by Tillie Cole
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.”
10
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?”
Blinki
ng 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.
11
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.