Reap (Scarred Souls, #2)(8)

“Luka!” Kisa screamed, but I’d already begun to pace, feelings of betrayal making me lose my f*cking mind.

My feet pounded the floor as I ran my hands through my hair. “For months you told me you didn’t f*cking know!”

My father shot to his feet and I turned to stare into his face. “I killed him! I f*cking killed him!” I held out my hands to my father. “With these two f*cking hands. I murdered him. I murdered him—”

“To save me,” Kisa interrupted. My eyes immediately fixed on hers. I stepped forward and Kirill got out of his seat. He edged toward Kisa, like he didn’t want me to get near his daughter. That only pissed me off more. Kisa nodded at her father and he backed the f*ck off.

Kisa reached out to cup my face. My rigid body relaxed as my wife’s palm connected with my hot skin. “Calm, baby. Listen to your papa.”

Kisa pushed her fingers through her hair. My eyes squeezed shut as I breathed slowly and steadily through my lips.

When my eyes opened again, Kisa glanced to my father’s tense face, then back to me. “Luka. 362. He was a Kostava.”

A thick fog clouded my mind as she spoke those words. A Kostava? I had no idea what that meant, who that was. The name didn’t mean anything to me.

Kisa’s forehead dropped to mine. “Luka—”

“I don’t understand…,” I whispered, my head beginning to ache from trying to remember something, anything, about that f*cking name.

“You don’t understand?” Kisa questioned, her blue eyes glistening with worry.

“I don’t understand why him being a Kos … Kos…”

“Kostava,” she offered.

I nodded my head. “A Kostava is so bad.” I glanced down, wracking my brain. “I don’t remember why it’s bad.” My stomach tensed with anger. I knew I should’ve known this, but the memory just wasn’t there for me to find.

“I should know this, right, solnyshko?” I asked Kisa.

“Your memories are still in pieces.” Kisa stroked my hair. “Don’t worry. We can explain. We can tell you the family history that’s been lost.”

I nodded, feeling like a million needles were running over my hot skin. I looked to my father and saw him curse. When I faced Kisa again, her blue eyes were boring into mine. My hand lifted to run down her face. “Tell me,” I begged, “tell me about him, please.…”

Clasping my hand, she entwined her fingers through mine. With a squeeze of her hand, she led me to take a seat. When she tried to sit beside me, I pulled her down onto my lap instead. As soon as she was in my arms I relaxed.

As Kisa’s eyes stayed glued to mine, she pressed a soothing kiss on my cheek. Kisa faced Ivan. “Ivan, I think it’s best if you explain this.”

I listened to every word out of my father’s mouth. Every part of the story in fine detail. I learned about the Kostavas. Fractured pieces of my family’s history were suddenly put into place. But all I could hear, all I could focus on was that 362 finally had a life to me. I knew where he came from, who he was, who his family were. But more important …

“He has a name,” I whispered into the room as my father finished explaining why they’d kept 362’s identity from me. Kisa’s hand landed on my cheek and I glanced up, repeating, “362 has a name.” I took a deep breath and said, “Anri. His name was Anri Kostava.” My eyes closed just hearing his name said aloud. Then they snapped open when something else my father said hit home.

“He was a twin. Anri had a twin brother.”

In a flash, I stood, placing Kisa back on the seat, and began pacing. My mind was instantly focused, my will, driven. “What was his brother called? What was Anri’s twin brother’s name?”

My father watched me carefully. He didn’t say the name, until my gaze narrowed, daring him to keep that piece of information from me.

“Zaal. Zaal Kostava,” my father said reluctantly. I nodded, committing that name to memory.

“And where is he now? A gulag? Is he alive and fighting to the death in a f*cking prison too?” Silence roared in my ears as my father refused to divulge Zaal’s situation. Bones burning, I turned to the nearest wall, and sent my fist straight into a large mirror, shattering the glass to the floor. I swerved and glared at the Pakhan and my father. Pointing a bloodied finger at their faces, I snarled, “You will tell me where he is! I need to know this.”

My father stood and approached me. “Luka. Stop!” he boomed, and I froze. My jaw clenched as I fought to rein back my rage.

“Tell me!” I growled in a guttural voice.

My father stood strong, his expression ice-cold. “This family will never help a Kostava,” he replied grimly. “No son of mine will ever help one of them.”

“Then Zaal is alive?” Kisa said from across the room. My father’s shoulders tensed.

That was a f*cking hell yes. Hope sprung in my chest.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Luka—”

“Where is he!” I turned and paced once again. “I don’t give a f*ck who he is to us. Zaal is the brother of the man who saved my life. The man I had to kill because f*cking Alik Durov threw him into the cage to kill me! When he should have been free!”

I stopped right before my father, and pushed, “Now tell me where he is. Now.”