Reap by Tillie Cole
Footsteps pounded into the room. Talia’s two guards came running in. They looked just like they’d woken up. Each of them held a gun, pointing in my direction.
“Don’t shoot!” Luka ordered, but the guards did not lower their weapons.
“He didn’t remember you either,” Luka said suddenly. I held my breath as an agonized ache sliced down my spine. “But if he’d known you were alive, he would have never stopped until he freed you. He was the most honorable man I’ve ever met. He saved me, and I want to save you, enemies or not. I want to save those he loved. I think maybe he befriended me because, deep down, he remembered having a brother. He wanted a brother again.”
Gasping for breath, I stumbled back. My mind was crammed full of thoughts. Too many thoughts to handle.
Footsteps ran down the stairs. But I needed to get out. I watched Luka, the guards, and his wife. They were all looking at me.
Reaching the door that led to the beach, I pushed on the wood until the door broke off its frame. Cold air slapped against my bare chest, but I ignored it all to run out into the night.
I ran and ran until grass gave way to the wood of the dock. I ran until the wood ran out and gave way to the freezing cold sand. I tried to run on, but my legs gave out. As my knees hit the soft sand, I threw my head back and screamed. I screamed for my family. I screamed for my brother dying in a cage, and I screamed with the venom flooding my veins for Jakhua.
He would die.
I would slaughter him.
I would honor my family by slitting his motherfucking throat.
When there was nothing left inside of me, my hands fell forward, plunging into the soft sand. Tears poured from my eyes. The icy wind whipped my hair around my face and clung to my bare skin. But I was beyond caring.
I was empty.
Light footsteps sounded on the dock. They were running. Then they stopped. I felt her behind me. I knew who would be there.
A Tolstoi, Tolstoi, the enemy that stole my heart, made me human again.
Feeling drained, I staggered to my feet. I looked out onto the thrashing sea, its waves rolling and crashing on the shore. I breathed in the salty air, then noticed crying from behind me.
On a deep breath, I turned. I immediately froze. Talia stood on the edge of the dock, watching me. Her long blond hair blew to the side in the wind, her body covered in black clothes.
Her dark eyes watched mine, an agonized expression on her face.
Talia Tolstaia. My Talia Tolstaia.
I tried to find hate. I tried to despise.
I found only warmth.
It was her warmth. She was mine.
She had cleansed me. Cared for me. Cried for me. She was … for me.
Salty tears dropped down my cheeks. My heart squeezed tight. She was in my heart. The feel of her hand as it lay in mine. Her warmth, her smile, her touch.
My heart was in the enemy’s hands. Betrayal of my family brought me to my knees. I had nothing left to give.
“Zaal!” Talia cried suddenly, her cracked and broken voice carrying off in the wind. I looked up as Talia ran onto the sand, her legs bringing her toward me.
Her chest heaved. Her hands shook. She staggered to a halt and stared intently into my eyes.
She was in pain. As much pain as I felt.
She was like me. No, she was a part of me.
Talia stood, watching me. She was as still as a statue. My mind told me it was wrong. My memories told me it was wrong. But in my heart, it felt right.
I needed her.
I needed my Talia.
Pushing myself to stand, I watched Talia brace for my wrath, her arms rising in defense. I took a step forward. Even above the strong wind, I heard her breathing hitch. I saw her body flinch. I lifted my head. Our gazes met. Talia’s lips parted. I took another step forward. Talia tensed, then I dropped to my knees and threw my arms around her waist.
I held her tight. As tight as I could without hurting her. My cheek pressed against her stomach. I could hear her heart pounding. A feeling so consuming built in my stomach, and then unable to hold it back, it ripped from my throat.
I was crying.
Releasing all the pain I’d just been hit with. All the pain from the memories muddying my mind, I fell apart on this sand. I clutched on to Talia, like I couldn’t get close enough. My chest ached with everything pouring from my soul, then instantly spreading me with warmth, Talia’s arms wrapped around my head, drawing me closer to her soft body.
I could feel her crying, too; shaking, sharing my pain. Then Talia dropped to her knees. My chest hit the cold sand, as my head rested in her lap. I shuddered with the severity of my sobs. I released twenty years of grief that had been trapped inside my mind.
And Talia cradled my head, she rocked me back and forth, she stroked her hand through my hair.
She did not speak, just sat there with me. A Tolstoi comforting a Kostava.
After I didn’t know how long, my tears ran dry and a raw, blistering ache throbbed in my chest. Talia’s hands slowed on my head. The strong wind died down. I could hear Talia breathing and I took a deep breath.
Unclasping my hands from her back, I placed them on the sand and forced myself to my knees. My hair covered my face as my swollen eyes stared at the sand.
Talia was silent.
Taking a deep breath, I lifted my head. Talia’s face was so sad, so hurt. It shattered any contempt I had left within me.
Talia lowered her head and said, “I should have told you.”
When I didn’t say anything in response, she raised her head. Immediately I noticed the necklace was gone. A tear dropped in the place it used to be. I looked into her eyes. “I tried to hate you.” She sniffed, and I stilled at her words. Her shoulders sagged and defeat seized her body. “But I couldn’t,” she confided in a whisper. “I couldn’t hate you. In fact I was obsessed and then it turned to something deeper. I committed the ultimate of all sins.”
