Chapter Three
Luka
My body ached from lack of sleep, but I forced myself out of bed. Kirill, the Pakhan, had told me I had to be in his office this afternoon. He was meeting with the Five Families of the Cosa Nostra, the Italian Mafia here in New York. Kirill wanted me to meet all the bosses at a neutral location; he wanted to introduce me as the Bratva’s future leader. He said he wanted them to see me in person. He’d smiled when he’d informed me of that. Said he couldn’t wait to see the fear on their faces when they saw the future of the Volkovs enter the room.
Walking to my side of the closet in the bedroom I shared with Kisa, I pulled out one of the damn designer suits I had to wear whenever I was on Bratva business. Minutes later, I looked in the bathroom mirror as I straightened my tie and my hands dropped to my sides. I felt like I was going fucking crazy. Every nightmare was of me killing 362, of his brown eyes glazing over with death. Most of my days were spent trying to find out who he was, where he’d come from, and so far I’d come up with nothing.
Turning from the mirror, I made my way downstairs to find Mikhail, my personal guard, and head of the byki, waiting in my town car.
Without speaking, he drove me straight to Kirill Volkov’s house. I stepped out and strode into the huge hallway, heading toward his office. When I was just outside the door, I heard my father and Kisa’s voices coming from inside. But just as I was about to enter, their hushed conversation brought me to an abrupt halt.
“Have you discovered something about 362? Have your leads brought in new information?” Kisa asked.
There was silence in response, and my heart began to pound. My hand tightened on the doorknob when my father cleared his throat.
“We’ve known for several months about 362’s identity, Kisa.”
“What?” Kisa whispered in shock. “Months? Yet you haven’t told Luka?”
“It’s a delicate situation, Kisa,” my father spoke, “one that’s recently arrived at our door. And we can’t make an already bad situation worse”—I heard a chair creak—“especially not for him. Not for 362.” My father spoke “him” and “362” like they were poison in his mouth.
“I don’t understand. I don’t … what?” Kisa mumbled. “Who is 362?”
My father then replied coldly, “He was a Kostava.”
Kisa must have reacted to that name, as my father then added, “It’s true, Kisa. Of all the people, of all the families in the world, the one man who finds my son in hell and befriends him, is a fucking Kostava.”
The conversation came to a stop, but all I could focus on was that they knew. They’d known all this time who 362 was. And they’d fucking kept it from me.
Feeling a surge of anger rip through me, I slammed my shoulder into the door and burst into the room. Kirill was beside his desk, my father and Kisa sat before him.
All three turned to me as I stood in the entrance of the office, my nostrils flaring with the intensity of my erratic and rapid breathing.
“Luka—” Kisa whispered, her face white. But I ignored it, my gaze fully focused on my father.
“You’ve known all this time?” I thundered. I stormed forward until I towered over him. I almost cooled when I saw a flicker of fear run through his brown eyes, but then I reminded myself he’d kept information from me. Information I desperately wanted.
Kisa touched my arm, but I wrenched it free from her light grasp. “No! Don’t!” I snapped at my wife, and looked back at my father and Kirill. “I want to hear this from their fucking mouths! I want to hear why they kept this from me. Why they didn’t tell me the only fucking thing I’ve ever asked of them!”
My father held out his hand. “Luka—”
But I was too far gone. A pained roar ripped up my throat. Moving to the desk, I gripped the edge with both hands, and flipped it on its side.
“Luka!” Kisa screamed, but I’d already begun to pace, feelings of betrayal making me lose my fucking mind.
My feet pounded the floor as I ran my hands through my hair. “For months you told me you didn’t fucking know!”
My father shot to his feet and I turned to stare into his face. “I killed him! I fucking killed him!” I held out my hands to my father. “With these two fucking hands. I murdered him. I murdered him—”
“To save me,” Kisa interrupted. My eyes immediately fixed on hers. I stepped forward and Kirill got out of his seat. He edged toward Kisa, like he didn’t want me to get near his daughter. That only pissed me off more. Kisa nodded at her father and he backed the fuck off.
