Ravage

  I turned away, staring into the large flames of the fire when I felt his finger run over my bullet scar. “I watched you die,” he said quietly, devastation in his tone. “Those bastards held me back as you called my name, begging me to save you. Your eyes were on mine as they shot you, and I couldn’t save you.”

  I laid my hand over his on my shoulder and faced him again. “You and Anri were boys. What could you have done against all those men?”

  My eyes widened at the sudden mention of Anri. I quickly scanned the room. I saw the woman and man from the couch watching me, smiling, and I saw the blond woman sitting behind Zaal on the couch. Her face was wet with streams of tears, too.

  My attention stayed on her for a lot longer than the others, but she didn’t say anything to me, barely reacted to my attention. I couldn’t remember if I knew her. I couldn’t place her face in my mind.

  When I looked back to Zaal, I asked, “Where’s Anri? Where’s my brother?” My stomach roiled, as I was eager to see him again soon. Zaal’s expression fell, as did my cracking heart.

  Stumbling back, I shook my head and whispered, “No.…” My head shook again and again, and my hand flew to my mouth. “Don’t tell me,” I said through my thick throat. “Please, tell me he’s alive.”

  Zaal turned away and I saw his shoulders shaking. When he faced me again, I knew. The desperately sad expression on his face told me everything I needed to know. My legs too weak to take the news, I collapsed to the floor.

  Cries racked my body as it felt like someone was twisting my heart and lungs in their tight grip. Strong arms suddenly wrapped around me, a large body pulling me to his chest. I fell into his hold, and his familiar scent took me back to when we were children. Minutes and minutes passed by. I cried until I was sure I couldn’t cry anymore.

  Obviously hearing I had calmed down, Zaal pressed a kiss on my head and said, “I have missed you, Zoya. I still have you. We still have each other.”

  I gripped him tightly and whispered, “I missed you, too, sykhaara.”

  I took courage from his hold. Eventually I pulled back, my cheeks flushed, feeling the eyes of strangers watching me.

  When I looked at Zaal’s face, I said, “You look just like Papa, sykhaara. You’ve grown to be handsome, just like him.”

  Zaal’s lip hooked into a proud smirk. When I touched his long hair, I then touched mine. “We have the same hair now,” I remarked.

  A gruff laugh burst from Zaal’s lips. I laughed, too. He nodded his head, “Your hair is longer than mine. At last.”

  I shook my head, remembering my annoyance as a child that my brothers had longer hair than I. I quickly sobered as I saw Zaal’s scarred and tattooed arms. “You look so different, sykhaara, yet exactly the same, if such a thing is possible.”

  Zaal’s head dropped, and he admitted, “I’m not the brother you remember, Zoya.” I lifted his chin, my stomach turning when I examined his beaten face.

  His eyes met mine and I replied, “And I am not the same sister you knew, either.” I sighed and said, “After everything that we have been through, how could we be?”

  Silence hung heavily between us. The climbing flames of the fire caught my attention; then I asked, “How did Anri die and you survive?”

  The tension crackled between us. Zaal said, “Jakhua tested his drugs on us, drugs he created for obedience—”

  “I know about the drugs,” I said, then frowned when I tried to remember why I knew about the drugs.

  “The drugs,” Zaal continued, making me refocus on him, “the drugs worked on me immediately. They took away my memories”—Zaal sighed—“and even my recognition of Anri.”

  “No!” I exclaimed, trying to imagine my twin brothers as strangers. It was impossible. They were always together.

  “Almost as soon as Jakhua killed our family and took us into captivity, I no longer knew Anri. I was rescued from Jakhua last year and discovered Anri had been taken from me as the drugs failed to work on him. He was used in underground death-match rings.”

  I felt nauseous listening to the story of their lives. It was surreal. “Death matches?” I asked, “Did he die in a death match?”

  Zaal nodded his head, and his gaze flicked to the other man in the room. Suddenly, as if my brother reminded me we had an audience, I looked at the other people.

  Zaal’s hand tightened on mine, and in a low voice I asked, “Where are we? My mind … nothing is too clear. I’m finding it hard to gather my memories and thoughts.”

