Ravage

by Tillie Cole

  I increased my speed, my arms locking behind Valentin’s thick neck. I moaned; he groaned. I built us higher and higher. Valentin’s fingers suddenly tightened on my legs, and stilling, his face showed his pleasure as he poured himself into my channel with a long loud cry. At his release, I lost control. Unable to hold back any longer, I felt myself slip over the edge, light and shivers accosting my body as a blazing heat engulfed me from within.

  My heart beat in rhythm with his. I slumped against his chest, replete and happy. I was happy. With Valentin, I was completely happy and content. My whole life my soul had yearned for something I couldn’t comprehend, but it was this. It was sharing itself with my true Russian love.

  My beautiful monster.

  My heart.

  Valentin’s arms never released from mine, nor mine his. Eventually, I pulled back my head, only for Valentin to crush his lips to mine in a quick searing kiss.

  Breaking the kiss, he searched my eyes and said, “I love you, kotyonok. So much.”

  Smiling wide, I peppered kisses all across his face and said, “I love you, too.”

  Valentin sighed and rolled us back onto the bed. We stayed joined, until Valentin withdrew from inside me and pulled me to his chest. I sprawled across his torso. Keeping tight hold of me, he asked, “So you are mine? Now and forever, mine?”

  My heart swelled and a peace rippled through me. “Yes,” I said without a hint of doubt, “I’m yours. I belong to you. You possess and own me. As I do you.”

  Valentin squeezed me hard. When I looked up, he was smiling. I lost my breath at the sight. He wasn’t the monster he believed himself to be; he was simply my Valentin. A fellow thief of hearts.

  I had closed my eyes, content with where I was, when Valentin suddenly asked, “What now, Zoya? What happens now that we are free? I never thought ahead this far, and now we’re here, I have no idea what happens next.”

  My eyes opened and I moved to lean on Valentin’s chest. Meeting his eyes, I confessed, “I don’t know, baby, but whatever happens, we’ll do it together.”

  He nodded, deep in thought, and I knew he was thinking of Inessa. Kissing his sternum, I laid my head back down against his chest. As I drifted off to sleep, I felt Valentin’s hand trace down my spine, and he whispered to himself, “No longer alone. I’ll never be alone ever again.”

  My lips pulled into a small satisfied smile.

  Then I drifted off to sleep.

  In love.

  Nightmare-free.

  And heart claimed.

  23

  LUKA

  Two weeks later …

  Kirill stood up from the dining room table now that everyone had finished their meal. He walked from the room to my father’s office. My father, Zaal, and I got up from our seats to follow.

  I glanced back to the table and saw Valentin watching us go. He never spoke during these dinners, but then neither did Zoya. They ate and answered questions when asked, but dinner with the Bratva seemed to put them both out of their depth. I remembered how that felt, to be new to this “normal” life. To no longer be locked away like a fucking animal or, in Zoya’s case, like a target. Shit, Zaal was still finding it difficult, but at least he had Talia. Zoya and Valentin both seemed lost, but then, the way they never let go of each other’s hands, they now had each other.

  That was everything in this life.

  Zaal was coming around to Valentin. Slowly, but he was trying. Zoya was trying with the family, too, spending time with Talia when she could, allowing my sister to burrow into her life, like Talia did with everyone she met.

  But Kisa? My heart squeezed when I thought of how she’d stepped up to bring Zoya into our lives. And I could see that Zoya adored her. But that was how my wife was.

  Kirill’s face had lit up with interest when he had officially met Valentin. The massive man had walked into my parents’ house with his shaven head and scarred face, the inch-thick permanent red scar of the collar wrapping around his neck. I knew what the Pakhan was seeing—a monster of a Russian. Trained to kill, an expert in torture, and, through Zoya, tied to our family. Valentin was a Pakhan’s wet dream. The things he could do, and the way he was built and looked scary enough for our enemies to drop in submission at his feet.

  My mama’s eyes had widened as Valentin walked into the room for the first time two weeks ago. He looked like something from a horror movie when compared to Zoya’s pretty face, his hand locked tightly in hers. But my mama had pulled herself together and hugged him to her chest. He had been welcomed straight into the fold.

