Raze & Reap (19 page)

Raze's brown eyes widened and he dipped his chin, hiding his head from view. He was such an enigmatic hulk of man, but at that question, his face clouded over like a storm. His position became fetal.

“Raze…” I said, choking on a sudden rush of sadness as he slowly lifted his head.

“I remember the first time one of them came into my cell. He was big, and I'd just been beaten with a bat. I couldn't move, but I watched him walk toward me, untying his belt and pulling down his zipper. I remember being pushed onto my stomach. Then I remember pain. Pain like nothing I'd felt before. Then all I can remember is blocking everything out. Blocking those cunts out every time they came into my cell, until I was too big for them to control, too big and dangerous for them to fuck.”

Without him knowing, his hand had gripped mine and he was squeezing it like I was giving him strength to continue, like he was drawing the courage and the strength from me to talk about these horrific rapes. I could barely see through the torrent of tears falling down my cheeks, trying to think of ways to make everything better for him.

“Raze, oh my God,” I cried and pressed my forehead to his, devastated this had been part of his life in the Gulag.

He said nothing in response, but his grip on my hand didn't loosen. I guessed it was the first time in years he had been comforted. Of course, I had heard of conditions in Russian-owned underground prisons, but what I'd heard didn't compare to what Raze had revealed.

“How old were you?” I asked, peppering kisses down his cold, stubbled cheeks.

Raze clenched my hair in his hands and said, “I … I don't know. It's hard to know my age. None of us ever had birthdays.”

Regaining some composure, not wishing to drown him with my suspicions, I continued. “And they made you fight? To the death? As a child?”

Raze nodded his head once, gaze blanking out, taking him off somewhere else. “Yes. They ran a gambling ring. Just like this one.”

Nausea built in my stomach as he compared The Dungeon to the Gulag. At least I had the comfort of knowing we didn't imprison and serially abuse kids, forcing them to fight until the death.

“Raze, I don't know what to say. I'm devastated for you,” I said, feeling inadequate—no, pathetic.

Raze gripped the back of my head and pulled me down and timidly kissed me. I was immediately lost to his familiar kiss.

Raze broke away and stared at me. “There was a breakout. Some fighters got free and murdered the night guards. There were always less guards at nighttime. The rest of the prisoners rioted and started fleeing.”

“How did you get free?”

Raze's lip hooked into a smirk. “362.”

“362?”
I questioned, confused.

“362. Another fighter, the only one I ever spoke to.” The tone of his voice had changed.

“He was your friend,” I surmised.

Raze's half smile reverted to an impassive expression.

“Friend?” he asked as if he were savoring the sound of the word on his tongue.

My heart bruised just that little bit more. He had no idea what a friend was.

“Yes, your friend. You spoke with him, spent time with him. Confided in him … Liked him?”

“I trained with him. He helped me adjust to life in the Gulag. Taught me how to block things out. We would never fight. We were the Gulag's two best fighters. When the riot happened, he freed me. Most of the others would never have dared approach me. They were too scared of me. But not him.”

A smile pulled on my lips, and I asked, “And where is he now? Did you come together to New York?”

He shook his head. “I don't know where he went. West somewhere. We all just ran.”

Raze stared and stared at me. I assumed I'd pushed too far for one night. Color had drained from his cheeks and his body sagged. Feeling warmth spread in my chest at his devoted attention, I pressed a kiss to his forehead.

Raze's expression softened. His finger landed on my neck and traveled down to my breast. I closed my eyes, once again cherishing his touch.

“I want to touch you,” he said. His finger stopped and he looked into my eyes.

Taking my hand, I brushed my finger over his left eye, the one with that smudge of blue.

Biting my lip, I mustered the courage to ask, “Have you noticed that your left eye has a smudge of blue amongst the brown?”

Raze studied me, and his hand lifted to touch his eye, his eyebrows pulled down. I held my breath, waiting for what he had to say. And then hope bloomed within me when his head tilted to the side in confusion and his full lips pursed.

