by Tillie Cole
I needed more, when—
“221, shech’erda!” Master’s loud voice cut through to my ears, ordering me to halt. My feet ground to a stop and my head bowed.
Excited murmurs rippled through the crowd.
“You see, gentlemen. One hundred percent obedience and effectiveness.” I breathed hard through my nostrils. My feet wanted to move, but Master’s command held me in check.
“Those who came from the gulags, I’m sure you’ll be happy with what you’ve seen. And those who have come from our other enterprises, please, allow me to demonstrate the Type B drug.”
Sounds of the doors opening again caught my attention. Quiet footsteps entered the ring. Then men started murmuring again, shifting in their seats.
“547 is the prototype for our Type B drug. It too offers obedience. A full willingness by the slave to do anything, and I mean anything. It’s infused with hormones that increase the woman’s libido and makes her pussy wet for hours, promising your clients endless fun. It also boasts a powerful contraceptive, so no unwanted pregnancies will occur.
“221,” Master called. My head snapped up. “Center of the ring.”
Turning, I walked to the center of the ring. My hands gripped on to the sais, and my teeth gritted with the need for more blood. But as I stood the ring, I felt someone was here with me. Someone I didn’t want to kill.
“221, drop your sais and take off your clothes.”
Opening my hands, the weapons dropped to the ground and I pulled down my pants.
“547,” Master called, “suck his cock.”
Keeping my head down, a female with dark hair dropped to her knees and took my cock in her small hands. Gritting my teeth at the feel of her warm hand stroking my dick, I fought back a roar. Without looking up, her hand started jerking my cock, faster and faster. My cock hardened and a growl ripped from my chest when she opened her mouth and swallowed me whole.
Grunts and snarls tore up my throat as her hot mouth sucked harder and harder. The venom in my blood flared. It burned hotter and hotter as her mouth sucked harder.
“547, shech’erda.” Master ordered her to stop, the female releasing my cock and dropping her hands.
It hurt.… I needed to come. I needed to come down her throat.
“221,” Master called next, “fuck 547 from behind … hard.” He laughed, then ordered, “And make her fucking bleed.”
Growling at Master’s command, I dropped to the floor on my knees. The female turned, pushing her wet cunt in my face. Reaching out, I gripped her hips, my fingers clawing into her flesh. Taking my cock, I aimed it at her hole, and in one hard thrust, rammed it inside.
My head snapped back as her cunt wrapped around me. The feel of it took over, the venom in my blood pushing me to take her harder and harder, faster and faster. I plowed into her over and over again, feeling pressure build in my thighs and travel up to fill my balls. Teeth gritted and jaw aching, I couldn’t hold back the roar that thundered out my throat as heat filled my body and I came, shooting into her cunt.
I breathed hard, and started moving again, my cock hardening as her cunt gripped it tight. Blood covered my cock. I’d made her bleed. I’d done as Master commanded.
“As you will see, gentlemen, both subjects won’t stop until ordered.”
I pushed harder into the female’s hole, the fire igniting again in my thighs.
Suddenly, the sound of a door bursting open filled the room. The crowd jumped to their feet as men holding guns entered the room and began to open fire.
I thrust faster into the female, when Master shouted, “547, ak’ movida—come here; 221, Get your sais and … sasaklao!”
Slaughter. Master ordered me to slaughter them all.
I pulled out of 547. The female ran to Master and I picked up my sais. The crowd was rushing for the door; the guards opened fire on the invading men.
“Klavs!” Master ordered again. Gripping the sais in my hand, I ran at the men firing guns. All I saw was a red mist as I knocked the first two to the ground, straddled their thighs, sinking my sais into their chests. They gurgled as blood drowned their throats, choking them out.
Rising to my feet, I fixed my gaze on my next target. But gunfire around me began quieting. Looking around, Master’s guards were lying dead on the ground.
Roaring in rage, I focused on the men with guns. They were running back down a narrow hallway, running from my sais. I had to follow them outside. I couldn’t let them live.
