Reap (Scarred Souls, #2)(13)

Unless …

“Who could it be?” I asked Ilya, and moved to the center of the room.

Ilya waved me over to stand by him and pushed me behind his back. He looked to Savin. “Did you get a phone call from Mikhail or the knayz? Are we expecting anyone?”

Savin shook his head, watching the TV monitor as the car came to a slow stop at the security gate. The buzzer pressed and Savin answered the call.

“Yes?” he said curtly.

“Savin, or is that Ilya? It’s Kisa, can you let me in?”

I frowned as I saw Kisa lean to the camera, her face coming into view. I nodded my head to Savin, and he opened the electric gate.

Why was Kisa driving herself? And more than that, why had she left Luka in Brooklyn?

I made my way to the front door. Wrapping my long gray cardigan around my pink tank and black leggings, I opened the door just as Kisa stepped onto the porch.

She looked pale and worried, so I stepped back from the door. “Come in, sweetie.”

Kisa entered the hallway and I quickly hugged her in greeting. Ilya and Savin placed themselves in sight. Moving away from me, Kisa slipped off her jacket and I watched her curiously. “Kisa? Are you okay?” I asked. I hadn’t seen her in a few days. She looked bad then, but she looked worse now.

She turned to me but her eyes were vacant.

“Kisa?” I prompted, and reached out to touch her arm. She was wearing a creased thin white sweater, a skintight pair of jeans, and Chucks. Kisa never ever looked anything less than perfect and polished. She was dressed too casual, looked too rumpled and tired. Something was seriously wrong.

“I—” Kisa had barely opened her mouth to answer me, when another set of lights flared at the gate of the private road. Savin immediately sprang into action and moved to the surveillance camera.

“It’s a van,” he reported to Ilya. “One of ours.”

I turned to question what was happening, then Kisa sighed, seemingly in relief. She pressed her hand to her forehead, breathing out through her mouth.

“Kisa? What’s happening? Who else is coming? Why are you here?” I rapidly asked in an increasingly shorter tone.

Her blue eyes snapped to mine. “It’s Luka,” she said, just as I heard Savin utter a “Yes, sir!” The electronic gates opened once again.

“Luka? Why?” I had to know, but Savin and Ilya were already opening the front door and rushing to the graveled driveway.

Kisa headed toward me and, taking my hand, pulled me away from the door. I let her lead me to one side. I could see by Kisa’s expression that she was preoccupied; no, worried. My stomach sank. Something bad had happened tonight. Something big.

Savin came running through the door. His eyes quickly sought mine. “Ms. Tolstaia, where’s the basement key?”

“Why?” I asked, but Savin’s cold, piercing expression told me there was no time for explanation.

My eyes narrowed at everyone’s lack of explanation. Quickly, Kisa moved into the kitchen. “In here,” she said, urgently summoning Savin.

The sound of vehicle doors opening outside drifted to the hallway. Voices were raised and orders were quickly issued. Savin came rushing back through to the hallway, unlocking the always-locked door that led to the basement.

I’d never been down there; in all these years coming here in summer I’d never even opened the door. It was Papa’s private place and so it was forbidden. I had never thought to question him.

As the sound of people approaching came through the doorway, I moved beside an anxious-looking Kisa. Placing my hand on her back, I asked, “Why’s Luka here? Please tell me what’s happening. I’m starting to freak the hell out!”

With glistening eyes, she looked to me, whispering, “Luka went into the Jakhua Georgian headquarters tonight. I don’t know how much you know about them being back in Brooklyn, but it’s a delicate situation, and—”

My stomach flipped and my heart pounded in my chest. “What? Why would Luka do something crazy like that?” I interrupted.

“Because of 362.” This was all she said in response, then her eyes misted over.

I shook my head in confusion, holding up my hand. “I don’t understand, I don’t—” My sentence was cut off when several of my father’s byki rushed through the door, dragging an enormous, unconscious naked man in their arms. My eyes widened when I scanned the massive lapse body.

Stepping back from the fray, I held my breath as the byki took the man downstairs. My eyes were glued to the entrance of the basement, my mouth parted in shock.

Above the commotion, I suddenly heard Kisa gasp. I followed her gaze to the doorway. Luka had stepped through. He was shirtless but for a bloodied vest, his dress pants dirtied and torn. His large body was covered in purple and black bruises, his face swollen and bloodied. He looked like hell. He looked the same as he did when he’d killed Alik Durov in the Dungeon’s cage six months ago.

“Luka!” Kisa cried, and rushed forward until she stood before him. She lifted her hands but stopped herself from cupping his face. “What have you done? You weren’t meant to fight! You’re hurt,” she whispered, and his gaze softened as it fell on her.

“Solnyshko,” he said, and wrapped her in his arms.

“You got him,” Kisa said, quickly forgetting her frustration at Luka being hurt. Her light voice was laced with relief.