I was sliced. I was stabbed. I was bleeding.
But so was Durov. He was sliced more. Stabbed more. Bleeding more.
Every part of my body ached with exhaustion, but Alik was lagging too. His body worse than mine, and the slash across the gut from my first strike was leaking so much blood that he wasn’t going to last much longer.
“Come on!” Alik hissed at me. “Let’s finish this shit.” Alik’s words were slurred. I stared at his face and just felt numb.
“Alik, get it the fuck together!” I glanced to the side of the cage to the man who was shouting and instantly had a flashback.
Alik’s papa; Abram Durov.
My lip curled in anger and I looked across the crowd, the men chanting at me to kill Durov. They all knew I had the upper hand. They wanted me to spill blood.
And then movement from higher up caught my attention, and my gaze immediately slammed on a woman stood behind a huge glass window. She was badly beaten. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her, something making me stare … and then my heart fell.
Kisa.
Whipping my head to look at Alik, he had followed my gaze and his eyes bugged when he saw Kisa stood at the glass.
Without pause, I ran at Alik and swept his legs with my feet. He fell to the ground, but used the movement to stab his dagger straight into my thigh.
Roaring out in pain, I turned, flipping his body, twisted my leg around his and locked him a chokehold, his arms unable to strike.
“You did that to her?” I growled and I saw Alik smirk as looked down. I tightened my hold, his face growing red.
“I’m going to make her pay,” he threatened. “When I kill you, she’ll be sorry. I’m going to break her.” And that was enough to break me. He’d threatened my Kisa.
I was done.
Done with it all.
Using my legs to roll Alik, I straddled his waist and let the pent up aggression I’d been holding for years fill my muscles. Alik lifted his dagger and sunk the blade into my calf, but I clenched my fists and began punching at his face, the spikes from my knuckledusters slicing at his skin, mangling his features.
Screaming out in rage, I couldn’t stop, fueled even further by the volume of the bloodthirsty crowd. Hands were shaking the wire of the cage, testing its strength. Abram was screaming for the fight to be stopped, but I was caught in the bloodlust. Alik’s breathing slowed, his body jerked and my fists froze in the air as I started to see him dying underneath me.
I expected relief. I expected to feel whole again … but seeing him breathing his last made me feel nothing … absolutely nothing …
“Do it,” Alik whispered, his eyes, although losing life, still taunting, still as fucking as crazed as they had always been.
Glancing up to Kisa at the window, I could see tears streaming down her cheeks and I knew I had to save her. I had to protect her.
She was mine. I wanted to have her again.
I wanted to be me again …
Tightening my fists, I lifted them above my head, turned them inward and, on a final shout, ran my bladed fists right into his chest … and straight into his heart.
Alik gurgled on his own blood, his eyes blazing fire, until they stilled and glazed over …
Durov was dead.
Removing my fists, I slumped my shoulders, my heart racing too fast and my breath coming too hard.
The crowd exploded, the volume almost deafening. The cage began to rock and I saw the Byki pushing through the crowd, making a pathway, butting men with their guns and firing warning shots into the air.
The place was lifting, the atmosphere charged with the excitement of the crowd. I’d killed the reining champion.
A lot of money had just been lost.
And I felt none of it, just stayed staring at his corpse. The sure win had just been slaughtered.
Durov’s still-warm body was bleeding out as memories flooded my mind like a torrent. Me as a child, Rodion … and Kisa … my Kisa. Always with me, stroking my hair, kissing me, reading to me …
Suddenly, the cage door flew open and Abram pounded in, dropping to his knees to look at his son dead on the floor, shock and pain etched all over his face. A path suddenly appeared through the crowd, another man leading the way.
Jumping off Alik’s body, I got to my feet, legs apart and fists clenched bracing for the punishment for killing their number one fighter … the Bratva heir. I’d fight my way out of here if I had to, slaughter them all. And I’d be taking Kisa with me.
A man with long gray hair entered the cage, two Byki following behind, who ran straight to Abram and wrenched him up off the floor. Abram was too numb to fight, still staring at his slain son on the cage floor.
As he looked at his son, he appeared dead too.
The man with gray hair approached me, his eyes assessing. Every muscle tensed to strike, my head lowered and I clicked my fingers, reforming them back into fists.
The man held out his hands, placating, and confusion trembled through my body. My head tilted to the side and my eyes narrowed.
The man studied me. I was dripping in blood and fucking ready to fight anyone who got between Kisa and me, when he suddenly dropped to his knees, water spilling from his eyes.
I reared back in confusion.
“Papa!” another female cried and, unable to take her hand from her mouth, tears flooding her face, she dropped beside the man and they both looked up and stared at me.
My body grew hot and I felt sweat bead on my forehead. I couldn’t stop staring at the blond girl and gray man, my chest heaving and pain building at the back of my head.
Looking around The Dungeon, I could see the Byki clearing the crowd, pushing them into the hallway, deserting the dank basement. A man standing at the back pulled my attention: Viktor. I cast him a curt nod in thanks, and with a lift of his hat, he disappeared into the crowd.
For once the man looked … happy?
Two people began to slowly approach the cage, and my heart fell when I saw one of them was Kisa.
