Reap

by Tillie Cole

  But when his tongue pushed through to my mouth, my tongue tentatively meeting his, Zaal’s hips moved, his length pushing harder into me.

  We kissed. He thrust. My hands explored. My palms met hot skin: his shoulders, his waist, and his back. With every sensation of my touch, Zaal’s pace increased. His lower abdomen dragged over my clit. Crying out, such sensitivity almost too much to stand, my hands gripped on to his ass. Zaal roared into my mouth.

  He devoured me with his mouth.

  He dominated me with his strength.

  But my heart, my heart was giving itself to him. With every thrust he made inside me, another piece of my heart broke and melded into his.

  Zaal’s hips moved faster and faster, his movements jerky and erratic. Pressure built in my spine. I almost came undone as Zaal’s moist lips dragged across my cheek, peppering me with kisses and swipes of his tongue. He traveled to my neck and I cried out as his damp chest grazed against my hard nipples.

  “Zaal,” I moaned, my voice hitching.

  “Talia,” he grunted back. My fingers kneaded his ass, driving him even further into me.

  I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t take the desire surging through my veins, the want and need for this man lit me up from the inside. Zaal’s skin brushed against my clit; pounding, circling, teasing. I dug my nails in, bit down on Zaal’s shoulder, and burst apart, as the most intense orgasm of my life tore through my core.

  I came, coating Zaal’s cock. The walls of my pussy clenching, I gripped Zaal’s dick until he began to snarl. The sounds pouring from his mouth were vicious and raw, but everything told me how he felt—that he was feeling the same magnetic draw as me.

  Zaal’s unrelenting hips suddenly stilled. His head whipped back, neck corded. He thundered as he came, his cum bathing my pussy with warmth. It was enough to take me over again, but my attention was fixed on Zaal’s face … on the pure pleasure our joining had brought to him.

  As the last of Zaal’s thrusts jerked into me, he dropped his forehead to my shoulder. I ran gentle fingers down his spine. My eyes were closed as he shrouded me with his warmth. Then it was just us.

  Joined.

  Replete.

  Melded.

  As we lay in each other’s arms, a tear slipped from the corner of my eye. The betrayal to my family was complete; realized and profound. But so were my feelings for Zaal.

  Weeks of watching him pace back and forth in the basement, held captive in chains, gave birth to my obsession. Watching him leech whatever drug they’d pumped in his veins, as he lay—broken—on the floor, had given birth to my compassion. Watching him slumped against the wall, shackled, with lost and lonely eyes, gave birth to my affection. But lying here, taken and warm in his arms; well, that had opened my heart.

  Zaal was in my whole heart.

  The hammering of his strong pulse began to slow. His soft breaths on my neck evened out. My hands continued to trace the ridges of his spine. Then Zaal lifted his head.

  My eyes met his, and my heart cracked.

  Tears filled his eyes, a disbelieving expression possessed his face. “Zaal?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

  Two tears fell over his cheeks and trickled down his olive skin, then down onto my chest, rolling over his identity ink. My heart constricted at this devastating sight, then completely shattered when he sucked in a stuttered breath and asked, “I … I am truly free?”

  Wrapping my arms around his neck, I held him tight due to the look of utter disbelief on his face.

  “Yes,” I assured, and nuzzled into his neck. “You’re free, Zaal. That man can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe. You’re free. There’s no more pain.”

  His arms around my back tightened as I spoke those words. His breathing was heavy and I could feel the water from his eyes dropping into my hair. “Shh…” I soothed, stroking my hands through his hair.

  Zaal stayed like that for minutes, still buried inside me. Eventually he lifted his head. I swallowed at the way he stared at me like … like I was his everything. “Because … of you?” he asked.

  I held my breath.

  “What?” I whispered.

  “Free … because of you?”

  I pressed my hand to his face. “No. My brother freed you. I was already at the house when you were brought here.” I glanced down. Redness filled my cheeks. “I watched you in the basement. After weeks spent watching from afar, I … I finally had to see you in person.”

  Zaal’s frown was prominent as he mulled over what I’d divulged. I stroked my finger along his cheek. “Do you remember anything about the night you were freed?”

