by Tillie Cole
Stroking my thumb over the back of his scarred hand, I watched his muscles tense. Our gazes met; something indescribable, palpable passed between us. I said, “Come with me.”
Zaal nodded, and I began leading him toward the staircase. When we reached the bottom step, he paused, then ground to a halt. I glanced back to his wary face; automatically I squeezed his hand.
He took a deep breath and once more he began to follow me, this time up the stairs. When we reached the top, I opened the door. Bright light immediately flooded the space. Zaal, as if blinded, stumbled backward, his back hitting the wall.
I whipped my head around to see him squinting, his free arm shielding the light from his face. He was panting like he’d just run a marathon, but his hand hadn’t released mine. No, quite the opposite. It had become iron tight, verging on the point of being painful.
“Zaal?” I asked, and rushed to where he was hiding in the shadows. “What’s wrong?” I continued.
I gently lowered the arm shielding his face. His eyes were blinking rapidly. He pointed to the ray of light illuminating the floor. “Light,” he rasped.
I frowned in confusion. “Light?” I questioned.
He nodded his head and swallowed hard. As I stared at his face a stark and devastating realization hit me. “You’re never out when it’s daylight?”
Zaal stared at the ray of light, dust particles dancing in its beam, and said, “I am always in darkness. Chained in the darkness. I kill only in darkness.”
I knew he’d been kept like an animal. But no name, head always bowed, punished until he lost his voice, and brought up in darkness since a child? Daylight-deprived? It cut me more deeply than any knife could possibly do. To have been kept out of the sun …
My thumb ran over his hand again. His jade green eyes met mine. “There’s no need to fear the light. Let me show you.”
I could have sworn Zaal’s heart beat so loud that I could hear it in our cocoon of silence. For a moment I didn’t think he was going to leave the comfortable familiarity of the basement. Thank goodness, he found the courage to step forward, his feet moving as though testing new waters.
I walked through the door into the hallway. Zaal’s impressive frame filled up every inch of the doorway. He looked down at the threshold between the basement and the hallway. I noticed a sheen of sweat glistening over his body.
He caught me watching and announced, “I have never walked out of my cell alone, free from my chains.”
Chasing away my building tears, I tightened my hold on his hand and assured, “You’re not alone.” His eyes widened. I stepped closer, somehow instinctively knowing he needed me beside him.
Zaal took long deep breaths and brought our joined hands over his heart. “Talia,” he said on a relieved sigh in his strong Georgian accent, the sound bringing a wash of peace over me.
I waited until he took that first step. And with his hand iron tight in mine, he stepped over the threshold. Eyes searching, Zaal drank in the expanse of the hallway. His head flinched at the bright light and his eyes stayed narrowed. His bare chest rose and fell with what I presumed was adrenaline surging through his body.
I pulled Zaal further into the body of the house. Just as he seemed to let himself relax, the sound of the front door opening echoed off the wooden walls. Savin and Ilya walked through.
Zaal tensed.
My head whipped to my byki.
Savin and Ilya drew their Glocks.
“Guards,” Zaal snarled, pushing me back against the wall. His huge body blocked mine from Savin and Ilya. His body crouched in preparation for a strike.
“What the fuck?” Ilya cursed.
When Zaal heard Ilya speak, he tensed. All I could see was his back. Every muscle was braced for the fight. This was the Zaal that Luka had brought to the house weeks ago. This was the violent monster Jakhua had created. The stone-cold killer. The product of over-experimentation.
“Guards,” he snarled again.
“Zaal!” I called out. My voice seemed to have no impact on his rapidly rising anger.
“Talia. Are you hurt?” Savin asked.
“No! Don’t hurt him!” I called from behind Zaal. “He thinks you’re Jakhua’s guards!”
I carefully moved to the side of Zaal and placed my hand on his back. He tensed and his crazed, still-blinking eyes darted to me. His face was flushed, and it was clear to me that the brightness of daylight was adding to his agitation.
