ALEKSEI—AGE 12
SOLNTSEVO DISTRICT, RUSSIA
The hoodover my head itches like hell, and my wrists burn where the zip ties cut into my skin. The van shakes beneath us, every bump in the road making Anton jolt beside me.
I slip my hand into his and squeeze, feeling him stiffen and tremble. He’s terrified, and I can’t do shit to help him.
We were with the bodyguards when the SUV was taken over by thugs in masks. My other brothers stayed after school for some meeting, so it was just me and Anton. The men came out of nowhere, guns pointing at all of us.
They fought our bodyguards and shot them, then dragged us into a van while we kicked and hit them as best we could. But there were at least five of them, and we didn’t stand a chance. Then the hoods were shoved over our heads and everything went black.
The van jerks to a stop, and I immediately tense. There are footsteps before a door slides open, and then hands are yanking us out.
Something hard and cold jams into my back, and I know right away that it’s a gun. The guy at my back shoves me and I stumble forward, my heartbeat slamming in my ears.
“Bystreye,” he grumbles.Faster.
We’re forced inside somewhere. I can’t see much, but the air changes. It’s not cool anymore, replaced by a nasty smell of some kind. Like mildew or something gross like that.
Someone pushes me down onto a hard floor. “Syad i ne dvigaysya.”Sit and don’t move.
I obey. Can’t give them a reason to kill my brother.
I don’t recognize their voices. It’s probably just another set of enemies my father has made. He has plenty, and he trained us for this very thing.
But nothing prepares you for it. Not the fear or panic. It’s different when it actually happens.
Though I worry for Anton more than myself. He’s only eight.
Pain means you’re alive. Use it to your advantage. Do not let them break you,my father would tell us when he would pit us against one another in a fight.
The loser would be locked up in a cellar for days as punishment, scraps for food, just a little water to get by until the next time. We knew we didn’t want to be locked up again, and that survival instinct would kick in and we’d fight harder for it not to happen again.
Except with Anton, I would lose just so he didn’t have to face it. But my father was smarter than that. He’d see right through it and would punish Anton anyway.
Plastic bites tighter into my wrists, and I hear Anton grunt.
“Ne trogay yego!” I yell.Don’t touch him!
A voice laughs in front of me before someone pulls off my hood.
The light stings my eyes. I blink hard as my gaze adjusts. The room looks like a basement. Cement walls. No windows. One hanging bulb overhead. Five men. All of them with guns.
One of them steps forward. A scar runs down his face, teeth crooked when he sneers.
“You want to take your brother home?” the man asks, his Russian accent thick.
Him speaking English doesn’t help me figure out who they are. We speak both too. Father made sure of it.It’s important for business,he’d say.
I nod, but I know there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. That’s why we’re here.
He crouches in front of me. “Then tell me where your father keeps the jewel.”
My stomach turns. We’re going to die here.
I know exactly what jewel he means. Our father’s most prized possession, stolen from some European museum years ago. People have killed for it. Died for it. And when it comes to us versus the jewel, we’re nothing.
Loyalty and honor above all.