  “It’s the drugs, Zoya. They take a while to wear off.” I was about to question Zaal on what he was talking of, but Zaal shifted to his feet and he offered me his hand before I could.

  With another nervous glance at the strangers, I placed my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. Zaal put his arms around my shoulders, protectively pulling me to his side. I kept my eyes to the floor; too many years locked away in isolation had made me feel uncomfortable in the headlights of their intense stares.

  “Zoya,” Zaal said carefully, “I was rescued early this year by Luka.” Zaal’s hand pointed to the blond man. I flicked my eyes to look at him, and when I did he nodded his head. I nodded back and then looked at the woman beside him. She was beautiful, all long brown hair and bright blue eyes. She too nodded her head and smiled.

  Zaal took a deep breath and next turned to the blond woman on the couch. Zaal held out his hand and the blond woman threaded her fingers in his. She got to her feet and smiled at me. She held out her hand, but something made me stop.

  Zaal stiffened at my hesitation, and a pain sliced through my head. I shifted from under his arm. Suddenly he stood before me, holding me up. “Zoya?” he pushed. “Do you still feel sick?”

  I looked up in confusion. “Sick? I’m sick?”

  “You have been sick for the last few days. We have cared for you, brought you through the worst of it.”

  I tried to remember something from the last few days, but there was nothing. My mind was empty. As I smelled the coconut scent on my hair, it suddenly made sense—someone had cleaned me.

  Zaal was patiently waiting for me as I racked my brain. I worked on gaining composure, trying not to panic at the fact that I couldn’t remember anything, I replayed Zaal telling me I had been sick. Then I frowned. It occurred to me that Zaal was speaking to me in Georgian again. When he had introduced me to these people he had spoken in Russian. Another flash of pain cut through me. I staggered back to the fireplace, the warmth of the flames helping me refocus. They helped clear the fog.

  Blinking fast, I looked to Zaal and the others. I spoke in our native tongue, “You introduced them to me in Russian.” I knew why, but I needed to make sure I was correct, that the information Avto had told me a while ago was correct.

  “Zoya,” Zaal said calmly. I could tell by the tone of his voice and the apprehension on his face that he was nervous.

  Pressing my hands to my throbbing temples, I shook my head. Zaal pulled the blonde closer to his side, and an image of a photograph came to mind. Zaal with this woman, laughing and happy.

  “Zoya, you need to understand that Luka rescued me. He too was taken captive a child, like Anri and me. He, he knew Anri, he was his best friend. They were made to fight for their lives in the death-match clubs. From teens.”

  I stared at the blond man who nodded his head. “You speak Georgian?” I asked him in my native tongue.

  “Yes,” he replied. “My gulag’s owners were Georgian; most of the fighters were Georgian. I learned to speak it by listening to them.” He swallowed. “And through Anri; he taught me how to survive.”

  I looked to my brother again, and he was twitching on his feet; the blond woman soothingly rubbed his chest. She loved him. I could see it in her eyes. And Zaal’s. I could see the fierceness of his love for her in his eyes, too.

  “Tell me from your lips,” I said, injecting a little more power into my voice. “I need to hear it from you. Just to be sure I have all the facts.”


  Zaal lifted his chin and said, “Her name is Talia Tolstaia, Zoya.”

  My eyes closed as I heard this, the instant feel of betrayal hitting me deeply. I remembered that I’d known this.

  I remembered not knowing what to think of this news then, too.

  Zaal stepped forward, but I held out my hand for him to halt. “Stop!” I urged, needing some space, some time, to process the information. He did; he stopped dead in his tracks. My hands shook as a flashback of my papa telling us how the Tolstois, Volkovs, and Durovs ruined our lives. How they were our family’s enemies.

  And Avto … Avto? Where is Avto? I shook my head, trying to focus, remembering him telling me that the Volkov Bratva were to blame for Jakhua turning against our family.

  A sudden mixture of betrayal and hot anger flowed in my veins. I had been taught that my family, my family was massacred because of these people.

  “How could you?” I found myself asking Zaal before my eyes eventually found my brother. Pain and shame seemed to flash across his face before his expression changed to one of protectiveness of the Tolstaia.