He gripped my wrist and pulled me to his chest. His strong arm wrapped around my waist and he shouted, “Mine!” to Savin and Ilya. I saw Savin’s face tighten in alarm. But hearing the protective, possessive word slip from Zaal’s lips had my thighs clenching and my heart soaring.
I wasn’t afraid.
“Miss,” Ilya warned, motioning for me to step away.
I held out my hand to my byki, and ordered, “Leave.” They stared at me like I’d gone insane. “Leave!” I shouted. Zaal’s grasp on me became too tight. He was losing it. I could feel it in his shaking limbs and erratic breathing.
“What?” Ilya exclaimed. “We can’t do that, miss. He could kill you!”
“You can. He’s safe, but he thinks you’re guards. The guards Jakhua employs. I’ve let him out because he’s safe.” Ilya glanced back at Savin. “Please, leave…” I begged.
“Fuck!” Ilya snapped. Lowering his gun, he turned to face Savin. “Outside,” Ilya ordered, before looking back at me. “You have five minutes to explain who we are before we come back in. And if he comes at us again, I’ll blow his fucking head clean off.”
When the door slammed shut, Zaal let out a frustrated growl and dragged me across the floor. He slammed me against the wall. His face was contorted in rage, his jade eyes lit with fire. “Guards,” he hissed. “Master’s guards. You lied.…”
“No,” I whispered. His eyebrows twitched. “My guards,” I explained, then pushed, “They’re my guards.”
Zaal stilled. A frown pulled on his red face. “Your guards?”
I nodded. Timidly lifting my hand, I pressed it against his cheek. As soon as my palm met his face, tension left his shoulders. I’d observed that when I did this, it soothed him. “You were freed from your Master weeks ago. You were brought here to safety.”
He blinked and searched my gaze. “To you.” My stomach flipped at the want in his eyes. He thought I was his safety. That he was brought here to me.
“No, Zaal. For you. You’re free. Nobody owns you now.”
Lips parted, Zaal inhaled a shaky breath. “No Master?” he asked in bewilderment. I shook my head for emphasis.
His head lifted to look around the hallway. I could see the confusion racking his brain. “I’m free?” he asked again.
“Yes,” I whispered, my fingers stroking over his cheek. He let out a deep exhale and straightened. I watched with bated breath as he placed his hand on his arm, on the tens of scars, and then slid his fingers to the shackle wounds on his wrists and ankles.
I watched as those fingers traced the permanent red circular marks, and I watched as he lifted his head. Zaal met my eyes with unshed tears in his. “I am free.”
The sight of those tears dropping over his dark stubbled cheeks was my undoing. “Zaal,” I croaked through a thick throat.
I wanted to tell him who he was. Where he’d come from. I wanted him to tell me what had been done to him for years, for decades. I wanted to tell him what Jakhua did to his family. But he was, in many ways, just a child.
He couldn’t understand. He was like a caveman, seeing the world for the first time.
I took his hand and, meeting his eyes, said, “Come with me.”
Zaal tightened his hand on mine. I led him from the hallway into the large living room. He stopped at the doorway. Zaal drank in the large area filled with plush furnishings, the large feature windows overlooking our beach.
He swallowed hard.
I began pulling him toward the kitchen. Zaal stopped dead as he looked at the appliances
, the countertops. I watched him and tried to imagine what this was like—seeing everything for the first time.
I couldn’t. I couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
“This is where the food is prepared,” I said. I moved to the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
Zaal pressed his hand against his stomach. “I am always hungry,” he replied. “Master feeds me very little. I have to earn my food.”
I stared at him in silence. “How?” I whispered, unsure whether I really wanted to know the answer.
“Killing,” he said, as if it was an ordinary everyday activity.
I swallowed and stepped forward. “Do you kill a lot?”
Emphatically, he nodded his head. “It is all that I do.”
Blowing out through my mouth, I pointed to the fridge. But Zaal’s attention kept drifting to the windows overlooking the beach. I leaned back against the fridge and watched his eyes try to interpret the scene.
Quietly, I moved beside him, and placed my hand on his arm. He tensed and whipped his angered face toward me. I stilled, and he seemed to remind himself I was no threat, his expression softening. “Would you like to go outside?” I asked nonchalantly.
