Ravage

by Tillie Cole

  Avto did not say anything in response. When I lifted my head, Avto was rigid, his seventy-five-year-old body taut with tension. This time I didn’t ask what was wrong. I simply waited.

  “He is not alone,” Avto admitted, after many strained seconds.

  “He has minders that found him? People loyal to our family?”

  Avto shook his head, his crepe-thin skin paling. I edged forward and placed my hand on his arm. “Avto?”

  But Avto did not say anything; instead he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled put a picture. My heart kicked into a sprint as I stared at the white back of the photograph. Zaal. I knew my Zaal was in that picture.

  I reached out my hand, but Avto pulled it back. I met his eyes in annoyance. Avto cleared his throat. “Zaal is not alone, Zoya. We have heard the news that he is recently engaged to be wed.”

  My lips parted in shock and I shook my head. “Engaged? How is that possible? I thought he had been imprisoned by Jakhua? When did he have time to find a woman? I don’t understand how any of this is possible.”

  Avto stared down at the picture in his hand, then pushed it out for me to take. My hands shook as I reached out and grasped the picture. I brought it to my chest and closed my eyes. I’d always wondered what Zaal would look like older. Would he be as tall and strong as I always thought he would be? Would he still wear his black hair down to the middle of his back, like the Georgian warriors of old? Would he still smile with carefree abandon, yet be quiet and reserved in personality?

  The picture against my chest felt like it was burning a hole through my clothes. With a deep breath, I pulled the picture back and dropped my gaze to the two figures captured in the scene.

  My heart swelled in my chest at as I stared at the man. The hugely built man with olive tanned skin and long black hair that fell to his back. His green eyes were bright, three moles standing proud under his left eye.

  And he was smiling.

  He was smiling so wide. The smile packed with an abundance of love, as my brother—my now adult and strong brother—stared down at a woman with nothing but adoration.

  My eyes drifted across the picture to the woman and a lump clogged my throat. She was beautiful. Long blond hair fell down her back. She was slight of build, utterly captivating, and her deep brown eyes were looking up at Zaal, her lips smiling, too.

  It felt surreal. My brother who I thought had died was very much alive. Alive and in love. My heart was full and warm.

  Bringing the picture closer to my face, I could see tattoos marring Zaal’s skin, and on closer inspection I could see scars littering bare arms revealed under his short-sleeved shirt. I had to close my eyes as a wave of sorrow washed over me. What must he have gone through under the hand of that evil man?

  Blinking fast, I glanced to Avto. “Who is the woman?”

  Avto did not reply; instead he rocked on his feet, his hands clasping together behind his back.

  “Avto?”

  Shaking his head, Avto said, “I can scarcely believe it to be true, but his fiancée is…” Avto trailed off, his jaw clenching.

  “Who is she?” I demanded, injecting an urgent tone into my voice.

  Without lifting his head, he revealed, “Talia Tolstaia.”

  I was sure the walls and floor of the apartment were falling down around me at the mention of that name. I shook my head, convinced I had misheard. “Can you repeat what you said?” I asked.

  Avto shook his head. “You heard me perfectly, miss. Zaal, our new Lideri, our leader, he is betrothed to Talia Tolstaia, daughter to Ivan Tolstoi, one of the Volkov Bratva Red Kings.”

  My legs weakened so much that Avto reached forward and guided me to the nearest couch. Once I sat down, I studied this picture with new eyes. This woman, this blonde, was the daughter of the family that betrayed my father. The family my brothers, the Kostava Clan, were set to hate, to inflict their revenge upon.

  “I don’t understand, Avto. How could he do this to our family? How could he disgrace us and dishonor our Kostava name by being with this woman?”

  “Miss Zoya, our source informed us that although he does not know the whys—no one can infiltrate their inner circle—the Volkov Bratva were responsible for the rescue of your brother. They found him in the clutches of Jakhua. They somehow freed him. It was under their protection that he fell in love with the Tolstaia girl.”