  Someone cleared his throat. When I looked up, my father was at the door. He waved his hand for me to come inside. I entered the office and took my place on the other side of the desk from Kirill, who poured us each a drink.

  Sitting back in his seat, Kirill said, “So, Arziani…” He paused and took a sip of his premium vodka. I stilled, desperate to know what our insiders, what Zaal’s insiders, had managed to find out.

  Kirill shook his head. For the first time ever, I saw a hint of worry in his stern face. My stomach tightened at this glimpse of concern. Kirill feared nothing and no one; he was so confident in our Bratva that it was borderline arrogance.

  As he placed his glass on the table, his face morphed with anger. Clearing his throat, he said, “The Arzianis are an underground Georgian enterprise. But unlike anything I’ve heard of before. From what I can tell, Arziani runs his empire—because it is an international empire—like a new Stalin. His men are organized and military grade.”

  Kirill reached into his pocket and threw a silver pin on the desk. I leaned forward, seeing an emblem of two swords, one lying over the other. Kirill pointed to the pin. “Their emblem. They wear it on their black uniforms.”

  Zaal glanced to me. I could see the rage on his face, too. These bastards had him in their hold as a child. He wanted them dead and gone.

  “To my knowledge, there are hundreds of these men all over the world. They live in secret. The very fact that they’ve managed to keep off our radar tells us everything we need to know about them—they’re good. Dangerous. Nothing like we’ve ever seen before. They don’t operate like a crime family, or any made men that we see in this life. They’re their own entity.”

  We were all silent as we soaked up this information. My father sat forward and picked up the emblem. He ran his thumb over the swords and asked, “And how do we know of them now?”

  Kirill pointed to Zaal. Zaal shifted on his seat. “One of my men has a cousin in Georgia that began worrying about one of his family members. He was sneaking off in the middle of the night. His father followed him one time. He said the boy was attending a rally. A Night Wraith rally, as they’re known. He said at the end of the rally his son pledged something to the male standing on a raised stage. His father questioned him about it when he got home. But the next day his son had vanished. He hasn’t been seen since.” Zaal met all of our eyes and explained, “They believe he was recruited by these Wraiths, and taken away to work for them.”

  “The Blood Pit,” I said knowingly.

  Zaal nodded his head. “I think so. That and the gulags, and any other routes they run.”

  “Shit,” my father said, speaking for us all. “Are they a threat to us?” my father asked. I whipped my head round to look directly at him. My father met my furious eyes and paled. “Luka—”

  “They deserve to die, threat or not,” I said coldly, my hands almost snapping the wooden arms of the chair. “They fucking forced me to fight. They took my memories with their drugs and they raped me. Over and over again, for years.” I fought to breathe, then growled, “Threat or not, I get near them and I’ll tear them apart.”

  I felt Zaal radiating fury on his seat and he added, “And whatever’s left will be mine.”

  My father’s eyes widened and he flitted his worried gaze between me and Zaal. “Luka—”

  “We’ve heard rumors that they intend to come to New York.” My blood went from warm to scaldi
ng hot in an instant as Kirill moved the conversation on.

  “Coming to New York?” I questioned darkly.

  Kirill shifted to rest his elbows on his desk and said, “To establish a gulag. The Georgian scum intend to bring a death-match ring to my city, on my turf, and they plan to do it under my nose.”

  “They come and they’ll ignite a war,” my father said coolly, but as I looked to his face I could see he was anything but calm.

  “Unless we kill them first,” I offered. Kirill smiled at me with his coldest smile and nodded his head.

  “Unless we kill them first,” Kirill echoed.

  The room fell silent again. Kirill leaned back on his seat. “We have found out that Abram Durov was being paid off by a Georgian organization. At the time of his death, it was assumed it was a private business, because it wasn’t attached to any crime family. Now”—Kirill’s sharp face darkened—“now we know that he was paid off by the Arzianis. Paid off to keep them from our knowledge.” Kirill faced me. “Kept close so when the day came he had an out for the things his psycho of a son did to this brotherhood.”

