Reap
Page 15
Opening my laptop, I expected to see Zaal in that same slumped sitting position, tied up in chains, hair matted and dressed only in the black pair of sweatpants Luka had insisted he wear when he was drugged that first night.
I clicked on the desktop icon, chose the camera for the basement, and waited with bated breath as it connected. As Zaal came into view, my heart immediately fell. He wasn’t sitting up as expected. He was still sprawled on the ground, body eerily still.
I leaned in closer willing him to move. But two hours passed and he hadn’t even flinched. A deep pit had formed in the center of my stomach. He looked … what if…?
I swallowed a thick lump in my throat and felt an unfamiliar hollow feeling in my heart. I knew he’d been getting worse, his demeanor had changed dramatically over the past few days. But he was strong. I thought he’d survive. I thought it was another phase of his recovery. He’d had several over the past couple of weeks.
Leaving my laptop on the dresser, I jumped off my bed. Hands on hips, I stared at the locked bedroom door and forced myself to do something I vowed I would never do.
I needed to see him up close.
I reached up and palmed the necklace lying on my chest. I thought of why my father had disapproved of Zaal’s rescue. Of why Luka had had to bring him all the way out here to the Hamptons rather than to a holding cell in Brooklyn. But no matter how much I tried to persuade myself not to do what my heart was urging me to do, a pair of jade green eyes would dominate my mind, taking it captive, and with it all rationality. Derr ‘mo! Those eyes! The sadness they held. The torture, the hurt and confusion shining in their depths, calling to me.
I had to go. He needed me.
Eto piz ‘dets! This is fucking crazy! I thought silently in Russian.
Rushing to my door, I took a deep breath at the top of the stairs and frantically ran down. Savin and Ilya, clearly back from patrolling, came busting out of the kitchen.
“Ms. Tolstaia?” Ilya enquired, “What’s wrong?”
Pushing my hand through my hair, I said, “I was at my window and I think I saw someone outside. Maybe more than one. I can’t be sure?”
Savin straightened and immediately pulled out his Glock. Ilya moved toward me. He looked me straight in the eye and ordered, “Stay here!”
In seconds, they’d run out of the house. Knowing I had only a short amount of time, I hurried to the hidden safe, entered the passcode, and retrieved the basement key.
With shaking hands, adrenaline fueling my reckless plan, I arrived at the basement door. Without overthinking any rebuke from Savin, Ilya, or Luka, I entered the dark room and quietly closed the door behind me.
Pausing on the tiny landing, I inhaled a shuddering breath. Move, Talia, I told myself, just move. He needs you.
Leaving the key on a ledge, I placed my trembling hand on the handrail and began my cautious descent. With every step on the wooden stairs, my heart beat louder and louder.
When the expanse of the dark room came into sight, and my gaze fell on an unmoving Zaal Kostava, it took all my self-control not to rush over and beg him to awaken.
I couldn’t hear his breathing. His back was facing me, his oversize body curled into a fetal position, like the pain had been too much to bear. His bloodied and bruised arms and legs were completely stiff.
Reality hit home—he’d died.
Derr ’mo! What had Jakhua pumped him full of? Had whatever was leeching from his system for the past two weeks been too much for a person to bear? Even for a man as formidable as Zaal?
Folding my arms over my waist, I walked silently toward his comatose form, flinching as I saw the chains that held him so tightly in place. His tanned skin was pale and, finally seeing for myself that he was gone, I fell to my knees beside him and my shoulders sagged.
I’d watched this man for weeks; long hours spent in fascination, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t hate him. I wanted to, felt obliged to … but, hell, it had been impossible.
How could anyone hate a man breaking so badly? A man who had never known love? A man filled with such pain? A man kept chained in the darkness?
An urge hit me. I needed to touch him. I had to, something within me told me to reach out. No person should die in such a way. Alone, with no caring person there to offer comfort in their final hours.
My mind raced with the scant information I had about his life. He was now twenty-nine. That meant he’d endured over twenty years of being experimented on like some clinical rat. Twenty-one years of being subservient to the man who had caused the demise of his family. Twenty-one years of killing, on instruction, anyone in his path.
Lifting my hand, I hesitantly placed it on his bicep. I gasped at the coldness of his skin. It felt like ice. My eyes closed as I offered a prayer to God to save his dark soul. Opening them again, I studied the mass of tattoos, cuts, and scars, and every finely toned inch of his muscles.
