Bound Together (Sea Haven/Sisters of the Heart 6)

"Actual criminals? You mean like murderers?"

He nodded. "Serial killers, armed robbers, pedophiles, rapists, that sort of criminal."

Her heart pounded and she tasted fear. She had a very bad feeling, but she bit her lip and remained silent.

"There were close to a hundred students already there when I arrived. Over the course of the time I was there, two hundred and eighty-seven children were brought there, all various ages. Only eighteen survived."

She gasped. "Eighteen out of two hundred and eighty-seven? Viktor? How could Sorbacov allow such a thing?"

"He had his own secrets to keep. He had a family, and he was very high up and respected in the government, but he had certain proclivities. His appetite ran to children."

No. No. No. Her stomach lurched and she pressed her hand deep. She didn't want to hear this and she had to. "But he sent you after Ray."

"He did send me after Ray. There were films taken. Videos. He liked watching himself with his victims. Somehow Ray got ahold of them. We don't know how. I found them in his safe. They were copies. I never found the master copies. I'm not certain he had them. If he did, I couldn't find them. Sorbacov wanted the recordings."

She found she was holding her breath, so she forced air through her lungs. "Tell me what happened in that place. How all those children died."

"We didn't live like human beings. We weren't given clothes. Or food. You had to earn food." His tone implied earning food meant cooperating with whatever the inmates demanded. "We had classes, like any other school, because the inmates all had skills. The punishments for the least little infraction were always capital. Beatings weren't the worst. Rapes in front of the class, both boys and girls, were common. Chained in what we referred to as the dungeon was one they particularly loved. They flayed a student, until his or her skin ran with blood, and then chained them down in the dark where the rats were."

She couldn't listen anymore, but she had to. She had to know what happened to him and the others and how they had managed to escape. This was what had shaped Viktor's life. Not only his life, but the men and women he called brothers and sisters. This was the reason he had not come home to her but instead had taken the job Sorbacov had given him.

"That's what happened to your back. All those scars. You were chained down there." In the dark. Alone. With horrible rodents. Her stomach lurched again.

"If that was the worst, baby, I wouldn't be so fucked-up now. The worst was Sorbacov and his buddies. They like to play with children. And the way they played was not pretty. I saw them leave child after child for dead. Sometimes I wanted to die, but his warning was always there."

She raised an eyebrow, and the tension in the room worsened.

"He told me if I didn't survive, neither would my brothers, and that he'd bring them all there, the baby first. I knew he meant it. He was a sadistic bastard. That meant, if I was going to survive and he clearly was going to do his damnedest to make certain my life was a living hell, then I would find a way to turn the tables on them. On all of them."

She could see him as a ten-year-old boy, stoically and silently being used so brutally and enduring it all in silence while he planned and schemed with the other children. She put her fingers to her mouth. "Ilya," she whispered. "The things he said to you. If he knew, he'd be so upset."

"He'll never know," Viktor declared. "I promised my father I'd take care of the others. I gave him my word. And I kept it by staying alive. By killing the men and women in that place." He looked her directly in the eye. "I was raped repeatedly by both men and women and then I systematically killed them any way that I could."

His head wasn't bowed. It was up. Defiant. Waiting for her to pass judgment. She wanted to weep for him, but he held himself still, tension pouring off of him, his eyes filled with a rage she understood. Ten years old. He hadn't been a man. He'd been a little boy, and yet he'd taken on the role of a man.

"I had to find a way to save the others. The older ones were gone over the years, but when Reaper and Savage came, Reaper was more like me, determined to protect his brother. He couldn't of course; he was just a toddler. Four. Savage was three. They had two older sisters who didn't make it. I started developing a plan and recruiting the children as they came into the school. We banded together and fought back."

He looked up at her again, directly into her eyes just as he had before. There was hell there for her to see. Plain. Unashamed. No remorse. "We started killing them. We had a system. Each of us had certain talents, and we used them together."

