I counted the cracks in the ceiling tiles and tried to think of something other than the naked Kostava but nothing worked. What the hell was wrong with me?
Sitting up in bed, I spotted my laptop lying on the desk. Walking to the desk I brought it back to my bed, deciding to check my e-mails, to press on with contacting fighter providers for the Dungeon’s cage. Anything to distract my busy mind.
After my laptop powered on, I was just about to hit the e-mail icon, when my eyes fell on the surveillance program for the house. The entire house was wired with links on all of our devices, just in case.
I knew Ilya and Savin would have switched on the surveillance cameras as soon as we arrived at the house; I was sure the basement camera would have been turned on as well. After all dangerous enemy number one was now kept there.
I couldn’t stop myself, one light tap on an icon and my screen was filled with 250 pounds of ripped and brutal Georgian.
My heart raced as I watched him, my eyes were glued to his unconscious body, his position unchanged from hours before.
I struggled to catch my breath as I watched his wide chest rise and fall. From the camera’s perspective, the features of his face were perfectly showcased. And under all the blood and dirt he looked sort of … beautiful.
Swallowing, I really studied him. His black hair fell below his shoulders, a gentle wave to the thick, matted strands. Black eyebrows framed his eastern European face. His nose, at this moment, was swollen and bloodied, as were his lips. But I could see defined high cheekbones and dark stubble covering his face. Even under the swelling and blood I could see that his lips were full. His skin was a dark olive, the evidence of his Georgian heritage, and he was nothing but hard muscle. Every inch of his tall frame, perhaps six foot six, corded with protruding veins and roping brawn.
Moving back to lie against the pillows, I brought my laptop to my lap, not able to draw away my eyes. Kisa’s words from earlier filled my mind.
They were twins … children … family massacred … experimented on … subjects for developing drugs … under the influence … new drug … Jakhua … his pet killer for … since he was eight …
Remembering his name, I whispered, “Zaal” to the empty room, wrapping my tongue around the pronunciation and running my finger down the picture of his unconscious form, splayed out on the black rubber floor.
Then his cheek twitched. The first bit of movement I’d seen from him since the byki dragged him in the house.
Pulling back my hand, I watched in fascination as his finger started to move, his legs began to stretch, and a low moan slipped from his bruised lips.
I gripped my laptop tighter and tighter the more Zaal moved.
Then suddenly, in the perfect view of the camera, his eyes shot open. Bright green eyes, captivating and beautiful green eyes. I gasped as those eyes searched the dark basement, the solitary lightbulb casting a dim glow over his body. His eyes flickered around the space, and for one spilt second, he looked lost. He almost looked … afraid.
My chest constricted as Zaal’s gaze seemed to look directly into the camera, his captivating jade green eyes colliding with mine.
Feeling like he could see me, I lost control of my breath. My heart beat so loud, I could hear its pounding bass rhythm in my ears.
Zaal suddenly broke connection, his face contorting into a feral expression as a loud roar bellowed from his mouth. His large body quickly moved, lurching forward, only for his arms and legs to be wrenched backward as the tight chains restrained his movement.
Zaal lowered his head only to find the shackles fastened around his wrists and arms. Turning his attention behind him, he began pulling on the chains, testing the strength of the links.
With every heave, his strong muscles cording with strain, he would scream a deafening roar. When he couldn’t get free, he began to pace. His expression was bone-chillingly severe and he watched the wall before him, as though waiting for someone to enter.
His head ticked, his fists clenched, he wrenched at the chains. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t watch him fall apart. As another frustrated bellow thundered out of his throat, I slammed my laptop shut. I had enough.
I tried to calm my breathing, but I was convinced my lungs had a mind of their own. I tried to calm my heart but it was racing too fast. And I tried to cool down, but my body burned with sympathetic pain. Pain of what demons must possess Zaal Kostava.
I suddenly remembered Luka, specifically, the night of the Dungeon’s finals, now many months ago. He was raw and rough, but there was still something in his eyes. A flicker of humanity trying its best to push through. And he had Kisa. He had our parents, Viktor, and Kirill. He had me.
But Zaal. Zaal was nothing but unleashed aggression. His wrists were sliced and bleeding raw as he’d wrenched on the chains, and he never stopped trying to break free. It was like something tortured him, driving him to never stop.
Placing the laptop at my side, I ran to the bathroom. With trembling hands, I turned on the cold faucet and splashed the icy water on my face.
Who could do that to another person? I thought in sadness. Who could morally condition someone to be that brutal, that wild? That pained and insane?
But as I lifted my head and my brown eyes stared back at me in the vanity’s mirror, I remembered the broken and scared look in Zaal’s jade green eyes as his gaze lasered straight down the lens of the camera.
Yes, he was vicious. Yes, he was wild, but in that split second there was something more. Something of the real Zaal Kostava still lived inside him. I was sure.
Walking back to my bed, exhausted and wrought, I slipped under the covers. I closed my eyes, but my mind still wouldn’t switch off.
Before I knew it, I’d reached for my laptop, and with a deep breath, I opened the surveillance icon. Zaal’s frantic pacing immediately filled the screen.
Placing the laptop on my side dresser, I lay back on the pillow watching Zaal, the only living heir of the Kostavas, gradually lose his mind in my papa’s basement.
As the next two weeks passed, I became completely obsessed.
My days centered around Zaal, watching him slowly breakdown. Watching him shake, sweat, and strike out at anyone who went near. I watched Luka try to talk to him, to calm him down. But Zaal would only snarl and lash out. I watched as he endlessly vomited, like he was going cold turkey off heroin. And I watched nightly as the byki subdued him with Tasers, in order to drug him to sleep, just to attach IV packs of food and fluids to keep him alive.
And I watched as Luka gradually lost hope that Zaal could be saved, until my father and the Pakhan called him back to help in the igniting war with the Georgians only a couple of days after he and Kisa arrived.
Fourteen days had passed and Zaal had made no progress whatsoever.
Racking pain filled my chest when his strength waned, when he couldn’t move off the floor. He would sleep for hours, lying prone on the cold ground.
I lost all hope, my obsession with this man dominating my entire life. Then one day Zaal had stopped moving altogether. His lifeless body, one day, had chosen not to wake up.
And that was the day everything changed.
Chapter Six
Zaal
“Come here, Son.” Turning from playing in the garden, I saw my father calling me to the table to eat. I ran toward my father, and he led me to the porch where my mother, sisters, and brothers already sat. My grandmama sat at the head of the table and winked at me.
I laughed.
Father said a prayer, and then told us to eat. As I picked up a piece of bread from the basket, a loud crash sounded in the house. Father looked toward the house. He snapped his finger and thumb, ordering the guards to go and find out who it was, but they didn’t move. They stared at my father and their eyes narrowed. My brother looked at me and frowned.