He blinked, then blinked again. But he shook his head. His gaze drifted to the window. Taking his hand, I led him to the window. Releasing my hand, he edged forward and pressed his hands to the glass.
A warm feeling stirred in my stomach as he stared out of the large pane of glass. His eyes were flitting over everything in sight. Perhaps he was committing it to memory?
Did he think he would be captured again soon? That he would never see this sight again?
Zaal looked out for minutes, in a happy silence. I wanted to give him more. “Zaal. Come with me,” I prompted, and led him up to a bedroom. Luka and Kisa had been staying in this room. Luka still had some hooded sweatshirts hanging in the closet. Zaal stood in the center of the room. His eyes taking in the furniture; the bed, dresser, everything.
Choosing the biggest hooded sweatshirt I could find, I walked to Zaal and unzipped the front zipper. “Put this on,” I instructed.
Zaal looked at the sweatshirt and then at me.
I couldn’t help but smile at the lost look on his face, over something as simple as a sweatshirt. A wisp of a laugh slipped from my mouth. Suddenly, I found rough fingers stroking my lips.
Zaal was staring at my lips in fascination. “What is this called in your language?” he asked.
I wrapped my hand over his fingers, and replied, “A smile.”
“A … smi … le…” He sounded out the word as he moved closer to my lips. The task of breathing became difficult as he stood a mere hairsbreadth away. His head leaned in closer, and for a moment, I thought he would kiss me. Instead he drew back and pressed his fingers to his own lips.
Finding my stolen voice, I asked, “Do you smile, Zaal?”
He paused, then shook his head. His expression changed from confused to enquiring. He asked, “Why do you smile?”
My heart beat at double speed. “When something makes you happy. When you feel happy.”
“Happy…,” he whispered. Then he took the hooded sweatshirt from my hands. “You were happy giving me this?” He looked down at the sweatshirt, clearly with interest.
Not wanting Zaal to think that I was laughing at his naivety, I took the sweatshirt, held it out for him to slip on, threaded it over his arms and, moving to his front, zipped it up. He still awaited my answer, so I replied, “I am happy that you’re finally free.”
Zaal paused, then lifted his hand. He ran it through my hair. “Your hair is soft,” he observed.
Perplexed by the sudden change in conversation, I responded by running my hair over the ends of his long jet black hair, and said, “Now so is yours.”
He followed my fingers through his almost-dry hair. His eyes met mine, and he asked, “You took care of me?”
I swallowed as my throat felt too full with such attraction for this man. “Yes,” I whispered, “I took care of you.”
His head dipped again and his finger ran down my cheek. His finger continued south, over my breasts, my nipples aching under his touch. Then his finger tapped over my heart, before moving to tap over his. “Because … you are … for me.”
Time stopped as he said those words again. Though on this occasion, they weren’t a question. To him, I could tell it was fact. In his eyes, I was his, I was for him.
“Let’s go to the beach,” I announced, unable to earth the electricity crackling between us. His eyes widened, but before I gave him a chance to resist, I guided him out of the room and down the stairs.
As we turned the corner into the living room, Savin and Ilya were standing in the center. Zaal tensed. I turned around and, standing on my tiptoes, pressed my hand to his cheek. “They are here to protect you, not cage you.”
Zaal’s eyes narrowed as they focused on my byki, but he wanted to trust me. I could see that Zaal was placing his trust in me.
Zaal, this time, took my hand. My heart bloomed as I cast him a smile. I heard his breathing hitch, so I smiled even wider.
I tried to lead us past Savin and Ilya, but Savin stepped forward. “Miss, a word, please?”
I stared at Savin, his dark gaze was stern. “What, Savin?”
His eyes flicked to Zaal then to me. “In private, please.”
“It can wait, Sav,” I replied, then he said, “does the knayz know you’re doing this?”
I stiffened. Anger and a hint of guilt built in my stomach. “He’s in Brooklyn, summoned by the Pakhan. He doesn’t need the hassle. He has enough to deal with.”