He went silent and she didn't know what to say to that. It was self-defense; they were children without choices. No one had come to save them so they'd found a way to save themselves. He held her gaze and she didn't blink, didn't look away. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she condemned him for surviving--for finding a way for the other children to survive.

He took a breath, closed his eyes for a brief moment and then looked at her again. She realized he was totally tense, so much that the tension filled the room and pulled the air around them into a tight net that held both of them stationary. He'd expected condemnation.

"Sorbacov liked to make an example out of me." He said it low, as if confessing. "He preferred young boys, but even as I got older, he liked to show off with his friends. I was required to do things. If I didn't, they would beat a child to death in front of me, or rape him or her repeatedly."

She could barely breathe. Part of her horror was the guilt and shame in his voice, as if he should have been able to stop what Sorbacov and the others had done to him.

When she didn't say anything, he continued. "I learned to do as they said, but I retaliated. We all did." He shook his head. "You don't need details, but suffice it to say, it was far worse than you can possibly imagine, and the things we had to do to protect one another made us close. Made us believe in one another."

She nodded. Certainly she could understand why the men and women were considered family by him. He had been the oldest of the survivors and had devised and executed the plan that had kept them all alive. Not safe. There was no safety in their nightmare world, but they lived. He also gave them the ability to retaliate against the men and women who used them for their own sick pleasure.

"Sorbacov didn't just have us killed when he realized we were the ones responsible for killing the criminals. At first, he didn't believe that a bunch of little kids could get away with it, or even have the balls to do it, but then he wanted to catch us at it. The brutes running the place couldn't conceive of any of us retaliating against them. We were too small and helpless. Still, they took Reaper and tortured him. We could hear him screaming for days. They did all sorts of things to him, and they threatened Savage. Then they took Savage from us."

Sweat beaded on his body. The unrelenting rage was back in his eyes. "I couldn't stop them, and I knew they would really hurt him in order to break Reaper. If Reaper confessed to the killings, we were all done for, but Savage and he both held out. It was worse than anything you can imagine, listening to them, hearing what those brutes were doing to two little boys. I swore if I ever had the chance, I'd wipe them all off the face of the earth."

She was crying because he was. He didn't know he was, or he didn't acknowledge it, but she'd had enough. Viktor Prakenskii had stood for his blood brothers, keeping his word to his father. He'd stood for seventeen other children, keeping his code. It was one of fierce protection for women and children. It was equally one of fierce retaliation for anyone choosing to harm women or children.

She could at least understand his choices. She'd be a monster not to. She was far too empathetic not to feel the reality of his suffering. She wanted to weep a river of tears for him and those other children.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and looked at her. "I want to come home, Blythe. I need you more than anyone else could ever need you. I'll love you better than anyone ever could. I know what I'm asking of you. I do. It's not only me you'll be taking on, but my b

rothers and sisters, and they're just as fucked-up as I am. I probably will bring home ten more children just as fucked-up. Still, we all need you. We'll all need you, because you're you. You're like a breath of fresh air. You're . . . everything. Everything. Let me come home."

13

VIKTOR didn't realize he was holding his breath as he looked at her face. Blythe. Her touch could wipe out the monsters. She took away every nightmare moment and gave him more pleasure than he'd ever imagined in the world. She'd taught him to laugh. He hadn't known humor. He'd forgotten laughter altogether. He'd held too many brutalized children, watching them die in his arms. He'd planned too many deaths and sent children to carry out the sentences. His life was grim and violent and bloody until Blythe.

"I'm not certain that I'm able to do what you think I can, Viktor. I have my own demons. They aren't like yours, but I have them," she replied.

His heart skipped a beat. She wasn't saying no. She'd heard the worst, knew what had happened to him, and she wasn't turning him away. He'd tried not to worry about that. He was a grown man, and he'd told the others that they hadn't been able to stop those attacking them. He'd made it clear the rapes didn't make them less somehow, but sharing that shit with someone you loved, someone you wanted to think you were a man, a protector, was harsh.

