Reap

  I gasped for breath and Brandon’s smile widened. “Now you listen to me. We’re going to take a trip.” Brandon reached into his pocket and pulled out a small syringe filled with a clear liquid. “But I’m going to give you something so you won’t try to get away.”

  My hands began to shake and I started thrashing in his arms, trying to escape his grip. Brandon’s hold on me tightened to the point that I could no longer breathe. “Calm down, bitch. Or I’ll really give you something to be sorry for.”

  I watched as he brought the syringe to his lips almost in slow motion, biting off the lid to reveal a fine needle. Gaining purchase on the syringe, he lifted it toward my upper arm and I closed my eyes, not wanting to witness what he was doing.

  Suddenly a loud crash sounded and a strong hand slammed down on my shoulder, pulling me to the side until I was ripped from Brandon’s hold. I was crushed against a hard chest. My eyes flew open as I coughed and sputtered, air finally finding its way back into my oxygen-starved lungs.

  Strong hands kept me upright. Jumping back in fear, I tried to push away from their hold, when I met a familiar pair of blue eyes. “Ilya,” I croaked, wincing at the pain of my sore throat. But Ilya, my personal byki, my Bratva guard, didn’t even look at me.

  Hearing another crash behind me, I twisted my head to the right to see Savin, my second guard, smash the heel of his palm against Brandon’s nose, blood immediately spraying on his shirt. The sound of crunching bone assaulted my ears.

  Brandon stumbled and instinctively reached for his nose, the syringe he’d tried to inject in my arm falling to the ground.

  Savin reached into his back pocket and pulled out his Russian army knife. He smiled as he held up the blade, moonlight reflecting off polished steel. Without hesitation, Savin lunged forward with the knife and drove it into Brandon’s side … right through his kidney.

  Brandon called out. Not giving him any chance to retaliate, Savin thrust Brandon back against the opposite wall, forearm to throat to keep my attacker in place.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Savin hissed, danger radiating from every pore.

  Brandon coughed, bringing up blood that spilled from his mouth, and spat out, “No one you need to worry about.”

  Savin, on hearing Brandon speak, looked back at Ilya and hissed, “Georgian.”

  Savin got closer to Brandon’s paling face. “You’re the deliverer we’ve heard about? The Jakhua deliverer?”

  Brandon, this time, lost his smug grin. His reaction said it all. He was exactly who Savin had accused him of being.

  “What’s in the syringe?” Savin asked, but Brandon remained quiet. Savin, clearly losing his patience, sank his knife into Brandon’s lower stomach, slowly, inch by slow inch. Brandon gasped and cried out, then gritted his teeth.

  He still said nothing.

  “Last chance,” Savin threatened.

  Brandon jerked his chin arrogantly and said, “I will not say shit to a Russian cunt like you.” He looked over at me and smiled. “A daughter of the Bratva, Talia? I wish I’d known that before, it would have made the game that much sweeter—taking down the Bratva whores, one wet cunt at a time. It would have raised the price on your body. There’s a high stake on capturing a Volkov printsyassa … a lot of buyers would pay the earth to take their revenge out on your sweet pussy.”

  Out of nowhere, Savin lifted the knife and hammered it into the side of Brandon’s neck. I tried to scream out in horror. I wanted to look away. I really tried to, but Brandon’s glazing eyes remained fixed on me as the blade cut deep.

  Yanking out his knife, blood pouring from the wound, Savin thrust the blade in Brandon’s neck three more times—blows to the front, back, and far side. Savin stepped away and Brandon’s gurgling body fell to the floor. A pool of blood rapidly began to form. Freeing myself from Ilya’s grip, I slapped my hand to the wall behind me and vomited all over the alley floor.

  I closed my eyes and took a calming breath. But my breathing came hard, its warmth turning into a white mist as it fought with the icy air of a winter night.

  Ilya crossed his hands at his front, scanning the alley for any other threats. I knew that face. He was angry with me. Ilya’s jaw clenched as he stared at me without speaking. His fair hair was ruffled and his blue eyes blazed with rage. Straightening where I stood, a heavy silence reigned.

