I frowned and walked toward him. “Why would Jakhua kill them? Why would he set us up just to see two fucking corpses?”
Mikhail shifted on his feet. “These two men were brought back to Brooklyn today. They switched protection detail. They had families, and they’d been away for weeks. I decided to bring them home and have them patrol on home turf.”
I shook my head and opened my mouth. Mikhail spoke before I could. “They were at the house in the Hamptons. They’ve been patrolling up there. They were assigned to the Kostava, to your sister.”
I tensed, every muscle in my body filling with scalding blood. I looked up at the corpses and my stomach instantly sank.
Talia.
Zaal.
“Who informed you of tonight? Who gave you the tip-off?” I asked Mikhail. He paled and looked up to one of the fucks swinging from the roof.
“Andrei,” he replied, and pointed to a corpse.
My hands shook with rage. It was a setup, a motherfucking setup! Ripping a knife from my jacket, I launched it into the heart of the betrayer hanging from the ceiling. The byki stepped back as I fumed with rage.
“Give me your phone!” I ordered Mikhail. He passed it over and I called the house in the Hamptons. All I got was a dead tone.
“The line’s dead,” I said. The byki shifted uncomfortably. Shaking with red-hot anger, I roared and threw the phone against the wall, smashing the fucking thing to pieces. I ran toward the door, the byki following behind.
“Get to the Hamptons! That motherfucker’s set us up. Fucking betrayed by one of our own. Jakhua’s gone back for Zaal! That bastard’s gone back for his man.”
As I ran out the door, fear, real fear, surged through my blood. Talia … that fucker was going to kill my sister.
My mind locked down. My blood ran cold. Only one thing ran through my mind.
Jakhua’s imminent death.
Chapter Seventeen
TaliaWaves crashed on the shore, the sound lulling me into half sleep. Zaal laid his head on my lap, and I stroked through his long hair with my fingers.
Zaal’s hand traced down my stomach, his beautiful jade eyes looking at me with complete adoration.
He was getting better. He looked better. Several days of rest, since finding out about his family, had brought the color back to his cheeks. And he was talking more, remembering more.
“Tell me about them, zolotse,” I said quietly, not wanting to disturb the heady peace we had found in this room.
Zaal glanced up at me, and swallowed. I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his head. “Tell me about your family.”
“I only remember some things,” he replied, his accent becoming thicker as emotion took hold. “I remember only certain things about each one of them, about me as a child.”
“Tell me,” I pushed again, and linked my hand through his for comfort.
Zaal closed his eyes. I could see them moving behind his eyelids. His hand tightened in mine and I knew he was pulling images, fractured memories, from his mind. He’d told me he saw only pictures. Only felt certain feelings when remembering them.
But it was something. I feared with the drugs he’d been subjected to for years that he’d have no memories at all. We still weren’t sure about the damage to his body, his mind, but just having something to hold on to, it was a blessing straight from God.
Zaal’s eyes opened. He fixed his gaze on mine. “I remember I liked to lie in the sun,” he rasped, a small curl of his lip gracing his mouth. “I remember my brother coming to sit beside me.” His hand suddenly squeezed mine and his brow furrowed. “I remember us always being together. He was always at my side, I think. Papa’s two boys.”
I fought back the lump chasing up my throat. This man. This six foot six, 250-pound man spoke with such reverie about his lost brother. With such softness and affection in his husky deep voice.
“What else, baby?” I asked, still stroking through his hair.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as he pushed himself to remember. “I had a sister Zoya.” He sucked in a deep breath and his body tensed. “She … she followed me everywhere, called me her sykhaara.”
“What does that mean?” I asked soothingly.
Zaal’s lip lifted in a fond smile. “My sweetness.”
Adoration filled his eyes when he said, “She was five. She had long black hair, and such dark eyes they almost matched. A brown so dark it looked like coal. She would always be with me. Told me I would protect her when she was older, when me and my brother led the family.”
My soul splintered when the tiniest tear slipped from the corner of his left eye. His haunted stare searched for mine, and when it connected, he said, “They ripped her from my arms, Talia. The guards, our own traitor guard, ripped her from my neck.” He took a shuddering breath. “She cried my name, her hand reached out for me to save her.” More tears fell, and his hand trembled. “And when they fired their guns, and Jakhua forced me to watch, Zoya’s dark eyes were still watching me, like … like she expected me to save her.”