Reap (Scarred Souls 2)

And Anri. I could see every part of his face, identical to mine.

My stomach knotted so hard I thought I’d never breathe again, the crack in my soul so great I thought it would never heal. Before I had no feeling, no memories of my past. But now? Now I was feeling everything, every loss, every horror in my mind. Every memory was a dagger in my body, one I couldn’t remove.

Tears were pouring from my eyes. An ache, so painful it stole my breath, ripped through my body. More memories poured into my mind—the necklace, my brother, Anri. Fuck! Anri, him holding my hand.

I looked down at my hand. It still felt so real. I could still feel Anri’s fingers squeezing, telling me, “Dzlieri. Be strong. Keep strong.”

More tears fell. When I saw the horror I felt reflected in his eyes, his dark eyes, dark eyes like Zoya’s, Zoya who had died, my little Zoya, crying my name and reaching for my hand until the very end.

I couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t take this wave after wave of agony that crushed my soul. I wanted the images to stop. I wanted my family’s pain to stop.

I wanted it all to fucking stop!

My body tensing and pain convulsing my chest, I turned toward Talia. I knew she was beside me, her hand lay on my stomach.

I focused on that hand. I focused on the warmth seeping into my skin.

I wasn’t alone. No longer alone. I had Talia. I had Talia in my heart.

Hearing her soft breathing, I rolled onto my side, my eyes blurring through a mist of tears. I lay on my arm, just watching her sleep. I could see her sleeping form lit by the dull light from her bedside table lamp. She knew I hated the dark. She knew it without me having to tell her it. I blinked away my tears and focused on her long golden hair, on her pink mouth parted by sleep. I squeezed my eyes shut as another stab of pain sliced my heart.

I reached out and laid my hand on hers. I wanted her to wake. I needed her hand on my face. I needed her mouth on mine, I needed her to wrap her arms around my waist.

I gripped her hand, but still she slept on. My eyes wandered over her body. My chest clenched with how much I wanted her. She was beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

My gaze drifted down her neck to her chest and her tits. Then I stilled, my eyes wide as my gaze met the gold necklace around her neck. I gasped for air as I recalled my papa handing similar ones to Anri and I. He wanted us to restore the clan’s reputation, to make the Kostavas great once more.…

Papa stood, and with a hand on each shoulder, asked, “Who will you destroy?”

We took a deep breath, and recited the three names we knew by heart; “The Volkovs, Tolstois, and Durovs.” My blood rushed like fire through my veins. The necklaces we were given were gold, the pendent showing our family crest.

I stared at Talia’s necklace, it looked exactly the same. Breath held, I leaned forward and studied the pendent. There was a crest. My pulse pounded as I made out the emblem—a wolf, a shield, and then I stopped dead when my eyes read the family name engraved along the top.

Breathe, breathe, I told myself, but I couldn’t breathe. Releasing Talia’s hand, my fists clenched at my sides.

It couldn’t be. She can’t be. No!

I remembered waking in the basement. I was trapped in darkness, I was held in chains. Captured. Left to die.

I shook my head as pain and rage filled my muscles. The name on Talia’s pendent pierced my mind. With each and every stab, the fire burned and burned. They’d exiled my family. They were the reason Jakhua turned on my father, the reason my family had died.

Papa’s voice sounded in my head, “Who will you destroy?”

“The Volkovs, Tolstois, and Durovs.”

Tolstoi.

No longer able to rein in my fury, a roar ripped from my throat. I lurched my body over Talia. She’d lied. She’d deceived me. I wasn’t free.… I was a fucking captive of the Tolstois!

Talia’s brown eyes snapped open in shock. I gripped both of her wrists, lifting them above her head. She gasped as she tried to move, the blood rushing from her face. But she wasn’t going anywhere. She couldn’t move.

Her frightened brown eyes met mine. “Zaal, what? What’s wrong?”

She pulled on her arms, trying to break free, but I snarled and hissed, “Tolstoi…” Venom and hatred fueled my anger.

Talia’s face turned even whiter and her eyes grew impossibly wide. Her bottom lip began to tremble and her hands began to shake. “Zaal … please,” she begged. Her plea, for a moment, made me flinch. I hated when she was sad.

Tolstoi! My mind pushed. Anger regained its hold.

“Tolstoi,” I growled threateningly.

She shook her head. “Zaal.”

“Fucking Tolstois!” I roared. “The enemy!” Talia flinched and cowered underneath my body. “You’re the fucking enemy!” I thundered, but Talia only cried more.

“No!” she whispered brokenly. “Don’t.”

Klavs, klavs, klavs, sasaklao, I heard in my mind.

I should have killed her. I was a Kostava. Tolstois should die under my hand. But I couldn’t. It was Talia.

Wrenching back, I pushed off the bed. My hands gripped the side of my skull. The pain was too much, grief consuming my heart.

“Zaal!” Talia cried and scurried to the end of the bed. I whipped my head to face her. Her face was red and blotted from crying. She stared at me, and my heart ached. It was Talia. My Talia.

But she was a fucking Tolstoi!

With shaking arms, she held out her hand. “Please,” she begged, “take it … trust me … let me explain.”

I stared at her hand. But all I could see was Papa giving me and Anri our necklaces, telling us to avenge the family. The guards pointing rifles, gunshots, blood … Zoya … Zoya’s dark eyes begging me to help. But I couldn’t … I couldn’t save her.…

New images invaded my brain. A narrow cold bed, Jakhua’s cold smirk, his laughter, needles, pain from being sliced open. Anri screaming beside me. Chains, beatings. More needles, more pain. Then darkness, anger, nothing but red-hot anger, and the constant craving to kill.

Body shaking, my neck corded and bulged with tension. My teeth gritted. I clenched my fists so hard my nails drew blood on my palm. I screamed to the sky and ran out of Talia Tolstaia’s room.

I thundered toward the stairs. Tolstoi guards were running to meet me, guns held high. Roaring at the memory of guards firing on my family, I charged. They were nothing to me. I plowed my fist into a guard’s face. Lifting him in my hands, I raised my knee, thrust him down, and snapped his back.

Another guard fired at me; the bullet hit the wall. But the sound of that bullet incensed me, ripping me straight back into the past. Reaching out over the narrow staircase, I gripped the guard’s neck, and slammed my head against his. The guard faltered, collapsing on impact. I placed my hands around his neck and twisted. It snapped, and I threw his lifeless body on the floor.

I raced down the stairs. I had to escape this hell. When I rounded the corner at the bottom of the staircase, I saw the outside door. Pushing forward, I made for the exit.

As I passed through the living room, movement to my left caught my eye. Him. Luka. 818. A motherfucking Tolstoi! He stared at me, chest bared, only sweatpants covering his legs, just like me. I lowered my head. Anger wrapped around me, surrounding me with fury.