Kisa reached out to cup my face. My rigid body relaxed as my wife’s palm connected with my hot skin. “Calm, baby. Listen to your papa.”
Kisa pushed her fingers through her hair. My eyes squeezed shut as I breathed slowly and steadily through my lips.
When my eyes opened again, Kisa glanced to my father’s tense face, then back to me. “Luka. 362. He was a Kostava.”
A thick fog clouded my mind as she spoke those words. A Kostava? I had no idea what that meant, who that was. The name didn’t mean anything to me.
Kisa’s forehead dropped to mine. “Luka—”
“I don’t understand…,” I whispered, my head beginning to ache from trying to remember something, anything, about that fucking name.
“You don’t understand?” Kisa questioned, her blue eyes glistening with worry.
“I don’t understand why him being a Kos … Kos…”
“Kostava,” she offered.
I nodded my head. “A Kostava is so bad.” I glanced down, wracking my brain. “I don’t remember why it’s bad.” My stomach tensed with anger. I knew I should’ve known this, but the memory just wasn’t there for me to find.
“I should know this, right, solnyshko?” I asked Kisa.
“Your memories are still in pieces.” Kisa stroked my hair. “Don’t worry. We can explain. We can tell you the family history that’s been lost.”
I nodded, feeling like a million needles were running over my hot skin. I looked to my father and saw him curse. When I faced Kisa again, her blue eyes were boring into mine. My hand lifted to run down her face. “Tell me,” I begged, “tell me about him, please.…”
Clasping my hand, she entwined her fingers through mine. With a squeeze of her hand, she led me to take a seat. When she tried to sit beside me, I pulled her down onto my lap instead. As soon as she was in my arms I relaxed.
As Kisa’s eyes stayed glued to mine, she pressed a soothing kiss on my cheek. Kisa faced Ivan. “Ivan, I think it’s best if you explain this.”
I listened to every word out of my father’s mouth. Every part of the story in fine detail. I learned about the Kostavas. Fractured pieces of my family’s history were suddenly put into place. But all I could hear, all I could focus on was that 362 finally had a life to me. I knew where he came from, who he was, who his family were. But more important …
“He has a name,” I whispered into the room as my father finished explaining why they’d kept 362’s identity from me. Kisa’s hand landed on my cheek and I glanced up, repeating, “362 has a name.” I took a deep breath and said, “Anri. His name was Anri Kostava.” My eyes closed just hearing his name said aloud. Then they snapped open when something else my father said hit home.
“He was a twin. Anri had a twin brother.”
In a flash, I stood, placing Kisa back on the seat, and began pacing. My mind was instantly focused, my will, driven. “What was his brother called? What was Anri’s twin brother’s name?”
My father watched me carefully. He didn’t say the name, until my gaze narrowed, daring him to keep that piece of information from me.
“Zaal. Zaal Kostava,” my father said reluctantly. I nodded, committing that name to memory.
“And where is he now? A gulag? Is he alive and fighting to the death in a fucking prison too?” Silence roared in my ears as my father refused to divulge Zaal’s situation. Bones burning, I turned to the nearest wall, and sent my fist straight into
a large mirror, shattering the glass to the floor. I swerved and glared at the Pakhan and my father. Pointing a bloodied finger at their faces, I snarled, “You will tell me where he is! I need to know this.”
My father stood and approached me. “Luka. Stop!” he boomed, and I froze. My jaw clenched as I fought to rein back my rage.
“Tell me!” I growled in a guttural voice.
My father stood strong, his expression ice-cold. “This family will never help a Kostava,” he replied grimly. “No son of mine will ever help one of them.”
“Then Zaal is alive?” Kisa said from across the room. My father’s shoulders tensed.
That was a fucking hell yes. Hope sprung in my chest.
“Where is he?” I demanded.
“Luka—”
“Where is he!” I turned and paced once again. “I don’t give a fuck who he is to us. Zaal is the brother of the man who saved my life. The man I had to kill because fucking Alik Durov threw him into the cage to kill me! When he should have been free!”