I held my breath, waiting to hear her finish that sentence. But Talia edged forward, her knees brushing against mine. A small smile spread on her lips, and her fingers traveled to my neck, then up to rest against my cheek.
We breathed in the same air, her palm warming my cold face. Her head tipped to the side and the look of affection in her eyes was my undoing.
She leaned forward, and pressing her lips to the side of my mouth, whispered, “I fell for our greatest enemy. I fell in deep, and I gifted him all of my heart, all of this enemy Tolstaia heart.”
I closed my eyes and fully absorbed what she had said. She’d gifted me her heart. Talia’s hands underneath mine were shaking. Opening my eyes, I said, “Your hands are cold.”
She froze, then a nervous laugh burst from her lips, and she threw herself into my lap. Her hands wrapped around my neck. Tucking my nose into the crook of her neck, I breathed in her scent.
“Zaal,” she whispered, and clutched me tighter.
Her whole body was trembling as she held me close. I gently pulled away. “You are cold,” I declared. Her lips chattered and her skin was icy to the touch.
“You needed me,” she replied softly, her fingers combing through my hair. Taking a deep breath, Talia lost her laughter, and said, “I was extremely close to my grandmother, Zaal. As a child, and right up until her death a few years ago.” I froze as Talia began to mention her family. Talia shuffled on my lap, moving in closer.
“She and I were kindred spirits. She was feisty, and never walked the line”—Talia laughed—“just like me. I’ve never been good at obeying my father’s strict rules.” Talia’s fingers stopped stroking my hair. She was lost in her memories. “I grew up knowing only the story my family told me of our family’s conflict. The one where the Georgians used to be part of the Vor V Zakone, the soviet Thieves in Law, until they turned coat. I knew how the Kostavas, the Jakhuas, and the Volkovs all worked together as one unit. And I was told the story of how the Volkovs took the turf in New York, but banned the Georgians from joining th
I tensed listening to the story from the Russian point of view, but as Talia’s hand began moving through my hair again, I tried to relax.
Talia shifted again, laying her head against my chest, and said, “I imagine your family hated being left out of the New York business. And I imagine after they were hunted down after my grandfather’s murder and forced back to Georgia, all trade routes cut by the Volkov Bratva, that your family and the Jakhuas became more resentful toward us than ever.” Talia’s hand slid down my face from my hair and she lifted my chin with her fingers, lifting her head to meet my eyes. “I imagine growing up as the Kostava heir, you were filled with an intense hatred for my family.”
I nodded silently. Talia’s lips tightened.
“I know this because I’ve had a great hatred for your family my whole life, Zaal.” Talia laughed a humorless laugh. “And I can honestly say it has brought me nothing but pain.” Talia’s finger stroked over the moles below my left eye, and asked, “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to let go of that hatred now. Those people back then were not us. It was a lifetime ago, a history that we can’t change.” Her chin dropped. “I know your version of that story will no doubt differ from mine, but I pray it ends the same. With you wanting me, with you being with me despite our surnames causing a drift.”
I stayed unmoving for the longest time, listening to the sea, feeling the cold wind hit my skin. Talia didn’t say anything more, but I knew one thing: I felt exactly the same.
Taking Talia’s freezing hand, I got to my feet, pulling her with me.
As we stood wrapped in the wind, Talia looked up at my face and asked, “You feel the same? Even after you remember your family?”
I nodded my head, unable to speak. I felt drained, numb. But I knew I wanted this female above anything else.
“You need to rest,” Talia said on a relieved sigh, and took my hand. She turned to walk us back to the house, but I needed to express something from the heart. I pulled on Talia’s hand. She turned to face me, her beautiful face confused.
I lifted my hand over my chest and rasped, “To me, you are not a Tolstaia.”
Her eyes softened, and stepping closer, she replied, “To me, you are not a Kostava.” She lifted higher on her toes, and said, “You are my Zaal, the man whose soul has stolen mine.”
Then she kissed me. Her cold lips met mine; soft, tender, caring. She pulled away and stroked my arm. “Let’s go inside. I need to care for you and hold you while you sleep.”
Warmth spread in my chest. I let this female, my female, guide me into the house. As we entered the door, Luka rose from the long seat. He watched me with wary eyes. Squeezing Talia’s hand, I let go, and walked toward her brother. The guards all stood around him, more guards than there were before. All holding their guns.
But Luka’s eyes did not leave mine.
Standing before him, I said, “You have my gratitude for freeing me from Master.”
Luka’s face hardened. “He isn’t your master anymore. He’s nothing but a fucking dead man walking.”
I nodded at Luka. I went to walk back to Talia, when he announced, “Anri would be proud of the man you’ve become. You’re like him in every way. Your looks, your strength, your loyalty.”
I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, before taking a deep breath and making my way back to Talia.
We entered the bedroom and Talia took me into the shower. She cleaned me slowly with a washcloth, then patched up my cuts and bruises, before brushing out my hair. All the time she touched me, I touched her back. As she cleansed and cared for me, she peppered my face with kisses, told me, without words, that she was mine, and I was hers.