  Zaal’s face contorted as if he was in pain. His hold on me tightened. “I … I remember pain, rage. I remember the chains and wanting to kill. Then venom and pain leaving my body. Then weakness, confusion.” His top lip hooked into a flicker of a smile, and he added, “Then you.” He exhaled through his nose. “Your small hand on my skin.”

  Zaal’s panicked eyes fixed on me. “Why did your brother free me?”

  My body froze at his question. Zaal’s tense jade irises implored me to answer. But I didn’t know what to say. He was still weak, still recovering. I wasn’t sure he should hear about his twin brother, his family, the experiments he’d been forced to endure, from my mouth.

  Distracting Zaal from his question, I bent his head and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Shh. Let’s get some rest. All will be explained in good time.”

  Zaal’s tense body relaxed with a relieving exhale. I palmed his cheeks. “Shall we go to bed?”

  Zaal’s face expressed confusion again. He looked around us. “We are already on the floor.” I frowned at his strange reply, then my stomach sank. We are already on the floor.…

  God, I thought. My stomach turned over. He’d never slept in a bed. It was why he took me on the floor. He didn’t know any better.

  “Zaal.” I spoke with authority to command his full attention. “You’re free now. And you’ll sleep in my bed, with me.”

  His face showed no understanding, so I pushed slightly on his arms. “Stand, and I’ll show you,” I directed, but Zaal didn’t move. “Zaal?” I pushed harder, but he still didn’t move.

  “You will stay with me?” he asked. I caught a tinge of panic in his voice.

  My heart bloomed, and I rolled my head to kiss his arm. “I won’t leave your side,” I assured.

  Zaal’s green eyes shone, but he pulled back, his length slipping from within me. I moaned at the sudden feeling of loss.

  But suddenly I gasped. My head lifted to stare at Zaal. His fingers were running over my clit and further down. I jerked, still too sensitive, when two of Zaal’s fingers pushed within me. I was rooted to the floor. When, unexpectedly, he pulled out his fingers and promptly sat back on his heels.

  I was so turned on I could barely think straight.

  Gathering my wits, I shakily got to my feet. Zaal was still on the ground, his eyes watching me like a hawk. I moved toward him and held out my hand. He took it without hesitation. Rising slowly to his feet, Zaal’s six foot six height eclipsed the fading sunlight streaming through the blinds at my window.

  Walking behind him, I ran my hand over my bed. “We sleep in here.” Zaal’s assessing stare narrowed when it met the comforter.

  Releasing his hand, I walked around him. Then he lightly grabbed my wrist. “Where do you go?” His voice betrayed an edge of panic, so I stroked my finger along his forearm. I blushed as I stated, “I’m going to cleanse myself.”

  He looked down my body, clearly wondering why. Then he fixed his gaze on my pussy and his cum coating my thighs. His face turned stormy. He pulled me back, wrapping me tightly in his embrace. “No,” he ordered aggressively. “You stay with me, like this.”

  My pulse raced, blood coursing through my body. The way he dominated, he owned, he possessed inflamed my already tingling skin. A finger lifted my chin. I found myself falling into his deep green gaze. “Do not cleanse,
” he said in his strong Georgian accent.

  “I won’t cleanse,” I assured in reply. His hold on me relaxed.

  Leaning over Zaal, I pulled back the comforter and climbed into bed. Zaal was standing beside the bed, looking down. I tapped the mattress and said, “Climb in, Zaal. Rest with me.”

  It took a few seconds, but Zaal did climb into the bed next to me. Immediately he held me in his arms. I inhaled the musk of his warm skin and turned to look him in the eyes.

  As we stared at each other, somehow I felt different. This man, and what we’d just experienced, had changed me. He was changing me. A small smile spread on my lips as I caught sight of those beautiful three moles on the side of his face.

  Zaal drew in a breath. Inching closer, he whispered, “Potzeluy.” I closed my eyes.

  Without hesitation, I pressed my mouth against his. It was soft, it was tender. I felt like my prayer had been answered.

  As I pulled away, Zaal’s fingers stroked over my hair. Adopting a serious expression, he repeated quietly, “You are … for me?”