"I know you do, baby," he said softly and got up to cross the distance between them. It was the longest couple of steps he'd ever taken. He watched her closely for signs of rejection, of pulling away from him, but she sat calmly watching his face. He knelt in front of her. "It's because you have those demons that you can have empathy for mine. For my brothers and sisters. For Darby and her sisters. For the women here on this farm. You're a collector, baby, and I'm bringing you an entire collection." He took her face between his hands. "I want to come home, Blythe. Let me come home."

He'd been ten years old when he'd last begged someone for something, and he'd promised himself he'd never do it again, but this was too important. He'd been the one to fuck up. He'd done a royal job of it. She hadn't answered his messages and neither had his birth brothers. He'd convinced himself she didn't want him and neither did they. Pride had kicked in. Hurt. He hadn't investigated the way he should have. She was the most important person in his life. She not only could save him, but he knew her effect would be felt by all the others.

Love me, baby. I need you to love me. He dropped his head onto her lap.

Her hand slid into his hair, her fingers sending pleasure spiraling through him. I do love you. I've always loved you. I'm just . . . afraid.

The air left his lungs in a long rush of shock. She still loved him. Five long, empty years, dealing with the death of their daughter and her psycho mother alone, and she still loved him. He recognized instantly that he wasn't out of the woods yet. She hadn't said it aloud. Blythe had never had problems telling him she loved him. He'd been the one to hold back, unfamiliar with being demonstrative. She'd taught him that as well. With her, he felt safe to show her how much he loved her. And he loved her with every single cell in his body, his heart and his soul--if he still had one.

It's a lot to take in. You're . . . programmed to kill. You've been doing it all these years, and so have the others. You've ridden with one of the worst outlaw biker clubs in existence for five years. That had to take its toll on you. You formed your own club with the others. How can you possibly assimilate back into society?

He had to tell her the stark, ugly truth whether he wanted to or not. He could lie to anyone else, but not her. Not Blythe. We can't.

There was silence. Long. He wasn't certain he could still breathe, but he had to take a breath. Her hand never stopped moving in his hair. She'd always been like that. Touching him. Loving him with every caress no matter how small. She showed her feelings for him every minute of every day. She'd given him hope when there was none. He wasn't a touchy-feely guy. He was mean and tough and ruthless. But then . . . there was Blythe.

You're bossy. Worse than you were before.

He doubted that. Blythe just never went against him. They'd always gone the same way. Now he was asking her to do things that were frightening to her. It was a massive responsibility. Yeah. Okay. He was bossy. He told others far older than him what to do when he was ten and they did it. He was president of Torpedo Ink and his word was law. He was the boss, but not just to get his own way. It was never about getting his own way. He'd give Blythe the fucking moon if that's what she wanted. He'd figure a way.

The same. I've always been this way.

You don't stop until you get your way.

How did he explain this to her so she'd understand? We didn't have food, baby, so I found ways to make that happen. When one way didn't work, I tried another and another until it did. When we couldn't stop the rapes, I tried one way and when that didn't work, I kept changing our method until it did. Do you think I would work less hard for the most important person in my life? I can't lose you. I have to find a way to make you understand I'll work that hard for us. There isn't anything I won't do for you. He meant that too. She just couldn't conceive of all the things he meant.

He felt her take a deep breath. He didn't dare look at her face. He wanted to kiss her. To not play fair. To use his knowledge of her body. Anything to get her to agree that he could come home to her. He told himself to wait, to give her time; she deserved time.

"Want me, baby, the way I want you."

"I never stopped wanting you," she said softly. "Not for a single minute of the day. Even when I was really, really angry with you, Viktor, I wanted you with me." Her fingers continued a slow, mesmerizing massage on his scalp.

"Can you take me back, Blythe?" He raised his head to look at her face. "I need you to say you can. To mean it. To forgive me for not being here with you when you needed me most."