Raising my sais, I picked up my feet to run after the men. Cold air began flowing down the hall. But I picked up speed, following the men toward, then out of, an open door.
Fury coursed through me, the harsh beat of my heart thumping in my ears.
Klavs, klavs, klavs, my mind told me, my boiling blood thickening in my veins.
I would kill them all. Kill them all for Master.
Rushing through the open door, I barely felt the cold wrap around my naked skin. The invaders turned toward me and dropped their guns to the ground. I froze. I stared at their empty hands. Opening my clenched fists, I dropped my sais to the ground.
They ran at me in twos, but I knocked them down one by one. My fists crunched noses, broke arms, and snapped ribs. My knuckles bled, but they kept coming and I kept plowing them down.
A man came running at me. I stood my ground until he was only feet away … then as he reached to strike me, I dodged his fist and clutched his throat. Using the poison fueling my flesh, I roared and lifted him off the ground. Squeezing hard, I watched his eyes widen. I squeezed my hand tighter, hearing his breathing cut off. Blood drained from his face, and just before he took his last breath, I twisted my hand and snapped the invader’s neck.
Dropping his body to the ground, I whipped my head up at the sound of a van door opening. I braced when a man stepped forward. He was dressed like how Master dressed. The invaders swarmed around him, but his eyes focused on me.
“Knayz, he can’t be brought down. We need to kill him. He’s too far gone.”
The man stopped and growled, “No. We take him.”
“He can’t be stopped and we’re running out of time.”
“No!” the man snarled, but his eyes never left mine. He reached for his shirt and began unbuttoning the front. “I’ll take him.”
A man beside him stopped dead. “But you’re the knayz. The Pakhan ordered you not to fight.”
But the man kept coming, shedding his shirt to the ground, now only wearing a white vest showing his cut muscles. He approached me, fists clenched, his jaw tensed like mine.
I rushed forward and raised my fist to strike, but the man ducked and rammed his fist in my stomach. Pain sliced through me.
He was strong.
Gasping, I turned and swung, landing a hit on his lip. Blood immediately ran down his chin. But he came at me again. Grabbing my hair, I fought to get free. The man’s strength matched mine. He lifted his leg and sent his knee straight into my jaw.
Rage surged through me. I needed to kill … Klavs!
Storming toward him, I wrapped my arm around his waist and took him to the ground. His fists hammered into my ribs, but I pressed my forearm against his throat and pushed down. Face filled with anger, he reached up, hands gripping each side of my head. I pushed down harder, cutting off his breathing. His fingers clawed into my scalp, and with a strength I’d never encountered before, he began lowering my head. I fought back, pressed down harder against his throat. His face reddened from lack of air.
He would die. He would die.
His hands gripped tighter, and just when the fucker was running out of breath, he lifted his head and slammed it against mine. My arm slipped off his throat and he spun me on my back, wrapping my hands behind my back.
I fought to get free. My skin scorching from the poison in my veins. I couldn’t stand the feel of its heat.
“Now!” the man called. “In his neck, now!”
I thrashed against his hold, but I couldn’t break his gras
p.
Klavs … Klavs … my mind ordered, Master’s words flooding my head. They wouldn’t stop, the words kept stabbing at my brain. The poison, the pain, the hold. I couldn’t fucking break free!
I heard footsteps beside me, then a pain suddenly stabbed in my neck. I roared and rammed my elbow into my captor’s ribs. I thrashed to get free. Rolling to the side, I jumped to my feet, but I couldn’t see straight. My skin was too hot and dripped with sweat. I tried to walk but my feet wouldn’t move.
The man who’d fought me got to his feet. I blinked away the blur in my eyes. My gaze went to the man. His face was pale as he stared at me. He was mouthing words, firing orders to his men, but only the sound of my own breathing filled my ears.
I tried to reach for the man, my mind telling me to fight, to kill, to create carnage. But as I stepped forward, my knees buckled and I hit the ground hard. Arms grabbed me and began dragging my limp body across the hard ground.
I tried to pull away but my muscles wouldn’t move.