  I stared and stared at the picture, and a war broke out inside my heart. My brother was alive, yet he had fallen for our greatest enemy. I could barely wrap my head around this impossible truth.

  Avto placed an arm around my shoulders offering comfort. I melted into his side, and just as I had began to relax Avto added, “Lideri Zaal killed Levan Jakhua. With the help of the Volkov knyaz, Luka Tolstoi, he killed the man that massacred your family. The Jakhuas are no longer a threat, miss. We are no longer in hiding. Our people, you, are free.”

  Startled by Avto’s words, I straightened and absorbed them.

  “Did you hear me, miss? We are no longer in hiding.”

  “You mean I can leave this apartment?” I whispered, not saying the words aloud, fearing they were false.

  “Yes. And our people, miss. All of our people that have been in hiding—the lieutenants, the guards—every one, they are beginning to hear of the news as well. The fact that our Lideri is alive, in your brother, is traveling like wildfire among those in hiding.” Avto smiled and said excitedly, “Our clan can rise again. The Kostavas can take their place here in New York—at long last!”

  My eyes dropped to the picture of Zaal and his Tolstaia love, and my heart fell. “What if he does not want to be Lideri? What if everything he has gone through under Jakhua has scarred his soul too much? What if he wants a life with his woman, and not to be leading our people?”

  Avto’s smile faded. “He is Zaal Kostava, of the famous and noble Kostava Clan. He was born for this role.”

  “Yet you said he has spent his days as a killer created by an evil man.” Avto’s mouth hung at my words, but I shook my head. “None of us are the people we were born to be. I have been in hiding all my life. Zaal has been fighting for his life since he was eight. And Anri? Where is he? What I do know is that none of us are the same. How can we be? All we knew was taken from us and destroyed.”

  Avto reached for my hand and squeezed. “Our people have been hiding from Jakhua for over twenty years, some found and killed in the most horrific of ways. Our people need this; they need us to be strong again. They need Master Zaal to be our Lideri.”

  Silence stretched out as I replayed Avto’s words over and over in my head. But he was correct. Our people had lived in fear for over two decades. Only the hope of my brothers’ survival kept their days filled with optimism.

  “I have to see him,” I said, and felt the tension seep from Avto’s body. “I have to tell my brother I am alive. I have to know where Anri is.” My eyes filled with tears and I sniffed. “I need to have my family again. I need to see my sykhaara.”

  “I understand, miss,” Avto said. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a piece of paper. He handed it to me and nodded his head. “Zaal’s home address is on there, as well as the Tolstois’. Every Tuesday and Thursday night, he goes to the Tolstoi household in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. We will decide on a day and take you there, soon.” Avto squeezed my hands tighter as I realized today was a Tuesday. “He will not be able to believe it. His sister, his bloodline, is still alive.”

  Nodding my head, I leaned into Avto and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Avto. Now go home and celebrate this news with your family. If all you have said is true, I am finally safe on my own. That is a blessing.”

  Avto looked to me as a father would to a daughter, then got to his feet. “I’ll come by tomorrow evening. I’ll arrange a car to take us to Brooklyn, to the apartment Zaal shares with his fiancée.”

  I smiled at Avto, and nodded my head as he left the apartment. I heard the door locks snap shut and I flopped back against
the couch. When Avto and his family found me as a child, on the brink of death, under my deceased family’s bodies, our people had rejoiced. I was alive. The Kostava Clan, who had been a royal family of sorts to the people of Georgia, had a living heir. And Anri and Zaal were missing. Not dead, but missing. A hope that was diminished was suddenly reborn.

  Like the proverbial princess locked in the tower, I had been hidden and treated like a goddess my entire life. We had moved around a lot, until I feared I would go crazy from the suffocating seclusion my life had become. I was treated more like a prized jewel than a human, too precious to lose to our enemy. The last pillar of hope for the Tbilisi Kostava dynasty.

  Until now.

  Jumping to my feet, I rushed to the heavy black curtains that were always drawn in my apartment. Pushing the curtains aside just a fraction, I stared out into the cold dark night, searching for any signs of life. People were walking past, going about their business, but other than that, I could see no danger.