  Ignoring everything but Zaal and I, our magnetic attraction, and what we’d just shared, I tipped my forehead to meet his, whispering, “Yes, Zaal … I think I am … for you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Luka

  “One, two, three, four.”

  I slammed my fists forward, ripping into the flesh of the newly slaughtered pig hanging from the rafter of the gym. Viktor, my death-match trainer from my Dungeon days, counted my reps beside me.

  My bladed knuckle-dusters sliced into the pink flesh of the swine, the dripping blood and the cut of the skin almost humanlike as I let the power of my punches loose.

  “Drop and give me fifty,” Viktor ordered. I did as commanded, falling into my push-ups position. I pushed off the floor, eyes focused forward as Viktor counted me down.

  The familiar smells of the gym filled my nose, the sounds of clanging metal, grunts, and punching bags being struck brought me back to life. But a rip of guilt also sliced through my chest. Kisa had no idea I’d been training again. She had no idea that I’d called on Viktor to get me match fit again. To be Raze ready.

  In the weeks that I’d been back in Brooklyn, the street war between the Bratva and the Jakhua Georgians had begun. Our men were being targeted, shot, killed, beat. And it incensed me. Fueled the constant rage I’d had fought to rein in.

  As the knayz I was forbidden to fight. The Pakhan wanted to secure the safety of his future successor. But me? I wanted to be on the streets. I wanted to fight among the men. I wanted to take the lives of our enemy. I wanted to be a part of the war, not watching from the sidelines.

  Fuck. I needed the violence. Something dark within me still craved it.

  And more than that, I wanted Jakhua. Anri’s revenge would not be complete until that fucker had died under my blades. I wouldn’t move on until that mission had been accomplished. Right now that fucker was in hiding. But at some point he’d show his face, and when he did, I’d be prepped and ready to take him out.

  “Fifty,” Viktor called, ending my push-ups. I jumped up, only to start my next set of reps on what was left of the decimated pig carcass. I was ten reps in to my routine when I felt someone watching me.

  Lifting my head, I searched the gym, and my eyes fell on Kisa standing near the entrance to her office. My stomach rolled. She was meant to be out for the day. She was never meant to know I was training again. She wouldn’t understand why I needed this.

  Halting in my training session, sweat pouring down my face, I breathed hard as I stared at my wife. Her expression was unreadable as she stood motionless just watching me in my gym shorts, my blood-covered ’dusters firmly on my fists.

  “Shit, been caught,” Viktor muttered under his breath from beside me. He threw Kisa a guilty wave. She waved back, then turned to go into her office. When the door shut, I dropped my head and felt Viktor’s hand land on my shoulder.

  “You better go sort that out, kid,” he said. “I’ll clean up here.”

  Nodding, I slid the ’dusters off my fingers and headed for the office. As I walked through the mob of this season’s recruits perfecting their skills, I couldn’t help but size each one of them up. And I automatically knew I could take them all. For most, there wouldn’t even be a contest. I would slaughter them in seconds. I tried my hardest to push those thoughts from my mind.

  It was no longer my life.

  I reached Kisa’s office, and with my hand hovering over the knob, I took a deep breath and walked in. As the door shut, I stepped forward, unsure of how Kisa was going to react to finding me training.

  I walked before her desk and slumped down in the seat opposite. I stared at the table, hands gripping the edge, not saying a damn word. Kisa didn’t move for several seconds, until she leaned forward and ran her finger over my wedding ring.

  I watched as her finger traced the edges of the gold ring and I held my breath. “How long have you been training?” she asked. Every one of my muscles tensed.

  Briefly closing my eyes, I opened them to look up at my wife and confessed, “Awhile.” Four months to be exact, I added in my head.

  “Here?” she asked. I nodded my head. “Under my nose, hiding in plain sight, or is it only in the shadows or when I’m gone?”

  I sat back in my seat at the anger in Kisa’s voice. She was rarely pissed at me. Clearly my training had pissed her the fuck off. “You wouldn’t understand,” I replied.

  Kisa’s angered face immediately filled with hurt. And I immediately felt like shit. “I would, Luka. I would understand,” she whispered. “If you’d talked to me, I would’ve understood.”