  “Me,” I stated. “He kept them close so he could send me away after Alik killed Rodian.”

  The Pakhan’s face was like stone, and he sat before me as Kirill “the Silencer” Volkov. This was the man who ran the most successful crime ring in the world.

  “How do we find out more about them?” my father said. Zaal leaned forward and pointed to the door.

  “He’s sitting around the dining table,” he said, and pulled all of our attention. Zaal’s jaw clenched and he said, “Valentin. He knows about the Night Wraiths. The Mistress was Arziani’s sister. Unlike me, the drugs only worked temporarily on him, so he watched them. Studied them. He remembers everything.”

  “What do you mean, ‘remembers everything’?” Kirill asked. That glint of excitement was back in his eyes when anyone spoke of Valentin.

  “Everything,” Zaal pushed. “Names, ages, maps, locations, number of men our enemies have, weapons they use, schedules—everything. It’s all so strange to me, but he remembers details about everything he has experienced, has happened, in his life.”

  Kirill smiled and said, “An eidetic memory.” Kirill faced my father. “A trained killer and assassin, an expert in torture, and he remembers everything he sees and hears. Including the Arziani Blood Pit.”

  “But more than that,” I added. All eyes fell on me. I sat back in my seat and said, “They have his sister. The Master, Arziani, has an obsession with Valentin’s sister. She’s on the drug they use for their sex slaves and trafficked females.” I stared at the door of the office, like I was looking straight at Valentin. “Valentin will do anything to get her back.”

  “A vicious assassin who will do anything to get his sister back?” Kirill’s skin flushed with the prospect of having someone as lethal as Valentin as a member of our inner circle. Kirill faced Zaal. “How loyal is he to your sister? We need this man. If we bring him in without a trial period, he could betray us.”

  Zaal shook his head. “She is for him. He’s not leaving her. They are forever.”

  “And he’s Russian,” my father added. “He knows of us. He respected us when he found out who we were.”

  “And he needs a purpose. If he is to survive in this new life, he needs to do what he does best—kill. It’s what he’s been made into and there’s no going back.” I met Zaal’s eyes and said, “For any of us who have known that life.”

  Kirill’s hands steepled. After several seconds of thought, he ordered, “Bring him in!”

  Rising from my chair, I walked outside to find Valentin standing at the window of the dining room, staring outside. When I walked in, his scarred face turned toward me. I nudged my head. Valentin’s eyes narrowed.

  “Come,” I said.

  I saw Zoya stand up from the table and ask, “Where are you taking him?”

  “The Pakhan wants to see him.”

  Zoya’s eyes were suspicious. I glanced to Kisa, and when she saw me I nodded my head. Kisa rose from her seat. Placing her hand on Zoya’s arm she said, “He’ll be fine, Zoya. Let him go in; you sit with us.” Zoya stared at me in suspicion. I knew she didn’t entirely trust our family yet, but she would in time.

  Valentin leaned in to speak into Zoya’s ear. Her shoulders sagged at whatever he said; then Valentin lifted her chin and kissed her on her lips. It still looked strange, a man so raw and ravaged with scars acting so soft with his pretty female.

  He broke away and without looking back followed me. We entered the office. As we did, I watched his assessing eyes drinking in the room—committing everything to memory.

  Kirill stood. As he did, Valentin tensed. “Valentin,” Kirill greeted, and pointed at a spare seat next to Zaal. “Take a seat.”

  Valentin’s arms were crossed over his chest, but under the Pakhan’s stare he walked to the seat. He sat down and Zaal nodded his head. I sat down, too. Kirill poured Valentin a drink.

  Kirill pushed the vodka to Valentin and said, “The Arzianis are planning to set up a gulag here in New York.” The air in the room thickened as soon as Kirill mentioned the Arzianis to Valentin. Kirill’s face hardened. “We can’t allow that to happen.”

  “What do you need to know?” Valentin said, the hatred that he felt for the Georgian organization clear in his deep voice.

  “Everything,” Kirill replied. “Everything you know.”

  “I know a lot,” Valentin informed.

  Kirill’s face spread into a wide smile. “Even better.”

