Ravage

by Tillie Cole

  She smiled when she saw me watching her hands. “It’s strange, but I can’t stop touching it.”

  Her kind voice set me at ease, and I found myself asking, “How far along are you?”

  “Six months,” she said. I could hear the excitement in her voice.

  I turned to look out of the window, envious that this woman was so content with her life. Then Kisa said, “I understand why you’re angry, Zoya.” I stiffened, not wanting to hear it, but she pressed on, “I really do. I would never dare patronize or fail to see why you are so angry with Zaal. With Talia. With us all.” I tensed, but she continued, “Our families have had a horrid past; there’s no shying away from this fact. I get that you’re still living it, every single day.”

  I looked at Kisa, not knowing what to say. Thankfully, all I saw was openness and understanding in her eyes. Leaning forward, she shifted her body toward me. “I was there when Talia told us she was in love with Zaal. And it wasn’t easy for her, either. She loved her babushka very much, and believe me, Talia hated your father for ordering the death of her dedushka. His widow was the woman Talia deemed to be her best friend. A woman she had not long lost.

  “She fought her attraction to Zaal out of respect for her deceased family, but in the end, neither of them could fight their love. Zaal warred over his family’s—your family’s—memory and honor. But he was so alone, so confused, and very much in love with a forbidden woman. It wasn’t easy for anyone. Even my father-in-law, at first, could not bring himself to welcome your brother into the family—for exactly the same reason you refuse to accept Talia. But he has warmed to your brother, immensely. He now believes that it is not fair to continue to hold a grudge against the son of the wronged man. Or vice versa, as I’m sure you view it.”

  “Right now, I find I can’t move past it,” I admitted after quiet seconds of reflection. My throat thickened, and I said, “It’s my family. The family I never got to know because they were taken from me. Brutally. And the worst thing is, I remember it all. I may have been young, but I remember it all. The smell of the blood, the stench of burning from the bullets cutting through flesh. Zaal was my hero. I cannot help but feel betrayed.”

  Kisa cautiously reached out to lay her hand in mine. “Zoya, Talia is my best friend, and one of the best people I know. She loves Zaal with a fierceness I didn’t believe possible in my friend. And I also have come to know Zaal—the Zaal as he is now. He is quiet and reserved; he barely speaks. I know this is because he lives every day with the same sorrow and pain you do.” She squeezed my hand. “For your family. For not remembering his twin … for losing the little sister he talks of at every opportunity.”

  My eyes filled with tears and I rasped, “He does?”

  Kisa smiled softly and she nodded her head. “I feel I know you already, even though we have just met.”

  Her sentiment warmed my heart. “I’m not sure I can move past it. How do I move past him marrying the enemy? How can I move past him imprisoning the man I love?”

  Kisa shrugged. “You forgive, Zoya.”

  “That easily?”

  Kisa sighed. “Believe me, Zoya, my life, Talia’s life, has been filled with heartache, too, through people similar to those that took Zaal and your family away from you. One day I will tell you about it. But I found that if I did not forgive the past I wasted the new chance at life I have been awarded with lyubov moya.” Her eyes met mine. “The new chance we all have been given. You survived. Zaal survived. And you have both found your way to each other, right now, here in Brooklyn, far from your native land. I refuse to believe it is mere coincidence.”

  I had taken a long deep breath, absorbing what she had said, when she added, “I’ll stop talking now, but I want you to know one thing. I was there when Zaal got news of you. That you were alive. It was as though the heaviest of burdens had been lifted from his shoulders. Before the news of your survival he would get lost in his head. Talia was the only person who could lead him out of the darkness. I always felt so sad for him.

  “Then when we discovered you had been taken he changed. Gone was the quiet reserved giant, and born was a fierce leader. He gathered your people, those protecting you here in New York, and asked them to pledge their loyalty.” Kisa paused, then said emphatically, “Zoya, he took on the mantle of Lideri to your people for one reason only—to bring you home. Because you are home.

  “Zaal had refused the title of Lideri until that day. Knowing you were out there somewhere, alive, awoke something within him. If you want us, Zoya, we are your family. And we will love you as hard as we do each other.”