I lifted my eyes, the man was still staring. My skin crawled, my muscles tensed and I wanted to kill. Slit his throat, slice him with my sais.
I heard van doors open, and I was dragged off the ground. My eyes began to close, then suddenly everything faded to black.… The last image I saw was the man looking to the sky and taking a deep breath. I remembered his face, remembered it so if I awoke, his would be the first heart I’d make sure I stopped.
Chapter Five
Talia
Tolstoi Country Estate
West Hampton, New York
Sitting at the window of the living room, I stared out at a dark overcast sky. The light from the lighthouse circled lazily in the near distance, beckoning sailors home. Round, round, round, its hypnotic rhythm relaxed me as I sipped my coffee.
Ilya and Savin, my personal byki, walked in the grounds, my gaze catching the flicker of their movement in the moonlight. Both were dressed in black and as quiet as the night.
I felt safe.
I’d only been here a couple of days, and already I felt at peace. The beach, the salty sea air, this colonial-style house and most important, away from my Bratva cage in Brooklyn.
Taking another sip of my coffee, my free hand subconsciously lifted to run over the necklace I always wore around my neck. My babushka’s—my grandmother’s—necklace, the necklace she’d given me just before she died a few years ago. This delicate chain of gold had been my dedushka’s—my grandfather’s. It was the Tolstoi crest given to him as a boy. All Vor V Zakone received them from their fathers, all Thieves in Law, she had told me. It was a statement of honor. One he passed to her to keep close to her heart when he was gone on business.
I ran the pad of my thumb over the pendent and remembered the woman I’d regarded as my best friend, who just “got me.” Babushka was the world’s biggest romantic. And she’d loved my dedushka with all her heart, only to lose him at a young age. She never got over him and lit a candle every day at church in his honor.
All she had left of him was this necklace. A necklace she’d given to me as a symbol that one day I would find my true love, too.
She had wanted that for me so badly—to love another as fully as she had loved him.
I desperately wanted that, too.
I heard the back door open, and Ilya and Savin entered the room, each standing at opposite windows.
I rolled my eyes. “Surely no one threatening is going to be here in the Hamptons … in winter. It’s the reason we came out here. Practically no one else around.” My father hadn’t been happy about my wanting to leave Brooklyn for a while. With the new Georgian threat, he wanted me close for protection. But with my mother’s help, eventually he caved. Our compromise for my vacation—our summer home in the Hamptons. I was good with the deal. It was far enough away from home, and quiet enough for me to finally relax.
Neither of my byki listened to my complaint about their patrol. My father had made sure I had my guards with me. I didn’t ever know much about Bratva business, but I knew Savin and Ilya were checking we hadn’t been followed. I got that we were on high alert. I got that I was a huge target for the Georgians. From what I could surmise from Savin and Ilya’s quiet whispers was that the boss of the Jakhua clan was insane. And he was to be feared. He was a genuine threat to our position in Brooklyn. That meant I had to endure their constant surveillance.
Leaving the guys to their searching of the house, I looked out onto the rough sea crashing against our private beach, at the tide always chasing the shore, unable to stay away too long.
It made me feel poetic. What was it about the sound of waves rolling and the sea foam kissing the sleeping sand that was so soothing?
Noticing headlights traveling up our private country road, I frowned. “Ilya, Savin, someone’s coming,” I called out.
My heart beat a little faster, nerves swelling in my veins a little more than usual. I placed my coffee on the table beside me. No one knew we were here. Papa hadn’t told anyone for the sake of my safety.
Unless …
“Who could it be?” I asked Ilya, and moved to the center of the room.
Ilya waved me over to stand by him and pushed me behind his back. He looked to Savin. “Did you get a phone call from Mikhail or the knayz? Are we expecting anyone?”
Savin shook his head, watching the TV monitor as the car came to a slow stop at the security gate. The buzzer pressed and Savin answered the call.
“Yes?” he said curtly.
“Savin, or is that Ilya? It’s Kisa, can you let me in?”
I frowned as I saw Kisa lean to the camera, her face coming into view. I nodded my head to Savin, and he opened the electric gate.