  Valentin shifted on his seat and said, “I’ll tell you anything you need to know, but on one condition.”

  Kirill cocked his head to the side, and I knew he was taken aback by Valentin’s disrespectful response. You didn’t negotiate with the Pakhan; you did what he said without conditions.

  Kirill laughed and said, “You have balls, Valentin. But”—Kirill leaned back—“I’m listening.”

  Valentin’s jaw tensed and he said, “I want my sister back. I want your word that we’ll get my sister back. Whatever the cost.”

  Kirill nodded and asked, “What else?”

  Fury spread across Valentin’s hard face and he growled, “That I get to kill as many of the Wraiths that I can lay my hands on. However it needs to be done. Torture, stealth, or out-and-out war, just let me tear them all apart for everything they’ve done. I’ll be the most effective killer you’ll ever have. Trust me on that.”

  Blood rushed through me at the excitement in Valentin’s voice. His tone and message were contagious. I saw Zaal nodding his head; he too wanted a share of the kills. Kirill stared at the three of us all sitting beside one another and his face lit with pride. He slowly nodded his head. Moving around his desk, he held his hand out to Valentin. Valentin took his hand, kissed the back, and brought it to his head.

  Now he was pledged to the Volkov Red King.

  Kirill stepped back, folded his arms, and said, “We will gather what we know from Valentin, then wait.”

  My skin pricked with shivers. With a wave of his hand the meeting was over. My father stood and said, “Come. Let’s go and drink. I need one.”

  One by one we filed from the office into the living room. Kisa stood up as I came in. Wrapping my hands around her waist, I pulled her close.

  “Everything okay?” she asked as she melted into my body.

  Pulling her back, I placed my hand on her rounded stomach and said, “Perfect.”

  Kisa smiled and hugged me again. Over my wife’s head, I met the gazes of Zaal and then Valentin. They were looking at me as they held their females tightly in their arms.

  I could see the hunger for revenge burning in their eyes, the thirst for the kill. I could feel the heat rushing through my body, as I anticipated the fight that lay ahead, knowing they would be feeling this way, too.

  The Arzianis were the head of the snake that controlled everything we three had been through.

  A head that I planned
to rip off.

  These men were my brothers in arms.

  And we were fucking going to war, for the prisoners yet to be freed.

  EPILOGUE: VALENTIN

  One month later …

  “Are you ready, baby?” Zoya asked as she came into our living room. I got up from the couch and took her in my arms. Zoya’s head looked around the room and she smiled in satisfaction.

  “It feels strange to have a home of our own,” she said happily.

  I tracked the small room with my own eyes and felt something ache in my chest. “I’ve never had a home before.” Zoya’s arms tightened around my waist. She didn’t say anything in response, but I knew she understood.

  Kirill and Ivan, along with Luka and Zaal, had gifted us this house. They wanted to give us a larger house, one worthy of a member of the Bratva, but Zoya and I preferred something small. We were both so lost living here on the outside. We wanted to be on our own, in a place big enough just for her and me. And Zoya wanted to be among her people. Avto and his wife only living two doors down.

  Zoya pulled back and moved to the closet to get our coats. She slipped hers on. I couldn’t help but smile as her face became lost in the fur hood around her neck.

  She was so beautiful. Every inch the Kostava printsessa.

  I was busy staring at my Zoya when she turned and smiled. Taking my coat off the hook, she brought it to me and kissed me on the lips. I groaned against her mouth, my hands lifting to cup her face. I pushed her back until she hit the wall, but Zoya wrenched her head to the side and gasped for breath. “Valentin, I need a break. We’ve been in bed all day, and I want to go outside.”

  My nose ran over her cheek and down her neck. I felt her shiver beneath my touch. “I can’t get enough of you,” I said, and pushed my groin against her.

  Zoya laughed and pushed on my chest. “I know, baby, but I want to take a walk with you. I want us to go outside. We need to.” She reached down and took hold of my hand. She brought it to her lips and said, “With your hand in mine. Free, like other couples. We’re no longer prisoners trapped indoors. We finally get to go outside.”