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t respond to what she had said. All I could imagine was Zaal standing in front of our people, tall and strong, leading them on his own. It was always meant to be both Anri and Zaal standing there, leading our people side by side, but Zaal had taken on the role of Lideri, by himself, for me.

  Just like my Zaal of old would have done.

  My head flopped back against the leather seat, and I closed my eyes. In my mind I saw how lovingly he looked at Talia. How Talia defended him when I was angry. And I knew Kisa was right. Talia loved him deeply despite him being a Kostava.

  My anger washed away. I felt tired. Tired of harboring hate. Tired of pain and heartache. And I so wanted to see Valentin’s face.

  I wanted my beautiful monster.

  As the streets passed by in a blur, I smiled to myself at Kisa’s hand still lying on top of mine. Inhaling, I asked quietly, “You are to be the Pakhan’s wife one day, aren’t you? Luka, he will be the Bratva boss?”

  Kisa’s fingers twitched as she said, “Yes. Someday.”

  I smiled wider this time. “You’ll be a good leader to your people, Kisa. Someone to look up to and admire. Someone to confide in and trust. A strong woman for other wives to emulate.”

  A breath hitched in Kisa’s chest. I slowly rolled my head against the headrest to face her. Her shocked pretty face was locked on mine, and her eyes glistened in the glow of passing streetlights.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, sincerity lacing her sweet tone.

  Looking out of the window once more, I sighed. “It’s true. You are exactly what a pakhan’s wife should be. Luka should be very proud to have you by his side.”

  “He is,” she confirmed, and I heard the love for her husband clearly in her voice, “as I am of him. So very proud.”

  Nothing else was said for the rest of the journey.

  But her hand remained holding mine.

  21

  ZOYA

  “This is the place?”

  I stared at what looked like a run-down gym. Kisa nodded. “‘The Dungeon.’ I’m the manager. Come.”

  We entered via the private back door. Kisa led me downstairs until we came to a vast gym. Cages and training equipment of all descriptions covered the floor and walls. My eyes narrowed as I inspected the equipment. I swallowed hard.

  Kisa must have seen my reaction, and explained, “We run a death-match enterprise. The men are mostly volunteers, or prisoners—rapists, murderers. Men that don’t belong in the streets.”

  I stared at the bloodstained floors, the weapons on the walls, and I felt overwhelmed. I didn’t know life at all.

  At least this life.

  I had a feeling this would change very soon.

  Kisa headed for the back of the gym. We walked past locker rooms and stopped at a barred metal door. A large man stood there, clearly guarding the entrance.

  “Pavel, let us in, please?” Kisa asked. The man, Pavel, pulled out a ring of keys and opened the heavy door.

  As a dank, dimly lit stone hallway revealed itself, I felt the name the Dungeon was appropriate. The lights randomly hanging from the ceilings were straight out of a gothic novel. Kisa led me down the hallway, then down some steps until we reached the mouth of a short hallway.

  Pausing on the final step, she turned to me and said, “Zoya. You must understand this. Zaal saw the screens in the Mistress’s man
sion. He watched Valentin torturing you and he snapped. Luka told me you were cold and pale in his arms. Zaal couldn’t contain his anger. He’d just gotten you back. You were unresponsive. Then he saw footage of you being tortured.”

  My heart beat with a fierce rhythm, because I did understand. With mounting trepidation, I enquired, “What has he done to Valentin?”

  Kisa paled. “He hurt him, Zoya. Badly. As close as he could to like for like.” Kisa winced. “Valentin has been down here for days. You should prepare yourself.”

  For a moment I closed my eyes. My heart pained for my lost man. “Why did no one help him?”

  “Because Zaal commanded that Valentin be left to him, and him alone.” I frowned. Kisa laid her hand upon my arm. “Zoya, Zaal is in the Volkovs’ inner circle. The Bratva have always had three men leading. There’s always the Pakhan in the head seat, of course. But historically, there have been three, or even four, Bratva kings to rule the Red Brotherhood. It’s stronger that way. Luka is knyaz. Before Zaal became the Georgian Lideri, Luka had chosen Zaal to be at his side, as one of the future kings.”

