Raze (Scarred Souls 1)

“It means ‘little sun,’” Raze said matter-of-fact. “In Russian, I think.” Then his forehead creased and his eyebrows pulled down as if he didn’t understand why he knew that piece of information.

“You called me ‘my love,” he suddenly said, watching me, studying me like I was a problem he was trying to solve. I nodded and fought to keep my bottom lip from quivering. “Lyubov moya,” he said, repeating the words slowly, sounding out each syllable before his eyes widened. “It means ‘my love’ in Russian. You called me ‘your love.’”

“I did… lyubov moya” I replied and pulled out of his embrace, I caught his stuttered, shocked inhale, but just let him sit thinking of my old term of endearment for him.

Quickly wiping my eyes, I then ran my finger around his new tattoo. “Why is this so much longer than the rest? So much more pronounced than the others? You’ve really damaged your skin.”

“Because 362’s death was honorable where the others weren’t. He died proudly. He died like a fighter should.” Raze ran his fingertips over his scar and added, “He died before gaining his revenge. He was cheated out of retribution on those that wronged him. But he never gave up until the end. His recognition on my skin needs to stand out because he, as a fighter and a friend, stood out in my life.”

My heart shredded hearing him speak, and I realized no matter how far I delved into my imagination, into my worst nightmare, I would never fully understand what he went through in the Gulag. He was a child. A child forced to be a killer, and amongst that hell, he’d found someone to care for… and he’d just been forced to kill his friend in cold blood.

Sorrow made me feel sick to my stomach. I couldn’t help but be grateful that 362 was dead and I still had my Raze.

“I thought… I thought for a moment he was going to kill you…” I trailed off, my voice catching in my throat at the thought of losing my soul mate twice in my life. No heart could sustain that.

“He was winning,” Raze confessed.

I gasped, and Raze leaned forward and ran his fingertips down my neck. “But then I saw Durov forcing you to watch me die and it fueled me. Gave me the strength to fight back and overpower my friend.” Raze’s gaze dropped to my lips, and he murmured, “I have to protect you, Kisa-Anna. I believe I was made to protect you.” His face screwed up like he was trying really hard to remember something, and he added, “I had to protect you from Durov… again.”

My heartbeat drowned out the noise of the air conditioner whirring in the main gym. “Again?” I questioned, and his eyes crinkled with confusion.

“Yes. I think… I think I’ve protected you from him before…” Taking my hand, Raze pulled me forward, searching my face up close, and asked, “Have I? Have I protected you from him before?”

I nodded, nerves stealing my voice.

Raze swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and he croaked out, “Did I…? Did I know you before?”

Stifling a threatening sob with the back of my hand, I cried, “Yes. Yes, you did. You knew me very well.”

Raze’s bare muscled chest began to rise and fall and lines framed his scrunched-up eyes. He was trying to remember, but by his held breath and frustrated exhales, I knew he couldn’t. Something was blocking him, preventing him from fully embracing who he was before.

Releasing myself from Raze’s hold, I reached into my purse and pulled out the old silver frame of two young children smiling for the camera and handed it to Raze, who looked down curiously at the picture.

He was like a caveman seeing the world’s treasures for the first time, unsure what to make of the strange world he had been suddenly thrust into.

I watched his face with fascination as his brown eyes studied the children. He pulled the frame closer to his eyes and scrutinized the snapshot while my heart fluttered as fast as a hummingbird’s wings.

His thumb ran across the girl’s face and he looked up, watching my face with the same intense attention.

“I’ve seen this girl in my dreams.”

“Yes,” I whispered, and he lowered his eyes again and reared back his head.

“And this boy too. I know him too.”

“Yes,” was all I could say in response, praying to God he gave Raze the gift of memory. That he remembered who both of those children were, and when he did, he still wanted me… and in some deep, hidden part of him, realized he loved me just as much as I’d always loved him.

“This girl…” Raze said and lowered the picture frame and crawled toward me, his sculpted shoulders rolling at the movement, his packed abs flexing. Once before me, Raze pointed at my eyes, his head tilting to the side. His mouth hovered just before mine and his warm, enticing breath made me close my eyes.

“No!” he ordered, and my eyes snapped open on a gasp. Raze brought the frame forward and placed it next to my face. A knowing expression washed over his sharp, assessing handsome features. “You… you are the girl in this picture.”

I felt tears trickling down my cheeks and I nodded, unable to speak, and he sat back, staring at me as though he were seeing me for the first time. “You’re the girl from my dreams…”

“Yes, Raze, yes,” I answered excitedly.

He exhaled a long breath like he’d just run a marathon, and he slumped back against the wall again, clutching the frame to his chest, just staring at me.