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.
They were livid.
“What were you thinking by going down there?” Savin asked coldly. “He could have killed you.”
Ignoring Savin, I walked around him and headed into the downstairs bathroom. Searching the cabinets, I quickly found a bath sponge, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, some towels, and a hairbrush. Gathering them in my hands, I headed to the kitchen, and located a large bowl.
Ilya walked to the counter. His eyes fell on the items lying on the top. “You can’t be serious?” he asked incredulously. I didn’t say a word as I ran the hot water and filled the bowl to three-quarters full.
“Miss Tolstaia, you’re not going back down there. We can’t allow it.”