  Her cut voice made me look up at her beautiful face. I could see pain written all over it. And it cut me to shreds. Sighing, I stood and moved around her desk. When I reached Kisa’s side, I pushed her chair back and sat before her on the edge of her desk.

  My taped-up hand ran down her soft cheek and she leaned into my palm. “I need it, solnyshko. I need to train, to fight. This was my life for so long that it’s all I really know. It’s part of me now. Here, in this gym, I feel more at peace than I do when we are with our fathers. I tried to not come here, but I couldn’t. I had to come back.”

  “Lyubov moya,” she whispered sympathetically, and shuffled forward on her seat. Kisa’s hands ran up my thighs. I stared down at her and sighed.

  This woman was my world. The woman God created perfectly just for me.

  Kisa rubbed her lips together and cautiously informed, “I saw our fathers outside.” She didn’t add anything else, just let that information hang in the air.

  I stiffened and clenched my jaw. “They saw me,” I confessed dejectedly, “they saw me sparring in the cage, saw me break a man’s nose and knock him out cold.” I glanced up at Kisa as I remembered finding my father and the Pakhan watching me ringside in shock as I towered over the man I’d forced to the ground.

  “I could see their disappointment,” I said. “My father hadn’t said a word. He just watched me wipe the spattered blood off my chest before walking out of the gym. The Pakhan followed. I disappointed them, I could see it in their faces. I’m not the man they want. I shame them, Kisa.” Kisa’s hands tightened on my thighs and her head tipped to the side.

  Spurred on by her touch, I said, “They don’t want this man I am now, solnyshko. They want the Luka from the past. The promise of that kid they knew years ago. They don’t want this.” I pointed to my cut knuckles and my identity tattoo. “They don’t want the fucked-up monster who can’t shake the conditioning from the gulag.”

  “Luka,” Kisa whispered, and got to her feet. Her hands pushed through my hair as she stood flush to my chest. She guided me straight to her lips. Kisa’s sweet taste immediately exploded in my mouth and made me feel better. I moaned against Kisa’s mouth, and as she wrapped her arms around my waist, I pulled her further against my chest.

  Kisa finally broke away then threaded her arms around my neck. Her eyes met mi
ne. As I got lost in her blue understanding stare, I said, “I can be the knayz, Kisa, I know I can. But I have to be the heir on my terms.”

  Kisa’s arms tightened and she said, “Papa and Ivan don’t want their Bratva’s inner circle to be violent.”

  My jaw clenched when I thought of the Bratva set up before I returned. “Alik Durov fought in the Dungeon, in the cage. He fought our rivals and enemies on the streets. No fucker threatened the Bratva with him as knayz. And they should fear me just the same, if not more. Instead, I’m on a fucking leash. People will think me weak, Kisa. Jakhua attacks our men daily. But I’m expected to sit in an office with Kirill and my father, pushing pens and watching it all happen from behind a mahogany desk.” My muscles burned that sad truth.

  Bringing my hand to my chest, I said, “I could lead our men on the streets, attack our enemies until they crawl back into the holes they slid from.” I leaned forward, my blood pumping faster just imagining it. “I could make the Volkov Bratva unrivaled, Kisa. I could make us stronger than ever. I just need that chance. I need our fathers to trust in me, in the man I am now. Violence included.”

  Blood drained from Kisa’s face. She lost all color. Moving backward, she slumped back on her seat. I watched her in confusion.

  “Kisa?”

  “You want back in the Dungeon?” she whispered brokenly. “You want to fight like Alik did in the cage, on the streets? Even now you want that? Even now you have your life back? Now you have me. Do you still want to kill like him, too?”

  I bent down, my knees hitting the floor. By the look on Kisa’s face, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. “No, baby,” I assured. I pushed her brown hair back from her face. “I fucking hated Durov. There’s not a single day that goes by that I don’t remember killing him and feeling fucking fine with it. But”—I took a deep breath and confessed—“at least he got to be who he really was.”

  Kisa was motionless waiting for me to continue.

  I tried to think of a way to explain myself better. Taking her hand, I said, “I don’t want to fight in the cage anymore. But I don’t know who I am without the fight, if that makes sense. I am the fight. I am death. It’s who I am. It’s who I was molded to be.”