I raced down the stairs. I had to escape this hell. When I rounded the corner at the bottom of the staircase, I saw the outside door. Pushing forward, I made for the exit.
As I passed through the living room, movement to my left caught my eye. Him. Luka. 818. A motherfucking Tolstoi! He stared at me, chest bared, only sweatpants covering his legs, just like me. I lowered my head. Anger wrapped around me, surrounding me with fury.
“Zaal,” Luka said coldly, “calm the fuck down.”
I rolled my neck from side to side as I watched Luka brace to fight. I curled my lip in disgust. I began pacing, back and forth, back and forth.
“Zaal—”
“Tolstoi!” I thundered, watching Luka’s face. “You are a fucking Tolstoi!”
Luka’s jaw clenched and his eyes darkened. “I am like you,” he said in a deathly tone. “I was taken from my family, too. I fought to survive. Killed night after night until I could break free.” He stepped forward, the movement irritating me. “I fought with your brother, alongside him. I fought with Anri, he was my best friend, my brother.”
He was my best friend, my brother.…
I convulsed with even greater fury as those words ignited in me. “No,” I growled, “you are a fucking Tolstoi. You are the enemy. An enemy I swore to my father to destroy!”
“Anri was my friend, not an enemy! Family means nothing in the cage!” Luka bellowed back.
I snapped. I charged forward, gripping Luka by the throat. But he fought back, his strength nothing like I’d ever encountered before. His arm slammed down on mine, the force knocking my arm away. He pushed on my chest; I stumbled back. I paced again, my body remembering the kill … remembering bringing death.
I wanted it.
I craved it.
“How did he die?” I hissed.
Luka stilled, and my eyes bored into his. “How did he fucking die?” I boomed. Luka lifted his hands, as if in surrender.
“Me,” he said quietly. My world stopped. “I killed him,” he said. “He died at my hands.”
Heat, so intense, flared at my feet and traveled through my body like hellfire. He killed Anri? A Tolstoi killed my brother.
Heaving forward, I rushed Luka. I tackled him to the ground. My fists struck his face over and over, but Luka hit back. I ignored the pain and agony of his blows as we fought for dominance on the ground. In blind fury I just kept hitting.
“I had no choice!” Luka snarled as he rolled me on my back, his hand tight around my throat. Sheer strength kept me pinned to the floor. His dark eyes pierced mine. As he spoke he seemed to make me a promise. “I had no choice but to kill him. We were forced to fight. I had to get my revenge on the man who had me captured and taken to the gulag.”
I flailed, but Luka’s incredible strength held me down. “Anri understood that only one of us would be walking away from that cage. It was him or me. I won, but, as he drew his final breath, I promised him his revenge.” He leaned down farther and tightened his grip on my throat, making it even harder to breathe. “I got you out. I set you free. We put you in the basement to get you off the Georgian drug. You fucking survived. And next, I kill Jakhua. I promised Anri, and now I promise you, Zaal. I don’t fucking fail.”
Luka released my neck and sat up. “Our families may be enemies, but Anri was my brother. I was 818 and he was 362. No family names divided us. No family history tore us apart. Pain and revenge brought us together.”
I panted for breath through gritted teeth. My chest was covered in blood. My ribs ached. “He would never have befriended a fucking Tolstoi,” I spat out in a guttural voice.
Luka tensed. Then raising his fist, he slammed it against my jaw, and pushed down on my head. I wrapped my arms around his neck. Either of us could twist and it would be the end. A neck would break. One of the clans would lose the heir.