  A strong sense of pride filled my chest when I heard this information. “So—”

  “So Zaal ordered Valentin to be left solely to him. And as he is a man in the inner circle, that’s precisely what has happened. No one would dare challenge a command that comes directly from him.”

  Licking my lips, the cold air bringing a chill to my skin, I whispered nervously, “I need to see Valentin.”

  Kisa handed me the ring of keys the guard had held and said, “He is in the cell at the end. There are no windows. Zaal cut the lights near his cell. There is a light switch outside of the cell. You’ll need it to see. This place is aptly named ‘the Darkness.’ It is designed for torture and extreme punishment of enemies, nothing else.”

  I swallowed again. With a shaking hand, I took the keys from Kisa. As she turned to walk away, she instructed, “There are four guards in this building. I will tell them you’re down here and that you’re not to be disturbed. Ask Pavel if you need anything. He’ll get whatever you ask for.”

  Kisa started to climb the stairs. I felt the need to ask, “Why are you helping me? Valentin did torture me. Shouldn’t you too be warning me off, too?”

  Kisa glanced back, her face sympathetic. “Let’s just say that I fell for a man I shouldn’t have, either. Turns out he was the right man for me all along. Turns out he was, he is, my soul mate.” She nudged her chin in the direction of the cells. “You will know soon enough if you truly love that man down there, or if that obsession was prompted by your capture and eagerness to be free.” She shrugged. “Who are we to tell you what’s in your heart, no matter how extreme the circumstances in which you two met?”

  “Thank you,” I said quietly after several seconds of not being able to respond.

  “You’re welcome, sweetie,” Kisa replied with a smile. She left me alone. I turned to face the hallway.

  My hands shook, rattling the metal keys, as I walked down the dimly lit hallway. Open cells with thick iron bars surrounded me on both sides. My footsteps echoed loudly on the hard stone floor, but I forced myself to keep moving. I had to reach the cell at the end of the hallway. When I reached the large isolated cell at the end, I could see nothing inside. The ceiling lights were out.

  Valentin had been kept in total darkness for days.

  Pulse pounding, I hurried the rest of the way, blind in the darkness. I pushed my hands out, feeling in front of me until I reached a hard slick wall. My fingers searched until they landed on the switch. I flicked it on—another dull light fighting a losing the battle to illuminate the darkness. I blinked, adjusting my eyes to see in the poor light. When I glanced through the steel bars, I sank to my knees.

  Valentin.

  Valentin was shackled to the wall, his face and body bloodied and beaten. My stomach lurched when I saw deep gashes across his stomach and chest.

  He’d lost weight. His head was hanging low on his slumped body. His arms were holding him up and his feet were dragging on the stone floor.

  I retched. The sight of this man so broken tore my heart. Spurred into action, I checked the lock of the door and sought to find the right key from the bundle in my hand. It took me five tries to find the right one. As the cell door swung open, I ran in. Valentin didn’t move. He didn’t lift his head.

  My hands were trembling at the sight of him hanging from the wall. I had to look away from his broken body to stop myself from collapsing. Instead I focused on the cuffs around his wrists. I stared at the small lock and searched for the key that would fit. My fingers were clumsy, but I caught sight of a tiny key. It had to be the one.

  Holding the key, I edged closer. Inhaling sharply, I whispered, “Valentin?”

  A soft moan drifted from Valentin’s mouth at the sound of my voice. I saw his fingers flinch. The coil in my chest began to unwind as he fought to lift his head.

  I unlocked the cuff on his right hand. As soon as the cuff parted, his body lurched forward. Valentin’s large body now hung on the strength of one arm.

  I tried to push him up, but his huge frame and height defeated me. I moved to the other cuff and unlocked it. As soon as the metal cuff came apart, Valentin fell facedown on the hard stone floor.

  I had to glance away to regain my composure. He was naked. Every inch of his body was bruised, bloodied, or swollen. Zaal had punished him severely.

  Half of me was angry at my brother, but the other half understood. I had been unconscious for days, unable to understand or articulate what this Russian man had come to mean to me.