Savin nodded, his mouth tight. He knew that I knew what I was doing was wrong. But I continued without hesitation. “He wants this situation made right.” I glanced back to Zaal, who had moved closer to my back, a protective gesture. “I’m helping to make it right,” I concluded.
Zaal followed me to the back door, and his breath blew faster. I didn’t look back. I just opened the door, the winter wind off the ocean lashing at my face.
Zaal’s hand tightened in mine, but I stepped through taking him with me. The wind whistled loudly, but at least the sun shone bright. I stopped and Zaal stepped beside me. His eyes squinted at the sun. The look on his face as he scanned our private beach was like seeing someone coming home after the longest time. To me, it was the look of freedom.
“Do you want to walk farther?” I asked. Zaal looked at me, nerves played across his dark features, but he nodded.
I glanced down at his bare feet. I worried that he’d be cold, but he didn’t seem to feel the winter chill. I didn’t think anything, not even a damn hurricane, would register with him at this moment.
“I’ll show you the ocean,” I offered. We walked past the swimming pool and onto our private wooden walkway. The air was filled with the sound of waves crashing onto the sand. Zaal kept pace behind me. His breathing was erratic, and his muscles were tense. He flinched at the bright light, but I had a feeling nothing was going to stop him from reaching the beach.
When we reached the end of the dock, I turned to Zaal and dropped my hand. A panicked look swept over his face. I ignored it and kept going.
I shouted, “Have you ever seen sand before?”
I pointed at the smooth beige sand. As I expected, Zaal shook his head. I smiled. It got his attention. “One of the best feelings in the world is to walk on sand.”
Zaal stared down at the sand, studying it closely. I rubbed my hand down his arm. “Go,” I said, “feel the sand. Meet the ocean.”
Zaal was understandably apprehensive. His face paled slightly, but as I nudged my chin encouragingly in the direction of the beach, he stepped out.
As soon as his large feet sank into the sand, a gasp escaped his mouth. His toes wiggled, and he bent down to scoop the sand up in his hands. He remained crouched, hands buried under the soft sand for a good while.
A tidal wave of emotion washed over me, stealing my every breath. My hand clutched
my chest and my eyes stung.
I, Talia Tolstaia, the twenty-four-year-old daughter of a Bratva boss of New York, was getting emotional for a Kostava. A Kostava who had no idea who the hell he was.
Legs feeling weak, I dropped down to sit on the edge of the wooden dock, wrapping my arms around my waist.
Zaal had his head bowed, a statue on the sand. I tasted salt on my lips, from the spray of the sea.
Zaal lifted his head. His eyes were closed. The sun kissed his face. I too felt the sun on my skin as though I was attracting its rays. I felt as though I was feeling it for the first time with him—the warmth. I was feeling the wind wrap around my hair. I was right here in the moment.
I sighed and Zaal opened his eyes. Those pearls of green fell upon me. Zaal stood slowly, and bowed his head at me. I smiled through trembling lips and though no smile pulled on his lips, it was shining from his eyes.
Zaal turned. His huge body, sculpted from vast muscles, his long black hair wild and free, slowly made his way to the endless rush of the waves.
I wrapped my arms around bent legs and rested my cheek on my knee. Zaal was walking to the tide. When he met the sea foam, I watched it pass over his feet. From here, I couldn’t hear him or see his face, but I could see his shoulders relax. Then he knelt down and pushed his hand into the salty ocean. It would be freezing at this time of year, but he didn’t even flinch.
Like he did with the sand, he stayed awhile touching the water, as if in prayer. Over fifteen minutes passed by. The entire time I simply watched him in silence.
Suddenly, Zaal stood and deeply exhaled. When he turned to face me, his green eyes were bright; my heart ceased to function.
He was smiling. It was small, it was faint, but it was there.
And in that moment I knew—I was losing my heart to the object of my family’s deepest hatred.
Zaal walked toward me. My thighs tensed. Everything about him was raw; his wild long hair, his dark stubble, his deep olive skin. He was everything I could have wished for.
“Did you like the beach, Zaal?” I asked, and raised my head.