I’d never seen anyone like him. He was … he was perfect. Yet, savagely imperfect at the same time.
My hand drifted farther down his body, and across the brightly colored skull tattooed on his back. I knew he probably had these forced upon his flesh. Luka had told me how the gulag owners wanted him to look more aggressive by sporting sinister tattoos. It seemed that Levan Jakhua shared exactly the same whim. And they worked. The artwork of images of death made him like something from your nightmares.
Then my gaze met the slave number on the top of his neck where his long hair had parted, a smaller version of the “221” branded on his chest.
My hand traveled to touch the black ink and a flood of tears blurred my vision. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed, “I’m sorry you had this life.”
I went to withdraw my hand. Was moving away to tell the byki that the captive had died. But just as my palm went to move, it fell from Zaal’s ice-cold skin. Before I knew it, strong hands were gripping my biceps, and a familiar pair of jade green eyes were suddenly boring into mine. Two hundred and fifty pounds of prime muscle were pinning me down.…
I shook my head and glanced at Zaal, now sleeping. I couldn’t help but remember the feeling of his huge body towering above me, his sharply featured face so primal and raw. At first I’d been terrified, but when Savin and Ilya had found me, their mutual looks of rage as they met my eyes, all fear vanished as he pushed me back to protect me.
This monster, this animal, this apparently unsalvageable man had protected me. And now, alone, here I sat with him. My obsession in the flesh. My forbidden addiction.
It should have been my chance to get away. I knew he’d be sleeping for the next few hours. Hell, I knew his daily routine down pat. But as my mind tried to convince me to go, my heart kept me rooted to the spot.
Glancing to Zaal, I edged closer. Taking the chance while I could, I brushed back his dirty matted black hair from his face. My lips parted and I drew in a sharp breath as his features were revealed.
With my forefinger, I slowly traced his broad forehead, then his nose and, finally, his jaw. He was beautiful, exotic, and every inch a man. But he was severely unkempt, his hair dirty, and his body still peppered with weeks’-old bloodstains.
Looking about the sparse room, there was nothing in here to clean him with. I couldn’t leave him like this, soiled and riddled with filth.
Determined, I got to my feet and headed up the staircase. As I opened the door to the basement, Savin and Ilya were suddenly in my face.
I clicked on the desktop icon, chose the camera for the basement, and waited with bated breath as it connected. As Zaal came into view, my heart immediately fell. He wasn’t sitting up as expected. He was still sprawled on the ground, body eerily still.
I leaned in closer willing him to move. But two hours passed and he hadn’t even flinched. A deep pit had formed in the center of my stomach. He looked … what if…?
I swallowed a thick lump in my throat and felt an unfamiliar hollow feeling in my heart. I knew he’d been getting worse, his demeanor had changed dramatically over the past few days. But he was strong. I thought he’d survive. I thought it was another phase of his recovery. He’d had several over the past couple of weeks.
Leaving my laptop on the dresser, I jumped off my bed. Hands on hips, I stared at the locked bedroom door and forced myself to do something I vowed I would never do.
I needed to see him up close.
I reached up and palmed the necklace lying on my chest. I thought of why my father had disapproved of Zaal’s rescue. Of why Luka had had to bring him all the way out here to the Hamptons rather than to a holding cell in Brooklyn. But no matter how much I tried to persuade myself not to do what my heart was urging me to do, a pair of jade green eyes would dominate my mind, taking it captive, and with it all rationality. Derr ‘mo! Those eyes! The sadness they held. The torture, the hurt and confusion shining in their depths, calling to me.
I had to go. He needed me.
Eto piz ‘dets! This is fucking crazy! I thought silently in Russian.
Rushing to my door, I took a deep breath at the top of the stairs and frantically ran down. Savin and Ilya, clearly back from patrolling, came busting out of the kitchen.
“Ms. Tolstaia?” Ilya enquired, “What’s wrong?”
Pushing my hand through my hair, I said, “I was at my window and I think I saw someone outside. Maybe more than one. I can’t be sure?”
Savin straightened and immediately pulled out his Glock. Ilya moved toward me. He looked me straight in the eye and ordered, “Stay here!”
In seconds, they’d run out of the house. Knowing I had only a short amount of time, I hurried to the hidden safe, entered the passcode, and retrieved the basement key.