As we climbed into bed, I faced Talia on my pillow. Memories now were a trickle, a gentle stream in my mind.
Talia watched me. I shuffled closer, wrapping her in my arms. I closed my eyes, relaxed my heart with the female I should never have wanted, and confessed, “Ya khochu byt’s toboy vsegda.”
Talia stilled in my arms, then with a press of her lips on my chest, whispered, “I, too, want to be with you forever.”
Chapter Sixteen
Luka
Brooklyn, New York
One week later
“You’re really doing this?”
I turned to face my father as I stood in the center of my living room.
“I’m going,” I replied coldly. My father slowly sat down on the sofa.
I hadn’t seen him since that day in the gym when he’d seen me training. When I’d arrived back here from the Hamptons last week, he was away on business. This evening I found him waiting at my door. He was here to discuss tonight’s plan to take out Levan Jakhua. We’d finally got a tip-off for where the Georgian bastard was hiding from our insider. I’d been given permission for this sting from the Pakhan in my father’s absence.
It seemed he was now here to hear about it in person.
Refocusing on the here and now, I watched my father cross his legs, reflecting the calm demeanor he always wore, as his eyes fell upon me. “And you’re going to kill him? You?”
My jaw clenched as I anticipated the argument that was going to come. I walked to my papa and sat down on the seat before him. “My byki will go in to where he’s hiding. I promised you I wouldn’t fight, and I won’t. They’ll bring Jakhua out to me.” I looked up at my father. “Then I’ll slit his fucking throat.”
My father’s hand rubbed over his short graying beard, and he nodded. “And Kisa knows you’re doing this?”
“She understands what I have to do to avenge Anri,” I replied vaguely. He nodded again.
We sat in silence until I asked, “Papa? Why don’t you want me to fight?”
My father’s hand stopped on his face, his brown eyes looked into mine. “Luka, you will never understand this until you have children, but the day you were taken from me”—he patted his chest—“something within me died.”
A hollow pit formed in my stomach. My father rarely showed emotion. Since I’d gotten back to Brooklyn after being freed from the gulag, he hadn’t really known how to treat me. I supposed that was because he no longer knew me. I’d left him a boy, and I’d returned a damaged man. Fourteen years of raising me had been lost. I’d never really thought about it that way before. Maybe he was just as lost as I was.
He sat forward. “When Kisa told me you were back, when she stood in our private box in the Dungeon and told me my son, my lost son, was the man killing Alik Durov in the cage, I couldn’t believe it.” His eyes lost focus. “You were savage, wild, but highly effective. You slaughtered Alik Durov. You slaughtered anyone that came into your path. You were unstoppable, the most effective killer I’d seen, well, since Alik.”
I stiffened at the mention of Alik Durov, but my father’s expression softened. I was looking at my real father. Not the Bratva boss, but Ivan Tolstoi, my father.
“I watched that boy slowly go insane, Luka. I watched it happen before my very eyes. With each kill, he thirsted for blood, the bloodlust slowly took control. And as for all the fucked-up things he did in private? I had no idea. But that boy lived for the kill. Sought out our enemies and tortured them. Killed them in the most sadistic ways imaginable.” He sighed. I thought he looked tired. “We may kill in this life, Luka, but we’re not beasts. We adhere to a code, even when it comes to the death of our rivals.”
“Papa—” I went to speak, but
“When I saw you kill Durov, you no longer resembled my serious and respectful son I’d known as a child.” His eyes met mine. “You looked like Durov. That same need for the kill was in your eyes.” He sat back and dragged his hand down his tired aging face. “It still is, Luka. That look. That look is still there. Every single day.” Silence hung in the air, and he added, “You’re going to be the pakhan, Luka. Of that, we are certain. But I refuse to watch my son become like Durov. I’ve just got you back. I won’t lose you again. Especially to the demons you hold inside. I won’t lose you to yourself.”
My chest tightened at the flash of vulnerability in my father’s eyes. I stood and walked toward him. I kneeled at his feet. “Papa, I’m back. And I’m not Alik Durov. I’m your heir, and I won’t let you down. You have my word on that.”
Water built in my father’s eyes. He lifted his hand and tapped it on my cheek. “You’re my life, Luka. My legacy,” he said through a tight throat. “I lived with a void in my heart when you were gone. I thought that thinking you were dead all those years was the hardest part of losing you.” He shrugged. “Turns out it wasn’t. Because living with the knowledge that I could lose you all over again? All because you crave to be in the fight? I fear, this time, would kill me.”
“Papa, I’m not going anywhere,” I assured. “And I won’t ever let you down. I swear it to you. I swear it on our family name. I’ll”—I fought back a lump in my throat—“I’ll make you proud, Papa. Just give me a chance.”
My father reached forward and took me in his arms. Pressing a kiss to my head, he rasped, “You already do make me proud, Luka. You already do.”
He held me for several seconds before he pulled back. Getting to his feet, he fixed his tie and walked to the door. Before he stopped, he asked, “How is Talia? She’s seemed distracted the few times we’ve talked.”