“We match,” he rasped out and narrowed his eyes, observing the color of my eyes. “Your blue is the same color in my left eye.”

My bottom lip trembled. I could no longer hold back the sob choking my throat. Raze would have no idea why I was crying. How could he know that saying those two words—“we match”—could, in tandem, inspire such high hopes and such deep sorrow within me.

This was Luka. This
had to be
Luka. Of this I was becoming more and more convinced. It no longer felt like an obsessive fancy, some stupid teenage, love-struck hope that this damaged and raw man was created just for me. I believed more and more that this was real, veritable, tangible, a soul-colliding connection from God.

This man, this tortured and scary hulk of a man seemed to be my match. Mama seemed to have been right all along; even lost, it looked like we had found our way back to one another. But if this was my Luka, he was broken. Had no memory. I dared not push too fast, too far, for fear of scaring him away.

Taking his hand still resting near my eye, I pulled down the palm and laid a kiss to its center. “We match,” I whispered back. Raze's lips stretched into a smile. That smile, the brief flicker of happiness on his face was my undoing.

My God, he
was
beautiful.

Shifting Raze's hand down to my breast, his expression morphed from happiness to lust. His fingers squeezed my flesh and I closed my eyes and moaned.

“I like touching you,” Raze murmured.

Then I placed my hand on Raze's shoulder and pushed him onto his back. He let me control the situation, and I knew it was because of his inexperience. It made the moment that bit more special to me. He trusted me enough to let me lead the way. I straddled his hips and immediately I felt his cock harden and push against my ass.

Our gazes locked and electricity arced between us. Raze's hips began lifting, searching for my entrance. Leaning forward, I placed my hands on his chest and slowly impaled myself on his length. Not once did I tear my eyes away from his face; I drank in every wave of pleasure as it rushed across.

As I moaned and took him fully inside, I started to gently move up and down. Raze closed his eyes, his hands holding my hips.

“Open your eyes,” I whispered, but Raze shook his head, his forehead wrinkling in concentration.

My eyebrows furrowed in confusion, a twinge of insecurity rippling through me, until Raze gasped and said, “I'm closing my eyes so I can feel being inside you.” He placed his hand over his heart and rasped out, “I've seen too many bad things with these eyes. This, I will feel in my heart.”

Water fell from my eyes at his beautiful but heartbreaking words, and resting my breasts on his chest, I placed soft kisses on his neck as I worked my hips faster. More rumbling growls of pleasure sounded from his throat.

Raze's hand slipped around my waist to my back, and my breath came faster as I felt myself building to orgasm, his satisfied grunts telling me he was nearly there too. Licking and nipping at his throat, I journeyed my lips to his mouth, and Raze immediately met me kiss for kiss, our tongues wet, hot and dueling, as shivers ran up and down my spine. I came so quickly and so powerfully that I pulled my mouth from Raze's and cried out in pleasure.

Raze's long groan soon joined mine and I felt his warmth flood my womb, his hands holding down my hips to extract every moment of pleasure.

Fighting to catch my breath, I lay contentedly in Raze's arms.

“Kisa…” he whispered, rolling my name on his tongue, and I froze, praying he would say something else.
I know you. I remember you. You're the girl I was designed to love, my God-given match, my solnyshko
. But he didn't. Instead, he inhaled a deep breath and said, “Why do I feel like I've known you all my life?”

And at that moment I knew …

My beating heart exploded like a supernova of light. I savored this moment and a smile tugged on my mouth. He might not remember specifics, but deep down in his tragically damaged mind, in the mind blocking out his past to protect him from the present, my Luka … my Raze … He knew me. He felt that connection that always kept us close.

“Kisa-Anna,” he murmured as he raked his fingers hypnotically through my hair.

I sucked in a sharp breath, and Raze clearly felt it, felt my shocked reaction. His hands stopped dead.

Lifting my head, I stared at him through blurred eyes and asked, “Why did you call me Kisa-Anna?”