With shaking hands, adrenaline fueling my reckless plan, I arrived at the basement door. Without overthinking any rebuke from Savin, Ilya, or Luka, I entered the dark room and quietly closed the door behind me.
Pausing on the tiny landing, I inhaled a shuddering breath. Move, Talia, I told myself, just move. He needs you.
Leaving the key on a ledge, I placed my trembling hand on the handrail and began my cautious descent. With every step on the wooden stairs, my heart beat louder and louder.
When the expanse of the dark room came into sight, and my gaze fell on an unmoving Zaal Kostava, it took all my self-control not to rush over and beg him to awaken.
I couldn’t hear his breathing. His back was facing me, his oversize body curled into a fetal position, like the pain had been too much to bear. His bloodied and bruised arms and legs were completely stiff.
Reality hit home—he’d died.
Derr ’mo! What had Jakhua pumped him full of? Had whatever was leeching from his system for the past two weeks been too much for a person to bear? Even for a man as formidable as Zaal?
Folding my arms over my waist, I walked silently toward his comatose form, flinching as I saw the chains that held him so tightly in place. His tanned skin was pale and, finally seeing for myself that he was gone, I fell to my knees beside him and my shoulders sagged.
I’d watched this man for weeks; long hours spent in fascination, and as much as I tried, I couldn’t hate him. I wanted to, felt obliged to … but, hell, it had been impossible.
How could anyone hate a man breaking so badly? A man who had never known love? A man filled with such pain? A man kept chained in the darkness?
An urge hit me. I needed to touch him. I had to, something within me told me to reach out. No person should die in such a way. Alone, with no caring person there to offer comfort in their final hours.
My mind raced with the scant information I had about his life. He was now twenty-nine. That meant he’d endured over twenty years of being experimented on like some clinical rat. Twenty-one years of being subservient to the man who had caused the demise of his family. Twenty-one years of killing, on instruction, anyone in his path.
Lifting my hand, I hesitantly placed it on his bicep. I gasped at the coldness of his skin. It felt like ice. My eyes closed as I offered a prayer to God to save his dark soul. Opening them again, I studied the mass of tattoos, cuts, and scars, and every finely toned inch of his muscles.
I’d never seen anyone like him. He was … he was perfect. Yet, savagely imperfect at the same time.
My hand drifted farther down his body, and across the brightly colored skull tattooed on his back. I knew he probably had these forced upon his flesh. Luka had told me how the gulag owners wanted him to look more aggressive by sporting sinister tattoos. It seemed that Levan Jakhua shared exactly the same whim. And they worked. The artwork of images of death made him like something from your nightmares.
Then my gaze met the slave number on the top of his neck where his long hair had parted, a smaller version of the “221” branded on his chest.
My hand traveled to touch the black ink and a flood of tears blurred my vision. “I’m sorry,” I mouthed, “I’m sorry you had this life.”
I went to withdraw my hand. Was moving away to tell the byki that the captive had died. But just as my palm went to move, it fell from Zaal’s ice-cold skin. Before I knew it, strong hands were gripping my biceps, and a familiar pair of jade green eyes were suddenly boring into mine. Two hundred and fifty pounds of prime muscle were pinning me down.…
I shook my head and glanced at Zaal, now sleeping. I couldn’t help but remember the feeling of his huge body towering above me, his sharply featured face so primal and raw. At first I’d been terrified, but when Savin and Ilya had found me, their mutual looks of rage as they met my eyes, all fear vanished as he pushed me back to protect me.
This monster, this animal, this apparently unsalvageable man had protected me. And now, alone, here I sat with him. My obsession in the flesh. My forbidden addiction.
It should have been my chance to get away. I knew he’d be sleeping for the next few hours. Hell, I knew his daily routine down pat. But as my mind tried to convince me to go, my heart kept me rooted to the spot.
Glancing to Zaal, I edged closer. Taking the chance while I could, I brushed back his dirty matted black hair from his face. My lips parted and I drew in a sharp breath as his features were revealed.
With my forefinger, I slowly traced his broad forehead, then his nose and, finally, his jaw. He was beautiful, exotic, and every inch a man. But he was severely unkempt, his hair dirty, and his body still peppered with weeks’-old bloodstains.
Looking about the sparse room, there was nothing in here to clean him with. I couldn’t leave him like this, soiled and riddled with filth.
Determined, I got to my feet and headed up the staircase. As I opened the door to the basement, Savin and Ilya were suddenly in my face.
