his back stiffened. His head fell forward and his hands ran through his hair. I watched his every movement; the burning in my chest increased, nerves racked my body, as I waited for him to look my way.
I blew out a shaky breath, but that was cut off when the man suddenly launched to his feet. My eyes widened at his sheer height and massive build. His hands opened and closed at his sides. Then, as if in slow motion, he turned. I watched with bated breath as he finally faced me.
His eyes were down, long black lashes pressed to his cheek. On another breath, his eyes fluttered open, his bright green gaze immediately slamming into mine.
The reaction was instant. The recognition was immediate, penetrating through the fog. Images flashed before my eyes at the sight of that powerful green gaze; it flicked by, like a show reel of my youth—my little legs running in the field through high grass, two boys chasing me. A green-eyed boy scooping me into his arms, me laughing as I kissed him on the cheek and pointed at three moles on the side of his left cheek. Two boys, identical looks but for their different-colored eyes. Two boys lying by the river, laughing and smiling with me tucked safely by their side. A green-eyed boy kissing me on my cheek good night and telling me that he loved me …
As I gasped, my trembling hand flew to my mouth. Tears built in my eyes and began pouring dow
n my cheeks. My hand fell away at the sight of this man, once my best friend in the entire world, my protector, looking so fierce and strong, no longer a young boy.
I breathed, fighting to gain my voice, and whispered, “Sykhaara…”
The stern expression on his face fell into one of returned love. The aching in my legs was instantly forgotten as I ran forward to throw myself into his embrace.
My arms wrapped around his thick neck, and I sobbed when I felt familiar arms holding me around my waist. The world around us fell away as I sobbed and sobbed, tucking my face into his neck. Zaal’s face tucked into my neck, and I could feel tears tracking down the skin on my back.
“Zoya,” his deep voice murmured. Squeezing me tighter, he said, “I thought you’d died. I thought I’d lost you, too.”
We stayed like that for what could have been hours, but eventually I pulled back and with blurred swollen eyes I looked up to his face. Lifting my shaking hand, I brought my finger to his left cheek and ran the pad over his moles. Smiling, I whispered, “One, two, three…”
The pain showed in Zaal’s face and his eyes closed as he tried to breathe. Understanding he was finding this as difficult as I was to cope with, I got to my tiptoes and pulled the band from the top of his hair. I smiled widely as his long black hair came tumbling down.
I stepped back as his hair fell over his shoulders to land against his chest. I took the strands in my fingers and met his amused face. “You still have the long hair?” I said in awe, too overcome that my sykhaara was standing before me after all this time.
“Like the Georgian warriors of old,” he replied.
Pain sliced through my heart as he repeated Grandmama’s words. With a shaking voice, I offered a compliment: “Grandmama would be happy to see you like this.”
The tears fell silently down Zaal’s cheeks and he made no move to wipe them away. His eyes were staring at every part of me; then I saw his nostrils flare and a choked sound came from his throat when he stared at my shoulders.