Raze opened his mouth to speak but slowly closed it again. “I don't…” His eyes squinted closed and he ran his hand over his head as though he was hit with a migraine.

“Raze?” I asked.

He blinked, then blinked again. “I don't know why I called you that … but I think … I think that's your name. It feels right.”

Nodding through my tears, I said, “Yes. It does feel right.”

I laid my head on Raze's chest and closed my eyes, relishing his touch while I could. But I knew I had to go, and after I didn't know how long spent in his arms, I reluctantly tore myself from his body, looking down to see his face … a face that appeared … hurt?

“I can't have you, can I?” he asked, devastation in his voice.

“I … I … It's complicated,” I stammered and began scooping up my ruined clothes, trying to dress as best I could with the tattered bits of material, praying that my long summer jacket would cover me.

“It's because of Durov, isn't it?” he pushed, the feral, untamed side reasserting itself.

“He's a dangerous man, Raze.”

Raze got to his feet and gripped my wrist, preventing me from pulling up my pants. “So am I.”

“I know, Raze. I know. But you don't understand. We're engaged. There's expectations,” I explained, but I continued to dress. Mixed emotions and thoughts clouded my mind. Questions welled up. Could I explain all I knew to Raze? Did I dare tell him about his connection to the Bratva? How could I make him remember what happened to my brother, if he did kill him? And how could I ever get out from under Alik's controlling hand?

“But
I
want you. Will you come back again tomorrow? I need you. I want to touch you again. I can't bear to think of you with him.”

Dressed as best as I could manage, Raze's fingers linked through mine, and when I looked up, he was staring at me in deep concentration, his eyes darting from side to side, like he was trying to remember something. I was mush the moment his head tilted to the side and his lips pursed.

This was
definitely
my Luka.

I had to figure something out.

“I'll be back here tomorrow after dark,” I told him. Raze's tense shoulders sagged in relief. “But tomorrow when you train, you can't let on to Alik that we've been together. He can't find out.”

Raze tensed again. “He doesn't faze me.”

I touched his cheek and said, “I know. But we really need to keep this quiet.”

Raze blew an annoyed breath through his nostrils, but he nodded in agreement. Balancing on tiptoes, I pressed a kiss to his full lips, once more admiring his naked ripped body. Reluctantly, I backed out of the room, keeping his gaze until I closed the door on the lost love of my life.

My head was spinning, my stomach filled with both fear and excitement.

Exiting the gym, I caught Serge's questioning glance as I slipped into the car, but I ignored it, still feeling the aftereffects of Raze inside me.

I smiled to myself.

Kisa-Anna … Only Luka ever called me that name.

I had found my love again.

I just had to make him remember who I was to him … before the Gulag changed him. Before he'd been ripped from my life.

 

14

RAZE

“Come with me,” the boy encouraged the girl, sneaking into her bedroom on the ground floor of her father's mansion. He checked that none of the Byki were near enough to catch him.

“Where are we going?” the girl asked sleepily. Crawling out of her bed and throwing on a sweatshirt over her pink tank and short set, she accepted the boy's outstretched hand. He was hanging out of the window. He was dressed all in black, like a thief. The girl couldn't help but laugh.

The boy tilted his head to one side, pursed his lips, and asked, “What are you laughing at, solnyshko?”

“You,” she teased but took his hand anyway as she melted under his smile. Her bedroom door creaked open. The boy and girl froze in panic and the girl's brother staggered into the room.

“What's all the noise, Kisa?” her brother asked, wiping the sleep from his eyes before lowering his hand and fixing his gaze on the couple sneaking out the window. He wasn't surprised to see the guilty faces of his twin sister and his best friend. The brother rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Where the hell are you taking Kisa at this time of night?”

The boy looked to his best friend and shrugged. “Out? For fresh air? Any of them work?”

“At one in the morning?”

The boy shrugged again. Then the brother crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his eyebrow. The boy came into the room and faced the brother. “Rodion, come on, man! Don't be an asshole! I want to spend time with Kisa away from our fathers.”