Nicu picked up a crumb that fell from the sandwich and stuffed it back in, his plate cleaner than when it came out of the dishwasher. I guess that's what happens when you're hypersensitive to that shit.
I waited for him to chew his food before he answered with ease. “She had been abused as a child. The man, Mike,” what was that emotion I heard in his voice? Was that even fucking possible for Nicu? “Used to grab her by the neck and say something like whatever you said. That caused her brain to pull up the traumatic event, and she went into survival mode.” The tick in his jaw just now was foreign to the emotionless, controlling brother I have always known.
Well, now I feel like shit. It must have been rough if even Nicu felt bad for her. Rubbing the back of my head, I stared down at my plate. I didn't mean to make the woman have a breakdown. I just meant to catch her, stop her from doing shit she wasn't supposed to. She wasn’t even supposed to be in that room. She was the one who was trespassing, and I was trying to make sure the prisoner didn’t get free. Sure. I might’ve also wanted to scare her a bit, but not like that. I was doing the right fucking thing.
I couldn't help but think about all of our mothers; each woman was different from the other, and their only connection was the man they birthed a child for. Each of them was always different in how they handled things and how they each treated us, but the one constant was our father being an absolute horror to all of them. That’s probably why all of us despise men who lay hands on women and kids.
"I wasn't the most upstanding man. Hell, I wasn't even good most of the time. I was never allowed to be." Killing a woman, using her emotions or body for my gain, I had no problem with doing, but beating up on her or her children was scumbag-level shit. I’ll lie to, steal from, or pull the trigger on a bitch, but I won't give her a black eye. That shit is beneath me. Even I, a piece of shit human, have standards.
Glancing back at Nicu, his hand opening and closing in a fist at a rhythmic pace, I knew he was pissed. While all three of us hated men like that, Nicu took it to another level. Just months ago, he heard that one of his men beat his wife to an inch of her life, and he hung him by his feet on a meat hook, sliced him open from dick to the chest, so the man's internals hit his face as he screamed in pain. He died with his face frozen in fear, and Nicu watched the whole thing without even a twitch of his cheek. That’s who Nicu was—the heartless golden boy, untouched by the shit the rest of us felt.
“Where is she now?”
Nicu looked down instead of his normal eyes-to-eye domination. “She is with Cezar.” His hand picked at his suit, smoothing the creases and picking off lint as his tone went lower, “She seems the most comfortable with him.”
I ran my tongue along my teeth, my whole body stiffening as his words settled wrong inside me. I was the one that was supposed to get her to soften, to open up. That was my fucking job. Cezar was the off-kilter executioner. He was born, bred, and trained for that role. How the fuck did he edge me out?!
“Calm. Down. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Nicu’s voice snapped me out of my head. Looking down at my hand, crushing the soda can, my chest rising and falling rapidly. Fuck! I needed to keep myself level. My position in this family was under attack, and I needed to get it back.
Keeping all of that shit to myself, I faced my brother, crafting the normal face of easy cockiness. “Sorry. Thinking about shit I left unfinished at home.” Needing to change the subject, I turned it back onto him. “Did you get a hold of our father? When are we going back?”
His lifeless, dark eyes turned towards me. Feeling their assistive gaze, I slouched in my chair, putting on the show that I didn't have a care in the world. That I wasn’t affected by withdrawals like he thought I was.
“He hasn't gotten back to me yet.”
Raising an eyebrow at him, I knew what it meant when our father went dark like this. Shit was going down, and he was keeping us out of it on purpose. Not because he was trying to keep us safe or anything sentimental like that. He did this when he thought he couldn't trust us when he wanted to put the three of us in our place. This reminds us that he was the head of this organization, and we were just kids to him.
It was the epitome of disrespect to all of us, but especially to Nicu, who was the one who had been groomed to take his place someday. “He’s such a fucking asshole.”
Nicu didn’t respond, which was normal for him, but when he tipped his head to the side, I saw the minuscule shift of his mouth lifting. A flash of my brother from when we were little kids hit me, and my scowl shifted upward. Instead of the styling, the depressing vibe I was used to when we talked about our father, a sense of levity lifted the space around us, reminding me that we were brothers at the end of the day. We only had each other in this life.
The screech of his chair echoed in the room, his face returning to its ruthless mobster mask. “I can't count on Cezar to remember. Can you get her something to eat? I will give her a day to calm down since my source won't have all the information until tonight.” His eyes narrowed on me, turning into hard coal-like rocks. “Tomorrow, I will get all the information I need from her. So, I need her to be in top condition before that.”
He didn’t even wait for my answer before walking away. That simmering anger underneath my skin bubbled to the surface again, and I bit my tongue to keep myself from causing another fight.
His steps paused, and I looked up, ready for him to bark out more orders at me, ones I was ready to refuse when I saw his face. His brows slightly furrowed under his downcast eyes, and his mouth opened and closed like he was at a loss for words. “I’m sorry,” he said before he twisted abruptly, stalking off to his room.
What the fuck was that about? Something about the weight of his gaze penetrated my soul, and I knew his sorry wasn't for anything that had happened that day. What the fuck was he sorry about?
Waiting for the door to his room to shut, I launched out of my seat; confusion and anger battled inside me. Why was he looking at me with such pity? Who was he to look at me like that?!
Anger began to edge out the confusion, and I jerked forward, throwing my plate into the sink. My fingers curled around the edge of the sink, clutching so hard they turned white. Why did he always treat me like this? Like some lost little kid? A sinking feeling filled my gut, and I screwed my eyes shut. Old insecurities rose from the graves in my soul.
Was I just useless to them? Was I just some ornament, the pretty boy, the second son of Arek Azadian? All my childhood, I heard the whispers in the shadows. He's just in case something happens to Nicu. He's not as smart as his older brother, not as savage as his younger brother. What was he going to do? Charm the enemy?
Memories flooded of my Father’s disapproving glances when the three of us were lined up together. His voice floated through my brain. Doyou think you're something special? There are a million others that look just like you! What I need is for you to be useful! I need information, and if that means you fuck some old bitch to get it, then you will snort up some of this and do it because I say so. You’re a man, right? It should be easy enough…unless your dick doesn’t work.
Shoving my palms into my eyes, I tried to get those thoughts away.
He's just like his mother, the goddess of whores. What does that make him, then? The God of whores? I gritted my teeth, and their deep chuckles bounced around my skull.
My nostrils tingled, craving an escape. Normally, I’d drown this shit out with a few lines and a warm body pressed against me. Reaching into my empty pocket, I growled out in frustration. What the fuck was I going to do?
Looking around, my gaze caught on the loaf of bread still out. With a shaky hand, I reached for the bread.
I was pissed earlier when he told me to feed her. I wanted to remind him that I wasn't her maid and that she was our damn prisoner, but now, I was thankful to have something to do. Something to distract my mind from myself. Wasn't that quite pathetic of me?