I stopped right before my father, and pushed, “Now tell me where he is. Now.”
My father’s shoulders slumped and he glanced back to Kirill. The Pakhan raised his eyebrow and sat forward, catching my attention. “We have no solid proof, Luka. But our sources have reports of a man Jakhua has in his clan.” The Pakhan laughed a humorless laugh. “I say a man. More a savage fighting dog, really, from what I gather. A man conditioned to Levan Jakhua’s every command. Drugged to kill. A mountain of a man Jakhua has experimented on for so many years he’s lost all humanity. He is insane, unsalvageable. A prototype, a demonstration of some obedience drug he’s started to sell on the black market.” Kirill’s face hardened. “Started to sell to other crime organizations in my fucking city. Just one of many reasons his pitiful mob needs to be squashed.”
My muscles seized with anger. Zaal had been experimented on until he’d gone insane. A forced killer. Just like me and Anri had been. But he was alive. He was still fucking alive.
In an instant, a decision was made.
Suddenly stepping up to my father, I said, “I’m going in to the Georgian stronghold to get him. I’m getting Anri’s brother out from that piece of shit Jakhua.”
My father’s nostrils flared and his face dropped, filling with redness. “Never. No Tolstoi will ever help a Kostava!”
I stepped even closer to my father, my chest brushing against his, staring him down. “Anri wasn’t a Kostava to me,” I informed pointedly. “His family name means fuck all to me. You need to get that straight, right now.” I pointed to Kisa without looking away. “He freed me from that gulag so I could reunite with my family and marry my wife.” I inhaled slowly, and added, “I promised 362 retribution as he died. And I will honor him by saving his brother and slaughtering those who captured him.”
My father’s cheek twitched. “You go in, and you’ll start a war with the Georgians.”
I walked over to Kisa and nudged my head toward the door. Kisa followed me to the exit without question. I then turned back to my father and Kirill. “Jakhua came back to Brooklyn to take us all down, we know this to be the truth. The fucking war’s already begun. Me going in for Zaal just speeds up the conflict’s beginning.”
As I turned the doorknob, my father said, “I’ll gather our best men to help you. I won’t see you killed over this. But if you get that Kostava scum out of there alive, take him the fuck away from me and Brooklyn. Or I’ll kill him myself. I never want to lay my eyes on that family ever again.”
I nodded my head once. “Understood.”
With that, Kisa and I left the room. Kisa, clearly seeing the look of determination in my eyes, reached down and took my hand.
I wrapped my fingers through hers, then drew to a complete stop. She cupped my cheek. “What is it, lyubov moya?”
Leaning forward, I pressed my forehead to hers. “I’ll kill him, Kisa. If I get a chance, I’ll slaughter Jakhua in Anri’s honor.”
I could see the sadness on Kisa’s face. She never wanted me to kill again. But it was who I was. I just wasn’t sure if she’d ever be okay with this side of me.
“I know you will,” she said quietly.
I closed my eyes and exhaled in relief. As they opened again, I whispered, “I love you, solnyshko.”
“I have you, Luka. Whatever you need, I have you … always,” Kisa said in return, then kissed me on my lips.
Chapter Four
221
I rocked in the corner, clawing at my skin. The pain hadn’t gone. The poison never cooled. Every minute, I spent fighting the pain, the rage.
I couldn’t sleep. The venom inside my veins kept me awake. I couldn’t remember anything of my life. Nothing but the face and voice of my master.
Lifting my head, I heard Master laughing across the room. He was sitting next to a strange man. He looked familiar.
Had I seen him before?
I couldn’t remember. The poison took all my memories away.
Lifting my hands, my muscles ached as they moved under the heavy chains wrapped around my wrist and ankles. My eyes stung, my head ticked as the pain swamped my mind.
Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I tried to breathe, just as a voice made my head snap up.
My eyes met with Master’s and I began to pant. He’d want me to kill. I’d get to kill … stop the fire in my veins.
“221, davdget.” He ordered me to stand and my feet pressed flat to the ground. I forced my body to straighten and bowed my head.
Laughter rang out around the room.