  The sound of a vehicle door slamming shut in the distance echoed farther down the closed-in alley, followed by the sound of approaching heavy feet. Savin suddenly emerged from the darkness, the same scowl of fury Ilya was wearing on his sharply featured face. His hands were now clean of blood.

  The sound of gurgling stopped, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at Brandon, dead on the ground. Brandon who wasn’t really a Brandon at all. He was a Georgian. A fucking member of the Georgian mob, and I …

  Christ!

  I stared at them both and shook my head. They stood, stoic, silent, and unmoving. It broke me.

  Minutes passed by. Neither of them uttered a word, which told me just how livid they really were. I’d snuck out of my house without them, come back here. I’d broken the rules. Judging by their furious faces, they were beyond pissed at me.

  “Speak,” I demanded out of frustration, and placed my arms across my stomach. My hands had started to shake as the cold wind slapped at my bare skin. “Look, I’m—”

  “Do you want to get us killed?” Ilya interrupted in a low, dangerous voice. He’d lost his byki shield. The one Bratva decorum demanded.

  The question made me step back. “What? No! Don’t be stupid, Ilya, I just … I needed to get away for the night. It’s all been too much at the house. With Zaal. I needed to clear my mind—”

  “Well, you got that, miss. This cunt almost made your mind real fucking clear.” He edged closer. “If your father had found out you had sneaked past us tonight, what the hell do you think would happen to us?”

  Savin was watching me coldly as Ilya spoke, eyes narrowed, but I could see his agreement with his fellow guard in his harsh glare.

  I was shaking “It was one night, Ilya. One night where I wanted to do what I wanted without the surveillance.”

  Savin laughed, but there was only viciousness in that laugh.

  “Don’t you dare laugh at me, Sav. I just wanted a night at a bar where I could be chatted up by normal guys. Where I could have a damn drink without being watched.”

  What I said clearly irritated him, because he stepped forward and got right in my face, his dark features sharp. “That guy, that cunt lying behind you in a pool of his own blood, the ‘normal guy’ that was chatting you up, is a fucking trafficker. A fucking deliverer for the Jakhua Georgians.”

  I opened my mouth to talk, to say anything in response, when Sav grabbed my shoulders, spun me round to face Brandon’s corpse. “That fucking dead guy there on the ground was going to drug you, and once you were drugged up to the fucking eyeballs, he was going to drag you out of Brooklyn in the back of his van and you’d be on a boat from the docks within the hour, off to fuck knows where—to whatever piece of sick shit had put in an order for a twentysomething blonde to be his bitch slave! This is the underground world of Brooklyn, Miss. There’s danger everywhere!”

  As Savin spat out his answer, it dawned on me what he had said. Brandon … Brandon was a … a Jakhua trafficker? My hands reached up to my burning cheeks and Ilya took an arm in his grip to steady me.

  I met his eyes. “I’m not feeling so good. I’m burning up.”

  He frowned. “Did he get you with the needle?”

  I shook my head, knowing I’d have felt it, when … the mojito he’d bought me …

  “He bought me a drink. I think he drugged it.”

  Panic began to paralyze me, when Ilya pushed, “How much, Ms. Tolstaia? How much did you drink?”

  “Just a couple of sips. I barely took any of it,” I replied, and watched as my guards’ tense shoulders relaxed. I inhaled again hoping that the cold air would cool me down.
r />   “Can we just go home? To the Hamptons,” I pleaded.

  Savin, the harsher, more dangerous of my two guards, stood in front of me, blocking my path. “Promise me you won’t do that again. You won’t go anywhere without us.” His voice brooked no shit. He wasn’t really asking me not to do it again, he was straight up telling me.

  “I don’t get a choice, do I? Once you tell Papa, I’ll be ordered back here to Brooklyn. When you tell him I went to the Georgian enemy in the basement, too.”

  Ilya stepped forward, his face now less stern. “Talia. Let’s go back to the Hamptons. Your father has too much to concern him without us mentioning this. Any of it.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

  I heard Savin say something to Ilya about the syringe Brandon had tried to inject me with. I heard them talking in low whispers, then I heard them scoop it off the ground.

