Raze & Reap

by Tillie Cole

  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.”