“221, stand before me,” Master demanded.
Turning obediently in the direction of where he sat, I walked forward, ignoring the inner spikes of the cuffs around my ankles and wrists ripping into my skin.
Master was sitting in the room surrounded by many men. There was a ring in the middle. I was standing in the center of the ring, when Master walked beside me.
I gritted my teeth as he put an arm around my shoulder. “You’ve all been gathered here tonight to witness the effect of the drug you’re interested in purchasing.” A hand clapped over my chest and I growled as the hit sliced pain down to my stomach. My hands clenched together as I fought back the scream ripping up my throat. My skin was too itchy to touch. Too on fire to touch!
“This is 221, my prototype for the Type A drug. He answers to my every command. The drug offers one hundred percent obedience from subjects to their masters. It also provides muscle-building components, in addition to a chemical that erases the memories of who they once were. High levels of testosterone and other hormones create a conditioned response to kill, a need so strong in the subjects, it can drive them insane if their urges are not met.” Master laughed. “Perfect weapons against any rivals.”
Master stepped away, and I felt a guard move toward me. Reaching out, he unlocked the shackles round my wrists and ankles. As the chains fell to the floor, the need to kill began to take hold. When Master removed my chains, it was always time to kill.
Black metal hit my open palms and I immediately gripped whatever was in my hands. I looked down. The guard gave me two black sais. I rolled the metal in my grip. It felt familiar. My head tilted to the side as I studied the sharp blades. I knew how to use these weapons. The guard stepped back out of the ring.
I breathed, the room silent as I waited for Master to speak. I could smell sweat and hear the murmur of low voices. My muscles tensed as a surge of heat spread through my body.
“A demonstration!” Master shouted, and the voices around the room grew louder.
“221, mzad.” Master commanded me to ready myself, and my legs parted, my feet heavy on the concrete ground. My head snapped up.
A door opened behind me. In my peripheral vision, I saw the men in the room all sit forward, visibly excited.
My eyes stared straight forward, when Master commanded, “221, t’avis mkhriv.”
I turned, obeying the command, and a man stood before me holding a long c
hain with razors on its links. Rage built in my chest. Klavs, klavs, klavs—kill, kill, kill—I thought to myself. I gripped my sais tighter as the man smiled at me.
Klavs! KLAVS! I screamed inside my head.
The man began spinning his chain to the side, the heavy links smacking off the hard ground. The man before me was big. But not bigger than me. He couldn’t beat me. I would win. I always won.
“221, sikvidili.” Master ordered me to prepare to bring death. So I readied to bring nothing but death and pain.
“Now, gentlemen. As most are here from, or associated with, the Arziani gulags, and I set up this ring as an example of how the drugs work, 221 will not stop until I command him to, plowing through anyone put in his way.”
My skin shivered in anticipation as Master’s voice raised in volume. The chain belonging to the soon-to-be dead man before me kept spinning and spinning, gaining more and more speed.
“Let’s start this show, shall we?” Master announced. The room fell to silence. “221,” Master called, and every part of me braced for the attack. Seconds passed, then Master ignited my blood when he ordered me to kill. “Klavs!”
Letting my rage take hold, I rushed forward, sais braced as I stalked the dead meat. Lifting his hand, my prey swung the chain, heavy metal aiming for my head. Shifting to the side, I dodged the chain and plowed the long blade of my right sai into his side. Turning, the man had fallen to his knees, his chain falling to the ground. I approached his back and stared at his neck and hairless head. Bracing behind him, I raised both sais, and with a loud roar, sent them through either side of his skull.
Warm blood sprayed against my chest, the fire in my body pumping faster and faster. The man’s body dropped to the floor with a thud, blood pouring from his wounds.
Reaching for my sais, I ripped them from his head. Needing to see more blood run at my feet, I spun the sais in my hand then plunged them into the back of his neck and the front of his throat.
Stepping back, the flames inside pushing at my mind, I began to circle the ring.
I needed more. Needed more blood.
The men in the room were talking in loud voices, the sound stabbing at my mind. I circled and circled waiting for more.