  “Zoya,” he said calmly, “they saved my life. Luka found out I was alive and saved me from Jakhua. He risked his life and those of his men to come and take me from him. He did it out of honor to Anri.” He hugged Talia closer, then continued, “I almost died from the drugs, but Talia cared for me. She cared for me and we eventually fell in love.”

  I shook my head. I looked to the blond man and then to the brown-haired woman. “And their surnames?” I directed my question at Zaal.

  “I’m Luka Tolstoi, and this is my wife, Kisa Tolstaia.” I felt sick as Luka replied in perfect Georgian again. His wife glanced to him; then facing me, she said, “My maiden name was Kisa Volkova, Zoya. I’m the Kirill Volkov’s, the Bratva Pakhan’s, daughter.”

  My hand rose to the side of my head, the dull ache inside growing unbearable. I didn’t know if it was from the sickness I apparently had or the fact that all I had been raised to believe was now standing on its head.

  Zaal moved to come to me. But I found myself whispering, “You betrayed your family.” I glared at Talia, standing by his side, a Russian enemy. I added, “Avto, my guardian, told me it was their fault that our family was massacred. They are the reason Jakhua turned his back on us and sought revenge.”

  Zaal’s face contorted with anger, and he bit, “That isn’t true. There are things you do not know, Zoya.”

  I stared at my brother and shook my head. With a trembling voice, I said, “I feel like a stranger to you right now. I don’t know what to believe. My head is full.… I don’t know what’s correct.”

  Zaal’s face blanched. I felt a stab of regret in my stomach at the effect my response had on him. But I was confused. They were the Kostavas’ enemies. I’d been brought up to despise them.

  The blond woman by his side stepped forward and said, “Our family histories are bad, the worst. But that is not where we stand now. We have moved past it. We have to, Zoya. We cannot live with pain and hatred anymore.”

  My eyes narrowed on this blond woman, and I found myself laughing incredulously. “I was shot and almost died, trapped underneath my dead family, feeling their flesh turn cold as their blood seeped into my skin. My twin brothers were stolen and tested upon like animals. I have just found out my much-loved elder brother Anri died in an underground death match, and I have been in hiding for twenty years to escape our enemies who were still hunting me when my body wasn’t found!”

  My anger wrapped around me, and I added in a cold voice, “I was eventually told Zaal had survived after I’d long given up hope that anyone else in my family was alive. For the first time ever, I no longer felt alone in the world, only to seek him out and be kidnapped and tortured for days—”

  My words cut off when the last of the heaviness finally cleared and a pair of blue eyes engulfed my mind. Shaved black hair and maps of raised scars on a roughly handsome face. The most prominent scar stretched from his temple to his chest. A face like that nightmare should have brought fear; instead it brought me peace. It brought me warmth.

  My heart beat wildly as the events of recent weeks came flooding back with the force of a tidal wave: the Mistress, the collar being reattached to Valentin’s neck, the Mistress ordering him to kill Zaal … then she brought the drugs to me. She’d wanted me to die through the drugs.

  I snapped my eyes to my arms; needle marks were still prominent on my skin. “Valentin.” I whispered the scarred man’s name aloud and ice ran down my spine.

  I confronted Zaal and demanded, “Where’s Valentin?” My body began to shake at not having him by my side. I fired off questions: “Did he survive? Did she kill him?”

  Zaal’s hands fisted at his sides, but he refused to speak.

  “He died?” I whispered. A new kind of heartbreak shattered in my chest. The kind that was impossible to endure.

  “He’s alive,” Luka Tolstoi informed me, drawing my attention to him.

  “Where is he?” I demanded. “I have to see him. Is he okay?”

  Luka glanced to Zaal. I followed his lead to stare at my brother. His huge body was radiating red-hot rage. “He tortured you,” Zaal said coldly. “He hurt you.”

  “Yes,” I replied, “The woman forced him to wear a collar that made him hurt me. But we fell in love despite our awful situation. We fell in love and he tried to save me.” I narrowed my eyes. “He tried to save you, too. He’s a killer, one that never fails, and he was sent for you. His love for me stopped him from carrying that out the hit on you, didn’t it?” I could feel that was the truth.