“Kisa,” I whispered, as her father, the Pakhan, helped her up the stairs to the cage. Kisa staggered in, her face black and blue, the sight making me shake with rage.
Tears were streaming down her face, but her eyes never left mine.
“Kisa!” I bellowed and went to move toward her, when the man on his knees pushed out his hand.
“Wait!” he called, catching my arm in his grip.
Snarling, I ripped my arm back and raised my spiked fists to strike.
“No!” Kisa cried and staggered over to me, pushing at my chest. “Stop! Please, Luka, stop!”
Pausing, I looked into Kisa’s swollen eyes and she shook her head. Something inside told me to trust her and lower my fist. Ripping off my knuckledusters and casting them to the floor, I ran my finger down her cheek.
“He … he hurt you,” I stated, my voice broken.
Kisa nuzzled into my palm, so lightly that her skin almost didn’t touch my flesh. She was in pain. This caused me to feel more rage.
“It’s over now, Luka,” Kisa whispered and pulled me closer with one hand, her other hand clutched over her waist, her wrist seeming limp.
“He broke your wrist?”
Kisa nodded, tears streaming, but repeated. “It’s over now. He’s gone. I’m free … you’re free…” Her voice broke and I knew it was all too much for her. But she tried to smile at me. “You did it, baby. You got your revenge.”
I exhaled and instantly felt drained, but when movement from the floor caught my eyes, I wrapped my arm around Kisa and pulled her back against me in protection. My body crouched and braced for any danger.
The gray man got to his feet along with the other woman, holding out their palms and Kisa gripped my arm. “Luka. Listen to me.”
My eyes darted all around the cage, assessing, taking note of who was here: Kisa’s papa, Abram, the Byki, the gray man and the woman … and they were all looking at me like they’d seen a ghost. Staring into my eyes. I immediately lowered my head.
Kisa moved around me and I tried to push her back.
“No, Luka. Baby, please look at me.”
I hesitated, but eventually flickered my attention to her and her eyes which were glistening. She ran her hand through my hair and I instantly relaxed some. “No one here is going to hurt you.” She ran a fingertip underneath my left eye. “You can look at them. They can see you. They can see the real you. You’re safe.”
I searched the faces of everyone in the cage again, and my eyes kept fixing on the man with gray hair and the woman with brown eyes. A pain throbbed in my temple when I looked at them. But I fought it. I took Viktor’s advice and tried to let everything come to me.
“Luka, I need you to remember something,” Kisa said softly. Her tone was strange, like she was preparing me for something big.
I frowned and stared into Kisa’s blue eyes, my stomach tensing. “I can’t,” I replied. “I can’t remember anything else. I’ve tried.”
Kisa nodded in understanding, her eyes wincing at the movement. “You’re hurt.”
“It doesn’t matter about me right now. Lyubov moya, I need you to remember.”
“What? What do I need to remember?” I asked, feeling agitated, my eyes blinking as the pain in my temples grew stronger.
“You. Where you came from. Who your parents are … your family…” Kisa clutched her hand in mine and squeezed.
The gray man cleared his throat and he was staring at me again. I closed my eyes trying to break through the empty block in my mind, but all it caused was more pain.
I was done with the fucking pain!
“I don’t … I don’t remember, solnyshko!” I shouted out, when the gray man stepped forward, the blond woman openly sobbing.
“Do you … do you remember me, son?”
I looked to Kisa whose grip had tightened on my hand and she nodded at me in encouragement. I held onto Kisa like a lifeline and my pulse began to race.
The gray man never took his eyes from mine. And images danced in front of my eyes. My eyes widened and I searched the man’s face more. It was him … it was him.
I was older, a teen, and I was in a car with a man. We were driving to a meeting. It was my first meeting with the Bratva—
“I was a part of the Bratva,” I whispered and looked to Kisa. She nodded and pressed her broken lips to my cut up hand. Her touch calmed me down.
“Keep going, Luka. Keep going.” I nodded and squeezed my eyes back shut.
I was a child. It was Christmas. There was a tree, presents. I was sitting on a couch, and a man gave me a gift. A man with brown eyes and light hair … a man with the gray man’s face …
“Merry Christmas, son,” the man had said.
“Thank you, papa,” I had replied.
I gasped for breath and stumbled back, my back hitting the side of the cage. I stared at the gray haired man and couldn’t seem to breathe.
The man stepped forward again. “Luka? Do you … Do you remem—”
“You’re … my papa?” I questioned and relief spread on the man’s face. He nodded his head unable to speak. “You’re my papa. Ivan Tolstoi,” I said again and tensed as he lifted a hand and put it on my shoulder.
“My son,” he rasped out and tears fell down his face. “My Luka … you have returned to us.”
My heart was beating erratically, and I found myself stepping forward as my papa took me into his arms. I froze at first, refusing to let go of Kisa, but then as more and more memories returned to me, I found myself sagging in his arms.
I was huge compared to him, but I felt like a child again, in his arms.
