My dreams were so real that I woke up with a clear recollection of every detail. I couldn’t remember ever having such dreams before meeting Kisa, and she was in every single one.
She felt so real to me, important.
Or maybe I was so desperate for her that I needed to imagine some connection. So desperate to actually have someone give a shit about me that I wanted to mean something to her too.
Then anger and rage burned in my chest as I pictured her with Durov. Kisa was mine. I felt she was mine. I knew she belonged to me. I wanted her. I wanted her to be mine, not shared with that psychopathic cunt.
Durov was an unfeeling, murdering bastard. I’d seen that look in his eyes, in so many fighters’ eyes. And the way he looked at Kisa, I knew it wouldn’t be long until he killed her too. He’d snap or she’d step out of line, and rather than lose her, he’d kill her to make sure she would never leave him.
Something told me it wasn’t the first time I had protected her from him. Then a gaping hole opened in my gut when I thought of him marrying her, that it was because of me that he made her his possession… that somehow I’d failed her.
I had to kill him. It was the only way I could save her from him. I wanted to puncture his black heart in the cage.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to remember something, anything, from my past. But that same old pain sliced through my head and, in frustration, I slowly opened them again. I rubbed my hand over my nose, remembering the dream. I could smell the sea and feel the sand the boy and Kisa had lain on. I’d been there, but I couldn’t connect the memory to anything real.
And in the dream, Kisa had a brother… a brother who loved her, and the boy was his best friend. I’d never heard Kisa mention a brother before. He wasn’t a fighter. I’d never seen him around the gym.
Shit! Maybe it was just a fucking messed-up dream after all.
The sound of the main door opening made me jump to my feet. I threw on my training shorts, pushing aside the mat and thin blanket that still smelled of Kisa. My mind immediately raced to last night.
Kisa. My Kisa-Anna… under me, wet and hot and screaming my name.
I’d loved fucking her, loved being inside her, stroking her brown hair and kissing her face. I wanted her to be all mine, to have her belong to me. Never before had I had anyone who cared for me. But I wanted her now… only her, and smelling her scent on that blanket spurred me on to kill Durov.
But the memory of last night with Kisa-Anna riding me like she did brought a sick feeling to my stomach. It made me face something I’d never before confronted.
The Gulag, the guards… what they’d done to me for years, taking me like they did…
I didn’t know there was any other way to be fucked. And I’d almost taken Kisa that way. It would have hurt her. I could still taste her panic in my mouth.
Storming to the punching bag, I slammed my fist into the hard worn leather and tried to pound out my shame, my guilt… my fucking embarrassment. I could have hurt her. I couldn’t bear the thought.
I was so wrapped up in releasing my fury that I didn’t see Viktor come through the door, until he stood before me.
Then all I saw was a red mist.
Launching myself at my trainer, I fisted his shirt in my hands and pushed him away from me until his back thumped into the wall. Viktor’s eyes betrayed his shock, and his face turned a deep shade of red.
“Did you do it too, you sick fuck?” I asked tightly, snarling as my blood boiled.
“Do what?” Viktor choked out.
Leaning in, I growled menacingly, “Fuck little boys in the Gulag. Did you pin them down and fuck them too?”
Viktor’s red face paled and he shook his head. “No…”
“LIAR!” I boomed out, lifting him up to quickly slam his back against the wall.
“No…” Viktor gasped, and seeing his eyes bulge, I let him go and stepped back. I began to pace as Viktor slumped to the floor, rubbing at his throat.
“Raze, I swear, I never did that… I would never do that.”
I looked at him in disgust. “But you knew about it? Knew they fucked little boys?”
Viktor dropped his head. If anything, he seemed to crumple as he slumped even farther. “Yes.”
“And you did nothing to stop it?”
“What could I do? I’ve been paying off my family’s debt since I was a teen. First for the Georgians, now for the Russians. My papa was a gambler and fucked us all over. I was the lowest of the low. I had no power in those places. I’m not the mob. I’m a grunt, disposable.”