Why was Kisa driving herself? And more than that, why had she left Luka in Brooklyn?
I made my way to the front door. Wrapping my long gray cardigan around my pink tank and black leggings, I opened the door just as Kisa stepped onto the porch.
She looked pale and worried, so I stepped back from the door. “Come in, sweetie.”
Kisa entered the hallway and I quickly hugged her in greeting. Ilya and Savin placed themselves in sight. Moving away from me, Kisa slipped off her jacket and I watched her curiously. “Kisa? Are you okay?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She looked bad then, but she looked worse now.
She turned to me but her eyes were vacant.
“Kisa?” I prompted, and reached out to touch her arm. She was wearing a creased thin white sweater, a skintight pair of jeans, and Chucks. Kisa never ever looked anything less than perfect and polished. She was dressed too casual, looked too rumpled and tired. Something was seriously wrong.
“I—” Kisa had barely opened her mouth to answer me, when another set of lights flared at the gate of the private road. Savin immediately sprang into action and moved to the surveillance camera.
“It’s a van,” he reported to Ilya. “One of ours.”
I turned to question what was happening, then Kisa sighed, seemingly in relief. She pressed her hand to her forehead, breathing out through her mouth.
“Kisa? What’s happening? Who else is coming? Why are you here?” I rapidly asked in an increasingly shorter tone.
Her blue eyes snapped to mine. “It’s Luka,” she said, just as I heard Savin utter a “Yes, sir!” The electronic gates opened once again.
“Luka? Why?” I had to know, but Savin and Ilya were already opening the front door and rushing to the graveled driveway.
Kisa headed toward me and, taking my hand, pulled me away from the door. I let her lead me to one side. I could see by Kisa’s expression that she was preoccupied; no, worried. My stomach sank. Something bad had happened tonight. Something big.
Savin came running through the door. His eyes quickly sought mine. “Ms. Tolstaia, where’s the basement key?”
“Why?” I asked, but Savin’s cold, piercing expression told me there was no time for explanation.
My eyes narrowed at everyone’s lack of explan
ation. Quickly, Kisa moved into the kitchen. “In here,” she said, urgently summoning Savin.
The sound of vehicle doors opening outside drifted to the hallway. Voices were raised and orders were quickly issued. Savin came rushing back through to the hallway, unlocking the always-locked door that led to the basement.
I’d never been down there; in all these years coming here in summer I’d never even opened the door. It was Papa’s private place and so it was forbidden. I had never thought to question him.
As the sound of people approaching came through the doorway, I moved beside an anxious-looking Kisa. Placing my hand on her back, I asked, “Why’s Luka here? Please tell me what’s happening. I’m starting to freak the hell out!”
With glistening eyes, she looked to me, whispering, “Luka went into the Jakhua Georgian headquarters tonight. I don’t know how much you know about them being back in Brooklyn, but it’s a delicate situation, and—”
My stomach flipped and my heart pounded in my chest. “What? Why would Luka do something crazy like that?” I interrupted.
“Because of 362.” This was all she said in response, then her eyes misted over.
I shook my head in confusion, holding up my hand. “I don’t understand, I don’t—” My sentence was cut off when several of my father’s byki rushed through the door, dragging an enormous, unconscious naked man in their arms. My eyes widened when I scanned the massive lapse body.
Stepping back from the fray, I held my breath as the byki took the man downstairs. My eyes were glued to the entrance of the basement, my mouth parted in shock.
Above the commotion, I suddenly heard Kisa gasp. I followed her gaze to the doorway. Luka had stepped through. He was shirtless but for a bloodied vest, his dress pants dirtied and torn. His large body was covered in purple and black bruises, his face swollen and bloodied. He looked like hell. He looked the same as he did when he’d killed Alik Durov in the Dungeon’s cage six months ago.
“Luka!” Kisa cried, and rushed forward until she stood before him. She lifted her hands but stopped herself from cupping his face. “What have you done? You weren’t meant to fight! You’re hurt,” she whispered, and his gaze softened as it fell on her.