  Everything, I thought. This man had become my everything.

  Spurred back to action, I bent down. I shucked off the coat Talia had given me, ignoring the severe cold in this dank sparse space. Valentin wasn’t moving. He lay in a heap on the floor, his arms twisted in the awkward position in which he had fallen.

  Rubbing my hands together to generate some heat, I placed them on his side and pushed his body until he lay on his back.

  A low stuttered groan came from Valentin’s bruised lips. I winced at the sight of his body. My breathing paused when I caught his eyes moving behind swollen eyelids.

  “Valentin,” I whispered. “Are you okay?”

  Valentin tried to move, tried to put his hands on the floor, but when his hands found purchase he was too weak to move.

  “No, don’t,” I soothed, and inched closer. Valentin seemed to relax, his body calming and his breathing evening out. His fingers twitched. When I saw his hand twitch, I realized he was trying to hold my hand. My stomach turned, as I was reassured that he wanted me to hold him.

  After everything Valentin still wanted me close.

  I carefully laid my palm against his, my fingers featherlight against his. I didn’t want to hurt him.

  I ran my free hand over his forehead and brought my face close to his. “It’s okay, Valentin. I’m here now.”

  At my words, Valentin squeezed my hand. It was light, barely a squeeze at all, but I could feel his relief that I was here, that he was no longer alone.

  My heart ached at the thought of him in this cell, being tortured. I knew this was a strange thought, considering what he’d done to me, but I felt it all the same. He wasn’t Valentin then; he was desperately trying to be the hero to his sister—which made him every inch a hero to me.

  My eyes roved down his injured body. Unable to suppress the sentiment on the tip of my tongue, I whispered, “I love you.”

  Valentin’s hand tightened on mine. I stared at his bruised hand and how it looked against my skin. Shivers ran over my body at the feel of someone watching me. I glanced up. Staring at me, tired but bright, were Valentin’s crystal blue eyes. His dark eyebrows made him appear as severe as always, as did his many facial scars. But those eyes were as soft as a cloud as they gazed upon me.

  “Hey,” I said, and moved to hover over his face. His hand kept hold of mine. As I felt the warmth from his broken body
, my eyes began to fill with tears. His eyes searched mine.

  They moved down to search my body. I assured, “I am fine.” I knew he was checking that I was okay. His eyebrows pulled down slightly, letting me know he didn’t believe me.

  Swallowing, I explained, “She drugged me, Valentin. I have been sick for days, but I have no memory. I didn’t even remember you until my mind cleared and your eyes flashed in my mind.” Tears built, but I blinked them away. “I am so sorry that you’re hurt. What Zaal has done to you…,” I trailed off.

  My head lowered until I laid my cheek against his chest.

  “Was … deserved.”

  I stilled when he croaked out his response. I moved to look up but felt his hand gently press my head, and I melted farther into his chest at his touch.

  I pressed a kiss to his skin and confessed, “Even though I don’t remember anything, I feel that I have missed you.”

  “Zoya,” Valentin rasped, and I heard his heart beat louder in his chest.

  Zaal’s warning about my closeness to Valentin sprang to mind. Coldness filled my body at the thought that I wanted Valentin simply because he had been my captor.

  “What?” Valentin asked.

  Raising my head to look down at him, I hesitated, then eventually admitted, “Zaal doesn’t understand how I can want you. He thinks it’s wrong”—I paused and swallowed—“because you hurt me.”

  Valentin closed his eyes. When they reopened, they were radiating regret. “He’s right,” Valentin confirmed after a long silence.

  I shook my head. He squeezed my hand. “No,” I argued. “I’m not some victim who has a strange obsession with their abuser. You are not evil. You were doing what you could to save your sister.” I pointed to Valentin’s broken body. “Zaal has just done the same.” I huffed out a single humorless laugh. “It is gallant in a way. It was cruelty born from the duty of love.”

  I had run my hand over Valentin’s head when his watery gaze looked up at me. He licked across his spilt lips and whispered, “Mistress sent her away.”

  I froze, then blew out a deep exhale. “I know, baby.”