  As I pictured the mass of people tonight in the club—men with women, women with women, men with men—my heart felt like it physically cracked down the center. I could see their happy faces as they danced carefree. I wanted someone to dance with. Someone to look at me the way Luka looked at Kisa, the way she always looked at him. Like they were the reason their worlds turned.

  I pictured me alone and washing Zaal. I could see my hand running down his rugged face, I could feel him lean in, his breath drifting past my face. My heart kicked into a sprint.

  “Ms. Tolstaia?” Ilya called. I quickly blinked away the vision.

  “I’m ready to go,” I said abruptly, giving up any fight lingering within me. I set off down the dank alley, walking ahead of Ilya and Savin, feeling the heat of their bodies behind me.

  Stopping dead, my arms crossed over my chest, trying to block out both the cold snap in the air and the humiliation I felt.

  I turned to my guards. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I won’t pull anything like this on you again. I shouldn’t have put your lives in danger like that. I … I couldn’t live with myself if something ever happened to you both because of me.”

  Nothing was said in return to my apology, but I could feel the tension leave the three of us as we approached the bulletproof black Lincoln my byki used. A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I turned to ask, “How did you find me? How did you know where to come looking?”

  Ilya and Savin kept their neutral expressions, and I knew why they weren’t explaining it to me.

  Without anger, I said, “You’ve got a tracker on me, haven’t you?” They stood, not meeting my eyes, instead focusing on nothing over my head and I glanced down. My purse. There must be a GPS in my purse.

  I couldn’t muster the will to even be annoyed.

  I moved toward the Lincoln, and Savin brushed past me. He opened the back door of the car and I silently slid inside.

  Both of my guards slipped in next to me, shielding me in the center of the backseat. Both of them were in full protection mode, fixing their attention out of the windows, checking for any more potential threats.

  I laid my head back against the heated leather seat and closed my eyes. Then my chest constricted as my thoughts drifted back to Zaal. But this time I didn’t fight my want of him. I embraced it. I’d tried to get away from him tonight. From my obsession, from my inexplicable draw to the forbidden slave. It hadn’t worked. In fact, it only served to remind me of the life I was in regardless. One of danger, violence and death. There was no point in fighting who I was, the life I belonged to.

  I would never be normal.

  Therefore I would no longer crave normal.

  And because if that, I knew when I arrived back in my Hamptons home tonight I’d be going to see Zaal.

  I had to touch him again.

  There was no choice.

  I had to be close.

  Because something inside me had snapped, and just as my babushka had proclaimed, I knew I would never be the same again.

  Chapter Ten

  Zaal

  “You think it will work this time?” Master asked the man who wore a white coat.

  I started shaking at Master’s voice. He was cruel. He would punish me if I ever remembered them, he’d punish me if I didn’t do as he said.

  “I fixed the chemical balance, so it should work. We’ll see.”

  “It took the dog weeks to recover from the last shot.” I stiffened. Master was angry and my hands shook harder.

  I stared at the ceiling. I was strapped down, I couldn’t move. The man in the white coat came closer. My body froze. My chest tightened and I couldn’t breathe.

  He hurt me.

  He always hurt me.

  My eyes widened when I saw what he held in his hands. A needle. A long needle. I tried to lift my hands to stop it going into my arm. The straps held me down. I kicked my feet and thrashed my body trying to escape. The man in the white coat stepped back.

  “221, stop!” Master’s voice echoed in my ears. I stopped moving.

  Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me anymore, I pleaded in my mind.

  Someone laughed as I tried to breathe. “You’ve got him well trained.”

  Master laughed. I recognized his laugh. He laughed at me when he hurt me. He laughed at me when he made me bleed, when he hit me, when I cried.

  “He’s a weak dog that I broke. Stripped him of his name and that fucking family he belonged to. Now he’s mine. Now he heels only to his master’s voice.”

  The laughter got louder, but Master’s command kept my body unmoving on the bed.

  The man with the white coat again came closer but he stopped. He was looking at Master. “If I remove the straps will he stay down when I inject him?”

