“Poor little thing. What happened to her, Dad?” Another voice, even gentler than the first.
I tried to open my eyes to understand what was going on around me, but my eyelids were too heavy, and it seemed like I had no control over myself. Then long fingers smashed some kind of sticky, cold ointment onto my wounds from the knife, and they instantly started to burn. I cried out in agony, thrashing on the bed, but two strong hands restrained me.
I opened my mouth to protest, but it was dry as hell, and I couldn't utter one single word.
“Dorothy, give her a sedative. She won’t let us treat her otherwise.” Even furrowing my brows seemed like an impossible chore, but I did it right before something sweet-smelling rose up to my nose, and in a second, I was out.
And for a second time in my life, I welcomed it as it freed me from pain.
Dominic
Sitting in an un-fucking-comfortable chair, while my folded bandaged palms rested on the plastic table in front of me, I tried to study the prison with an open mind.
The room had beige all over: walls, furniture, and even the fucking floor. The three small windows, which allowed in some natural light, had black metal bars on them and brought nothing positive into the picture. Several cameras surrounded us. A vending machine was on my left, although I doubted anyone used it, because why the fuck would you even want to drink coffee or grab a snack here? Police officers walked around the place, their guns ready to strike any minute and disable any danger.
The police and I, back in Russia, had a very cautious relationship. We flirted, but I never wanted to make the commitment they wanted. In other words, no matter how many times they tried to catch me with some shady stuff, I always came back from it clean, and it drove them crazy.
What the fuck ever. Seven people, mostly women with hopeless expressions, occupied the other tables and waited patiently like me for the prisoners to arrive.
Needless to say, all this didn't brighten my mood, which was shitty to begin with. Catching my reflection in the black polished part of the vending machine, I noticed red eyes and a pissed off vibe.
I didn't get any sleep last night.
“Now get on your knees, put it in your mouth, and bring me to heaven.”
“Please,” I begged, but only got a slap with a belt over my back in return. Closing my eyes, I held in the cry of pain, knowing it would only antagonize him more.
“You are no good for nothing but this, boy.” One more slap. “Better listen the next time.” The sound of a zipper lowering, one of the most hateful sounds in my life, and then his flesh was in my mouth as he got off on my gag reflex and the tears sliding down my cheeks.
The lid of the phone cracked in my hand, sending a small jolt of pain to my palm. It was the only thing snapping me out of the past or things that haunted my sleep.
Benjamin and Richard, men who made my and Damian’s childhood a living hell, were now behind bars and enjoying their punishment there. Originally, we were supposed to take matters into our own hands, but Damian decided not to do it and to send them into the system. I agreed with him, but part of me still demanded justice I felt we didn't get.
A buzz sounded, and a moment later, a tall, brooding man entered with two guards holding his hands behind his back before they let him go. He had massive shoulders and a bulky figure, way more buff than I remembered. Even the veins in his neck were strained. His head was clean-shaven and various tattoos ran all over his body. His eyes scanned the room, landed on me, and I rose from my seat to greet him.
His granite face lifted up in a half smile that barely reached his grey-as-metal eyes as he pulled me forward and hugged me close, patting my back as his hand held mine.
“Dominic,” he said.
I squeezed him harder, as I replied, “Radmir.”
After a second, we let go and sat opposite each other. “Why are you here? Where is Vasya?” He frowned. Clearly, he didn’t like that his request wasn't honored. Last night, he had all but demanded to be seen by the pakhan.
I held his stare, as I replied, “He is dead.”
His eyes widened in shock as his hands clenched into fists, and a flicker of sadness passed across his eyes. “When?” he finally asked, containing his emotions.
Clearing my throat, I gave him the information, knowing the reaction coming. “Almost two years ago.”
He rose swiftly as his fists hit the table loudly, and several women gasped. “And you are just telling me this?” At once, the guards were on him, holding him as a deadly expression spread over his face.
“?????????, ??????.”(Uspokoisya, Radmir)My softly spoken words in Russian were enough for him to understand the importance of staying calm, and after a moment, the guards pushed on his shoulders, so he sat back down. They retreated, but not before one of them issued a warning. “One more time, and this visit ends.” Nodding, I focused my attention back on mysovietnik. “Five years in here and you still can’t get hold of your temper?”
He snarled. “You try living in a fucking cell and stay civil.” Realizing what he said wrong, he gritted his teeth and he paused. Radmir, aside from Vasya, Yuri and Vitya, was the only one who knew about my past. Seven years my senior, he was the one who greeted me into the mafia and taught me a lot of stuff. “I’m sorry, Dom,” he said, remorse coloring his voice.
“It’s fine.” And it really was. I understood him like no one else.
“Who is the new pakhan?” Without saying another word, I opened the sleeve of my shirt to show him my green snake tattoo, and recognition filled him. “Fuck,you?” Immediately, his mouth spread in a happy smile as his eyes shifted to my neck. “You don’t have a cross.” A cross was a gift from Vasya when I became a full member of the Bratva after I did my first kill. Once it was given, you couldn't take it off. Unless you wanted to stake a claim.