  Dropping the curtains, I closed my eyes. “There is no more danger,” I said aloud, convincing myself that the threat to my life was no longer there.

  Moving to the closet, I took out my long hooded dark coat and slipped it over my black slacks and black silk blouse. Tucking my long black hair down my back, I clutched the paper with the addresses on and headed toward the door. I needed to do this, alone. And after twenty years of waiting for this news, I could not wait one more second to see my brother.

  I rarely left the apartment, yet I knew the territory like the back of my hand. Years ago, when Avto brought me to New York, he had made sure I memorized every road, every subway station. I had to be prepared, in case I had to flee alone. I was trained to sink into the shadows.

  Opening the door to the Manhattan street, the snow falling down painting the darkened concrete roads in white, I pulled my hood up, and made my way down the steps of my apartment building, immediately becoming one of the people on the street. With my head down, I arrived at the subway and entered the busy station. Sitting down on a spare seat, I allowed myself to pull out the photo and stare at the happy couple.

  The long journey to Brighton Beach was much quicker than I imagined it would be. My focus was on the brother I’d thought I’d lost forever, mixed with the heady anticipation that within the hour I would meet him again.

  The train pulled to a stop, and I hurried out of the station. I had never been to Brighton Beach before, and when I stepped out onto the street I gasped at my surroundings. I felt like I was in another world. The gray buildings were empty and falling apart. The streets were dark and dingy. Cold wind whistled through the boarded-up houses and half-standing restaurants and shops. It was nothing when compared to the opulence and beauty of Manhattan.

  Ignoring the icy chill racing down my spine, I forced my feet to move, the soles of my black boots crunching on the snow beneath. I stayed in the dark of the unlit streets, becoming one with the night, until I arrived at a row of brownstones. The center house stood proudly in this place of dilapidation. Its upkeep clearly showing the owners had money.

  My heart raced.

  The House of Tolstoi.

  The windows were high and wide, and anyone could see that the people residing in this house were a cut above the rest. Then my heart stilled when shadows moved past the window. I squinted my eyes, focusing through the petals of falling snow. There was a tall man, with a broad chest, holding on to a woman with long brown hair. I held my breath when a blond woman moved into center stage. Her hands were on her hips as she joked and laughed with the brunette.

  Talia Tolstaia.

  I searched for lost breath as I stared at my brother’s fiancée; then I ceased to breathe at all when two large arms threaded around her shoulders from behind. The arms were olive skinned and tattooed, and I knew I was staring at Zaal.

  I prayed for him to move into the view of the window, but his face never came into view.

  I needed to see him.

  Wrapping my arms around my waist, my hood firmly in place, I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the silent street.

  It was time he knew I was here.

  That his bloodline had survived.

  2

  194

  “Get up.”

  Coldness ripped me from my sleep. My body was drenched with ice-cold water and shot off the floor where I was laid. I roared as I lurched to my feet, my naked body jerking at the feel of the cold air lapping my skin.

  My hands tightened as I turned to the Gvardii, the Georgian guard of my cage. He was nothing more than svin’ya to me, a pig. All of them were pathetic pigs dressed in Wraith uniforms, trying to act tough. One strike from me would bring them nothing but death.

  They acted like death.

  I was death.

  The guard backed away from the metal bars of the cage when I approached. “Stand to attention, Beast!” he ordered, trying to act tough. “She’ll be here soon.”

  Then he smiled at me, and I braced for the serum. He pressed the button on his remote; the metal collar around my neck immediately tightened, the needles inside the collar slicing into my neck. My teeth gritted with the pain of the serum injecting into my veins.

  Then came the heat. The serum burned as it ran through my muscles, my head snapping back as the poison took its hold. Like being ripped back from my body, a bystander forced to watch, I felt my free will drift away. The need to kill soon became the only thing in my head. The only thing I could feel. The only thing I was—a killer.