  “You fell in love with your captor?” Zaal snarled. “He tortured you and you fell in love? The male is evil, Zoya, too far gone. You can see the killer in his eyes. And you fell in love? Do you hear how messed up that sounds?”

  I stepped up to my brother, his Russian fiancée moving aside. Meeting my brother’s huge chest, I peered up and said, “Do not judge me. You do not know how it is between us. You do not know me, Zaal. You do not know me as I am now, and you do not know Valentin. You do not know what that woman did to him and his sister.”

  “His sister has been taken. The woman who was his captor sent her to her brother in Georgia. The Blood Pit.” Talia spoke from Zaal’s side. Tears dropped down my face on my hearing this information.

  “Does Valentin know?” I asked Zaal, not Talia, my heart tearing at the thought of Valentin alone, no one to comfort him, to hold him, to share his pain. Inessa being gone would destroy him. My chest constricted at the sheer amount of pain he must be in.

  “Take me to him,” I whispered, unable to speak out with all of this confusion in my heart.

  “He’s in our cells,” Talia answered again. My eyes met my brother’s. My stare burned through him. I was talking to him.

  “Cells?” I questioned coldly.

  Zaal raised his chin. “I saw the video of him hurting you at the Mistress’s mansion. I saw him hurting you, torturing you, making you scream. Fuck, Zoya! He was breaking you!”

  Realization hit. “You harmed him. You punished him for hurting me.” Zaal’s silence told me all I needed to know. “Take me to him!” I commanded. Zaal remained unmoving. A twinge of nostalgia twisted in my stomach. This Zaal I knew. The one fiercely protective of his little sister. The big brother who would never let me be harmed.

  My Georgian warrior.

  I held his stare, refusing to back down. Zaal never moved.

  Surprising me, Luka’s wife moved behind me and, with her hand on my shoulder, quietly said, “I’ll take Zoya to Valentin.”

  Her husband frowned at her, but she waved her hand in dismissal. She addressed Talia. “Tal, get Zoya some of your clothes—jeans, sweater, boots. They should fit well enough.” Talia looked at me with sad eyes. She seemed to want to say something to me, but she held back and quickly left the room. Part of me felt guilty seeing the desperation written on her pretty face, but I just couldn’t handle all this right now.
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  Kisa moved beside me and said, “Let’s go to the guest room, Zoya. My car will take us to Valentin, after you dress.”

  Thankful for someone taking the lead, I followed her out of the room. Zaal took hold of my arm as I passed. “Zoya,” he whispered brokenly, almost breaking my resolve. “Please…”

  Almost.

  Confused to hell with my current reality, with the stream of revelations, I sighed and pulled my arm free. “I dreamed what this day would be like since I woke up, age five, alone and scared in Georgia. Avto was by my side telling me everyone I loved was gone.” I fought back the sting in my chest at the memory and said, “What was said earlier was right, Zaal. You’re not the brother I remember, and I’m not the sister you remember. Maybe I was naive to believe that after all these years we could be anything other than strangers.” I walked off before I broke down into his familiar arms. I winced when I heard him calling my name. I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t.

  I just needed to see Valentin.

  Talia passed Kisa and me in the hallway. She stopped and stated, “I’ve left the clothes on your bed, Zoya. It’s cold, so I’ve put a coat out for you.”

  I kept walking, unable to talk to the woman right now. The pain was too much. This was all too overwhelming. I heard her sigh in defeat and enter the room where I’d left my brother. I almost stopped and ran back, freely forgiving him for finding love with the enemy. Because he had found love after all the pain. But a stubbornness and a sense of family pride kept my feet moving. It is peculiar, I thought. I had spent my entire life waiting to run into his arms, but now the opportunity presented itself I found myself running away.

  It seemed that this answered prayer came with consequences.

  My heart pined to see Valentin, so I dressed quickly. Kisa silently led me to a waiting car. The driver didn’t speak, clearly knowing where to go. The silence was heavy in the secure and private backseat. I glanced to the woman beside me and saw her hands gently running over her raised stomach.