  “He’ll do anything I command.” Master paused. “Watch.”

  The man in the white coat unfastened my straps. I wanted to move, until Master ordered, “221, stay still. Do not move or you will be punished.”

  At his command, my shoulders pressed into the bed. Not even my fingers could move.

  “Impressive, Levan,” the man in the white coat congratulated.

  “What will be even more impressive is if this shot works. It’ll clear any memory of who he was, and fuel his rage, yes?”

  “Yes … flawlessly,” the man confidently replied. I could see the white coat out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t want to see him inject me, so I closed my eyes. A sharp pain spread through the arm. The man in the white coat pushed the needle harder and deeper. I wanted to scream, I wanted to run away, but Master had ordered me not to move.

  A hot feeling suddenly filled my arm; the hot feeling quickly shot through my body. I gritted my teeth as the liquid turned to fire in my veins. It hurt, it hurt so much.

  My body shook. Something was stabbing my stomach. I couldn’t stand it. It was making me angry; so angry I needed to scream out the pain, I needed to get it out.

  But I couldn’t move.… I couldn’t move.…

  Snapping my eyes open, I blinked and my body jerked. I blew out a breath. I could move?

  I could move.

  I squeezed my eyes shut to chase away the nightmare. Master had been there. Master and a man in a white coat, both hurting a boy. Hurting a child who was … who was—

  Hearing breathing beside me, I sat up, braced to kill, when I saw her. The golden hair, the brown eyes … her.

  I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut trying to remember. Water. Water. She’d washed me. She—

  Opening my eyes again, I reached out and, taking her arm, pulled her closer. She let out a shocked cry and her eyes grew big. She looked scared. I didn’t want her scared. I thought she must have been like me. She must be Master’s, too. He never let females that weren’t his near me. Ever.

  I had to protect her.

  Remembering her from before, I picked up her hand and stared at it. It was so small. Her fingers were so little, and they had a strange color on the end.

  Her hand was hot. It was so soft. I ran my fingers over her palm and heard her breathing change. I saw her light skin go
red. I wanted to touch it.

  Lifting my hand, she went still. I moved my fingers closer and pressed them against her skin. It was soft like her hand. No, softer. And it was warm.

  Her hand moved in my hand. Before she could pull it away, I picked it up and pressed it against my cheek.

  I closed my eyes. It felt just like last night. I felt just as good.

  Her breathing got faster and faster, and I opened my eyes when her other hand pressed on my other cheek.

  Something inside of me cooled. The rage that always ran through my veins calmed. It was still there, I could feel it bubbling under the surface, but her warm hand had calmed it. I took a deep breath. There was no pain, no poison, just the feeling of her.

  “I…” My eyes snapped open when she spoke. Master did not let us speak. But her voice … it sounded strange. It made me want to listen, even if it was forbidden.

  I watched her swallow. I watched her eyelashes flutter and my chest tightened. She was … she made me feel … I was unsure …

  “I came to wash your hair,” she said. I closed my eyes. Her voice. Her voice was different, sounded different to Master’s, but I … I liked hearing it.

  Suddenly, I felt her hand touch my hair. When I opened my eyes, she was kneeling up in front of me. Her gentle hands were touching my hair.

  “It’s so long,” she said. I frowned. Her hair was long, too. Was my hair being long bad?

  I did not allow my eyes to leave her face. I couldn’t look away. Her face was … it did something to how I felt inside. My chest tightened. My stomach clenched, and I felt my cock get hard. I wanted her to touch me again. I wanted her to stroke my cock again like she did before.

  But I forgot wanting that from her when her lips moved and she smiled. My lips parted and I dropped her hand. But her smile dropped, too.

  No. I didn’t want that.

  “Are you okay?” she asked again, her kind voice washing over me. It made me feel warm. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt warm. It was always cold in my cells. In this cell. I didn’t want to be cold anymore. I liked feeling this way. With her.

  A pain stabbed at my head, causing my body to bend forward. I saw someone smiling in my mind, it felt like I knew them. I heard people laughing … and it was warm.…