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 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”
RAZE ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
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 2016!!!!
Big Hugs,
Tills xx
To music, for the constant inspiration.
To Johnnyswim, for inspiring this novel.
You and I, we’re fire and water …
We’re rain and thunder …
—Johnnyswim “You and I”
PROLOGUE: 221
Poison.
Pain.
Burning.
Unbearable fucking burning.
Rapids of lava raced through my veins.
My skin … my skin was too hot … too tight around my flesh …
I panted with anger … so much fucking anger to keep inside … stabbing at my brain, driving me insane …
Rip someone apart, I snarled in my head, break bones, tear flesh … feel wet blood on my hands.
I paced,
my heavy iron chains wrapping around my wrists and ankles. I needed to kill. I needed to get out from under these chains.
Must kill to stop the poison.
Must kill to stop the pain inside.
“You’re back in New York?” a voice suddenly spoke from across the room. “The Georgians have finally made their great return?”
“We have. And it’s been a long time coming. We have business to settle. Business from long ago,” Master spoke, and my heart began to pound. Listen to Master. Listen to Master’s commands.
Footsteps clicked on the cold hard floor. The man was approaching Master. I paced faster.
“With the Volkovs?” the other voice asked. “Because if it is, a lot has happened in forty years. They’re untouchable. Too strong.”
Master laughed. “We’ve returned stronger.”
“Do they know you’re here?”
Master paused, then replied, “They’ll find out soon enough. We’re not hiding from the red scum.”
Master turned to me, bringing a man with him. My muscles tensed and I snarled as they came close … too close.
“What the—”
“We’ve mastered a new drug. Proven to secure one hundred percent obedience in any subject. No other can offer this to you, Nasar. The Italians won’t have seen anything like it. Your business will surpass theirs when your girls can bend to a buyer’s every whim.”
Master’s voice stabbed at my ears. I always heard Master, my body tensing as I waited for his command. I kept my eyes to the dark wet ground as Master ordered, never making eye contact. He told me I was a dog, a killer. He told me I was his slave.
Searing heat enveloped my flesh; the white-hot pain in my head surged through my body. Shaking, I tensed before screaming out the pain. Fury took its hold.
Every muscle in my body was twitching, itching, on fire, thirsting to deliver death. My chains rattled louder as my hands clenched into fists, imagining the slaughter of an opponent, testing the strength of the heavy cuffs around my wrists.
The feet from Master came closer still. I paced faster. My heart pumped louder. I hissed loudly through clenched teeth.
Klavs, klavs, klavs—kill, kill, kill—I needed to kill.
I inhaled a long breath as the strange man approached. I snarled and bared my teeth, warning him to stay the fuck away from me.
He stepped back. I could smell fear on the fucker.
Fear.
Fear stank. Fear reeked. I hated it. Fucking hated it.
Klavs, klavs, klavs …
The poison in my blood boiled hotter still, my veins screaming at the pain of the scalding venom. I pulled on the chains around my hands, seeking release from the torment the poison brought. Muscles tensing, neck stiffening, and back stretching, I roared a deafening roar and increased the speed of my pacing.
Back and forth … back and forth … back and forth …
The man’s feet stepped forward and began to circle me, his sweat dropping on the cracked ground of the cellar. “You have managed to control this one? He seems feral.”
Master stepped forward; he came close, my body stiffening. He slapped his hand on my arm. “221 is my prized possession, my prototype, my dzaghii—my dog. He obeys anything I ask of him. Anything. He’s had a concentrated shot of the Type A drug this morning. Type A drug creates killers on demand, Type B, perfectly obedient slaves; slaves who will do anything you want.” Master’s voice lit with excitement. “221, here, kills with perfect efficiency. Complete annihilation.”
The feet of the man stopped, stood beside me, and I could hear his heartbeat race. “Prove it,” he said quietly.
Master laughed. “You brought the men?”
“They’re here,” the other man replied. “Bring them in!” he shouted, a command to someone at the entrance to the cellar.
He moved to stand beside Master. “I need trustworthy men by my side. Our war with the Italians is heating up. I need men who won’t question anything asked of them. Men who can’t be beat in a fight. I also want my stock to be obedient. I want them open to anything a buyer wants. If this drug you’ve created and its subject prove to be true, we have a deal.”
Master stepped away. A guard approached me and began to loosen the chains. My feet rocked from side to side as the chains dropped to the ground. Looking at my hands, I slowly clenched them into fists, the cracking of my knuckles echoing around the room.
Heavy breathing came from behind me. My lip curled … weakness …
“221, t’avis mkhriv.” Master ordered me to turn and my body swerved, head down, legs bracing in his direction.