  Footsteps sounded on the long corridor, the sound of those feet taking me back to before, to that night, the night when they took me.

  When they took her.

  In a flash the memory left and I shouted, rage pulsing from within. Seeing the guard smiling from behind the bars, I charged forward, slamming my shoulder into the metal. The cage door creaked; he stepped back in fear. The collar tightened even more, my veins throbbing with the pressure.

  I stood back, then braced myself to charge again. Just as I moved my feet to charge, a voice made me freeze where I stood.

  “Halt!” the female voice snapped, the serum in my body caused my body to stiffen at the voice of my Mistress.

  My Mistress that I had to obey.

  My eyes stayed focused on the floor and I watched her black boots come into view. My skin pricked as her hand lifted through the cage bars and ran down my chest.

  “Leave!” Mistress ordered the guard. I heard him scurry away, leaving us alone. Mistress opened the cage door, and I felt her step inside, slamming the cage door shut behind her.

  Her fingers landed on my arm and ran up until they drifted over the black metal collar I forever had to wear. “194,” she whispered, and her fingers ran to my cheek. I wanted to rip her arms from her sockets, snap her thin neck, but the serum kept me still; the serum kept me from disobeying Mistress.

  “Lift your eyes and look at me!” she ordered in Russian, and on command my eyes snapped up. I watched her. My eyes bored into hers. Her dark hair was slicked back in a tight bun, and her hard face glared at mine.

  Then she smirked. That same smirk I hated so much.

  “You have been out for a few days, 194. We had to move locations. You have a new hit.” My blood pumped faster as I knew I was to kill. The serum made me want to kill. When I killed I’d get relief. She wouldn’t know I got relief. This bitch would never know that for me the serum only worked temporarily. She would never know I didn’t become 100 percent obedient, like some other of the test subjects had.

  Mistress moved in closer, her tits pressing up against my bare chest. Her mouth went to my ear, as her hand drifted down my stomach, to land on my cock, her warm hand wrapping around my flesh. She began stroking me, my dick hardening with the serum. “You will kill, 194, you will kill, or she will pay.”

  My teeth gritted together in anger at her threat. Mistress moved back and, staring at my expression, began to laugh. But her hand never left my cock, her tight grasp hard and increasing
in speed, causing my breath to come in short hard pants.

  Mistress watched me, her eyes shining with power, until she edged closer still and whispered, “Fuck me. Hard. Take me like the beast that you are.” Her tongue licked around the shell of my ear. “Take me like the ugly beast I made you into!”

  Sheer anger washed over me as I practically felt the long scars on my face and head burning from her words, but her command saw my body lurching forward and grabbing Mistress by her hair. Using my strength, I slammed her front against the wall and wrenched up her dress. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath—she never did—so I kicked her legs apart and slammed myself inside.

  I was as rough and as hard as I could be—I wanted her to suffer—but the scream from Mistress’s mouth wasn’t from pain. The bitch loved it. She loved pain. Torture. She loved making me bend to her will. She loved to own me.

  Mistress’d trained me well. This was what I did. I killed. I fucked. I could make any bastard talk.

  Gripping her hair tighter, her head snapping back, I placed my other hand on her hip and repeatedly pounded inside.

  I wanted to hurt her, but the harder I tried, the more she got off on my savageness. Her pussy was dripping wet, the sounds of her juices in her channel slapping against my dick.

  I grunted at the effort. Mistress’s cunt began to tighten around my shaft. I wanted this to last. I wanted to make her bleed, rip out her hair, and bite the flesh off her neck, but she’d only ordered me to fuck, so all I could do was fuck this evil bitch.

  My thighs began to tingle, the pressure of my release racing up my back. Sensing I needed to come, Mistress ordered, “Do not come until I say so, Beast!” My jaw clenched at her command, but my body obeyed, my balls full and painful with the need to come. I thrust into her harder, Mistress’s breath coming faster and faster. Agony surged through groin and prick with the inability to find release, but I took it. This pain would fuel my revenge when the time came.