A sobbing over his shoulder made me look up and the blond woman was watching me and my father, an expression of happiness on her face. A picture of a young girl sat beside me at a dinner table annoyingly stabbing me with her fork in my leg played in my head. Then that Christmas scene from before deepened and I saw her sitting next to me at the tree, her arm around my waist.
My papa must have felt me freeze, for he moved back and saw me staring at the woman. Kisa’s hand slipped from mine. And I walked forward and saw the woman was shivering.
“You’re my sister,” I stated and the woman tentatively nodded her head. “Tal … Tal…” I squeezed my eyes closed and tried to remember her name. A hand wrapped around mine and the woman said, “Talia. I’m your sister Talia.”
“Talia,” I said, the name sounding familiar, right, “My … sister.”
Talia cried and threw her arms around my waist. I tensed at the contact, fighting the urge to throw her off and attack. I didn’t know what to do. “You’re alive,” she sobbed. “I have you back. I have my brother back.”
Glancing at Kisa, I could see her hugging her father. She was happy for me, her blue eyes bright.
Talia pulled back and I stumbled back toward Kisa and held out my hand. “Kisa,” I said, desperately needing her close. It was all too much. My mind and body were exhausted and she was all I really knew. But as I held out my hand, the Pakhan—Kirill … his name was Kirill—took it and pulled me forward.
I braced my body again, but he said, “I never knew, Luka. I never knew … I believed you had killed my son and that is my sin to bear. I was so saddened that I didn’t suspect Abram or Alik. Abram was my brother in this life, I would never suspect he’d do such a thing. You were innocent and paid for a crime you didn’t commit.”
Kirill looked at Kisa. “And my action took you from her. My wife would be spinning in her grave if she knew that I had separated the two of you unnecessarily,” he dropped his head, “and gave her over to a lesser man … a sick man … a murderer.”
I stared at the pakhan and could see the sincerity in his eyes.
“Papa!” Kisa cried, but Kirill held up his hand.
“It’s the truth.” Kirill looked over my head and in the direction of Abram and pulled out his gun. He walked to my father and handed the gun to him.
“It’s your vengeance to kill him, Ivan.”
My father straightened his shoulders and a cold look spread on his face. “He reached into his pocket and pulled out his gun, handing it to Kirill. “It’s both our kill. He ordered for Alik to kill Rodion.”
A sense if familiarity filled me. These were Bratva men. These were men that shouldn’t be fucked with. This was my family … this was where I belonged.
My father walked to Abram, Kirill followed behind. Abram was still staring at his son dead on the floor. My father took off his coat, wearing a black suit underneath, and in one strike, backhanded Abram across the face. Abram looked like he didn’t even notice it.
Kirill and my father lifted their guns. No words were spoken. And after a few tense seconds they both fired shots into Abram’s chest and he slumped to the ground next to his dead son.
Kisa wrapped herself in my arms and I kissed her head, gripping her tight.
My father came toward me and asked, “Luka? Do you remember your mama?”
My heart beat wildly and my muscles tensed, but now that the key to my past was opened, a dark-haired woman’s face came into view and I exhaled like I’d just ran for hours.
Kisa squeezed my waist and lifted her head. “She’ll be so happy. She never gave up the belief that you were innocent. She knew you couldn’t have done it. She always believed in your innocence.”
Nerves suddenly racked my body and I leaned down and pressed my forehead against Kisa’s. “But I’m not the Luka she knew. I’m a monster, a murderer. This version of her son isn’t innocent.”
“You are our Luka. You are our son,” my father said sternly from beside me.
“Kisa, we need to get you home so Dr. Chazov can see you,” Kirill said moving behind Kisa. “You need a cast on that wrist. You need stitches, and medication.”
Kisa reluctantly nodded and put her hand in my cheek. I hadn’t noticed how pale she was, how in pain. “You’ll be fine, Luka. I’ll come straight to your parent’s house afterward. You need to see a doctor too. You’re hurt, bleeding.”
“No,” I said aggressively. “I go with you. I see your doctor.”
“Luka—”
“No! Kisa, solnyshko. I go with you,” I bent down to whisper at her ear, “I need you with me. I only feel at home with you. I don’t … I don’t know these people like I know you. You’re my now, they’re still my past.” I stared at her helplessly. “I can’t be without you. I need you.” I swallowed and fought to breathe, as I admitted, “I have fear in my heart … I am fearful of all of this.”
Kisa’s eyes saddened and I knew everyone around us had heard me. Kisa took my hand and turned to my father and Talia while I kept my head low.
“I’ll go see the doctor with Luka, then we’ll come to you. You’ll have time to prepare mama Tolstoi.”
I kept my eyes lowered like a coward. But I’d felt more in the last five minutes than I had in my whole life and it was too much.
A hand placed on my bicep and I looked up to see my father. “It’s okay, Luka. Go with Kisa. Get fixed up. We’ll see you soon … son.”
I nodded, feeling that word settle in my heart and wrapped my hand over Kisa’a shoulders, leading her from the cage. In the holding room, we didn’t speak, but I could feel her watching me. I threw on my old familiar gray sweatshirt, the one I’d worn since the Gulag and followed Kisa to a back door. Keeping close to the other half of my heart and, for the first time ever, keeping my hood pulled back.