“221, mzad.” Master demanded me to get ready. My chin lifted. Six men stood before me. Six men smirking, holding daggers.
As another jolt of lava swept through me, a growl rumbled in my chest.
Klavs, klavs, klavs.
“221, t’avis mkhriv,” Master called again. The guard thrust a pair of black sais into my hands. I never took my eyes off the men who stood before me—they were nothing but prey. I rolled my neck from side to side, legs parted, ready to attack my prey. My blood rushed faster and faster, my hands itching to slice these fuckers open.
The man with Master spoke. “These are some of the best men I have. If your dog can defeat them, we have a deal.”
“How many do you want dead?” Master’s voice enquired.
The man sputtered. “How many? You’re telling me he will kill them all, if ordered?”
“He’ll kill until I order him to stop.”
The man moved to stand in front of me, his small dark eyes glaring into mine. I bared my teeth and snarled. He immediately stepped back.
A smile eventually pulled on his thin lips as fire lit in his eyes. “I want to see him slay every last one.”
“221,” Master commanded. My body tensed, my fingers gripping the sais. “Sasaklao.”
Slaughter.
My feet lurched forward, just as the six men ran at me at once. A red mist clouded my eyes as I made the first strike, blood spattering my chest.
I sliced.
I gutted.
I culled.
I fucking slaughtered them all.
1
LUKA
The Dungeon
Season Opener
Brooklyn, New York
I blinked … I blinked again. It didn’t fucking work. Didn’t remove the images from my mind.
Reaching up, I clawed at the knot of the silk tie I’d been forced to wear and loosened it off. I couldn’t fucking breathe.
Every muscle in my body was tense as I sat up in this suffocating private box, looking down on the Dungeon’s cage, the wide window giving me the perfect fucking view of the two fighters ripping each other apart.
The crowd noise was deafening; screaming and clamoring for spilt blood, as the first match of the season kicked off.
No matter how hard I tried to look away, my eyes were securely locked on the two men in the cage. My heart raced, my hands curled into fists, and my jaw ached as my teeth gritted together way too hard.
With every blow the fighters delivered, my legs twitched. With every spray of blood on the concrete floor, every body smashed into the wire surrounding the cage, an envious pain sliced through my stomach.
I wanted in, I wanted to rip those fuckers apart. I wanted to feel the cold steel of my knuckledusters back on my fingers, feel my spiked blades slowly pierce my opponent’s flesh, and I wanted to watch as the life leaked out of his eyes. I wanted to bring death; I wanted to rip out someone’s fucking soul.
The monster within me wanted out and I was losing the battle to keep him at bay. Six months … six months of being away from that cage, yet every instinct I had was telling me to go back. That it was where I belonged, that I deserved to keep fighting. My nightmares were getting worse … more memories of my killings becoming clearer … the guilt, and the fucking uphill battle of trying to adjust to this godforsaken world. A world that was becoming more and more difficult to be in.
<
br /> Shit! I couldn’t fucking breathe!
I sat forward, raking my hands through my hair, fighting my thoughts, the urges in my head. I wanted to embrace the demons inside, but at the same time, I wanted to fucking leave this shit hole of a fight ring and not feel the coming sense of death clogging up the air. I wanted to get the fuck away from the cage. It was in a cage where I’d slaughtered over six hundred men. It was in a cage where I’d killed my only friend.
I winced as 362’s face flashed into my mind: his grin as he met me in the gulag as a kid, teaching me how to survive, and his face as I took his life, stealing his chance at revenge on those who had condemned him to the life of a fucking monster.
I saw nothing but red as I straddled his waist and speared a 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.
I’d killed him. I’d watched as his dark eyes frosted over with the coldness of death. I’d watched as the color from the fight drained from his face, and I’d listened to that final beat of his heart until there was nothing but the deafening scream of silence.
“Revenge…,” 362 had uttered, choking on blood washing back down his throat.
I’d fucking promised him my revenge on the people who sentenced him to the gulag’s cells; the people I still hadn’t found; the people I still hadn’t killed in cold blood.
I was failing 362, my only friend. And I couldn’t fucking live with it.
Jerking on my chair as the crash of memories assaulted my mind, my heartbeat drummed too fast, and the screaming rush of my blood racked through my ears. In that second of panicked movement, my eyes went to the center of the cage as a fighter gripped his weapon of choice—a jagged hunting knife—and sent it straight through the eye of his opponent, the crowd noise soaring in volume.
My father and the Pakhan got to their feet and clapped, demonstrating their superiority to the bloodthirsty crowd below. The bloodthirsty crowd who were already exchanging money and placing bets on the next fight. All of the desperate and sadistic fuckers thanking the Russian kings for this damn dungeon of death.