Raze (Scarred Souls 1)

“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.