"Viktor, if I asked you to stop what you were doing right now, walk away from this thing with the Swords, would you be able to do it?"

His heart stopped and then began to pound, an unusual reaction for him. He'd given five years of his life and his own child to get a chance at killing Evan Shackler-Gratsos. The man was hideous. He was the worst trafficker in all countries around the world. For a moment he couldn't breathe. Would he do that for her? Of course. Yes. If that was what it took to make things right between them, but . . .

He knelt back, his eyes meeting hers, searching hers. The Blythe he knew would want Evan gone every bit as much as he did. Her request was out of character. Completely. "Yes. If that was what it took to convince you that you're more important than anything or anyone to me, but, baby, I'd want to know your reasons."

Her gaze stayed steady on his, but she dropped her hands into her lap and twisted her fingers together. "I'm afraid for you." She admitted it in a low tone. "I'm not saying I want you to do it, just asking if you would."

"There's no need to be afraid for me. I've got Reaper, Savage, Ice, Storm and so many others watching my back. I'll have my birth brothers and probably your sisters and you keeping an eye out. I'm good at what I do. I plan things out in meticulous detail. Nothing is left to chance. I've learned how over the years, and I've got a crew that knows what they're doing."

Her tongue touched her bottom lip, drawing his attention. He'd always loved her bottom lip, the fullness of that curve. The softness. He loved biting it and then kissing her all better. He could spend hours kissing her.

"And after? What do you plan to do?"

"We're looking into purchasing large amounts of land in Caspar. That isn't far from here. We'll have our clubhouse, restaurant, bike and car shop, the club, tattoo parlor and of course homes there. I'll stay here with you and the girls."

"What will the club do, Viktor? Will everything be legal?"

He'd asked her to accept so much. Too much. She was doing all the giving and he all the taking. He didn't know how to answer that without lying to her and he wasn't going to do that. He sighed. "Probably not. We go after pedophiles, Blythe. We plan to continue to do the same

."

She kept looking at him. He sighed again. "Sometimes, baby, it sucks that you're so intelligent. Other things. We'll take on some bodyguard work. Maybe transporter work. No gun running or drugs. That's not our thing. We saw far too many drugs in the school where we were. Sorbacov and his friends liked to snort cocaine and rape the kids all jacked up. Drugs just aren't in the equation."

That was the best he could do because at this juncture, even though they talked about it, they hadn't firmed up all their rules for the club, what they were willing to take on and what they weren't. The things that hadn't already been agreed on would be put to a vote. In the end, his word was law and he knew it. If he opposed anything, his men would eventually agree with him--even Reaper and Savage.

He took her face in his hands again and tilted her head up to his. "Can you live with that, Blythe? Can you live with us the way we are? Fucked-up. Imperfect, but trying. We want to live as free as possible, but have a home. Have this place. Sea Haven. Caspar. We'll protect it from crime."

"We have cops," she said softly.

Her gaze slid from his, and he knew why. "You know as well as I do the cops can't always stop certain criminals. We can."

"But illegally."

"If Evan is caught by the cops, do you really believe, with all his money, that it would stop him? Even if by some miracle he went to prison, and I can guarantee you he wouldn't, he'd still run the Swords and all his other businesses. You know he would, baby."

"I know. I do," she admitted. "But you can't be the executioner."

"I can. I have been all my life. It's what we do best. It's who we are. You have to think about that and know just who you have in your bed. You have to be able to live with it. I won't make it a habit of telling you what we're doing, but if you ask, I'm going to tell you the truth. Always. I'll tell you." He meant that. Blythe deserved truth and he'd always give it to her--if she asked.

He couldn't stop himself, he brushed his lips over hers. The taste of her was there instantly. Peaches. Cream. She was always so feminine. Girly. He loved that about her too. She ran all the time, but it didn't matter; she still smelled like heaven. One hand curled around her throat. He loved feeling her heart beating in his hand. Feeling her swallow as he brushed his mouth over hers one more time. Even that felt like coming home.