“Sit,” she orders.
I raise my hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am,” I say, sinking back into the chair with a smirk. I shoot Lenny a quick wink, which earns me a wide grin from the kid.
“Don’t worry, kid,” I murmur in a low voice, “maybe we’ll practice some moves someday. You’ll be a pro in no time.”
Wren’s death stare could carve through granite, but my dick’s on fire.
She turns and wraps an arm around Lenny’s shoulder and pulls him in close for a kiss on the top of his head.
“Don’t listen to him,” she says. “Fighting is not for kids.” She shoots me another pointed glance before steering Lenny toward the room. “Bedtime, kiddos.”
“You’re the one who fights,” Lenny retorts, jerking his shoulder away from Wren’s grip. “You’re always kicking butt and taking names. I want to do that too, and D’s gonna teach me.”
Suka. Kid’s got fire. He’s trying to be the man when there ain’t no men around.
Wren’s shoulders sag. “Okay, okay,” she says, voice soft. “One day, Lenny.”
The kid nods and cocks his head aside. “Good night, D,” he says as he disappears into the room. Em yawns, waving a half-assed goodnight my way.
I nod, watching as the kids vanish into their room. The door closes with a soft click, muffled laughter drifting through the thin walls.
And just like that, I’m alone in this fucking shoebox of a living room.
Outside, glass shatters. Some drunkmudakshouts, “Fuck you, you worthless piece of shit!” Another voice answers with a string of slurred curses. A police siren wails in the distance, getting closer.
Yob tvoyu mat’. What a neighborhood to raise kids in.
I shift, the chair’s springs digging into my ass like they’ve got a grudge. My eyes scan the room again. Those past-due bills. The wilting plant that’s one day from the grave. Cheap-ass food that wouldn’t satisfy a starving rat.
It’s all so… normal. So fucking far from my world of blood-soaked rings and brass knuckles.
Why thesukaam I here?
The thought hits like a bullet to the brain; this ain’t my scene. Wren and me, we’re just a good fuck. Nothing more.
But watching her with those kids…Blyat. It digs at something. Something I thought was long dead and buried.
I rub my face, feeling the stubble scratch my palms. What the hell am I doing? Playing happy families? Eating pizza with a stripper and her kid siblings?
“Suka,” I mutter. “You’ve lost your fucking mind, Dimitri Orlov.”
The laughter from the kids’ room gets louder. I hear Wren’s voice, soft but firm. “Alright, alright. Settle down now.”
My chest tightens. This is dangerous territory. I don’t do family. I don’t do… whatever the fuck this is.
But I’m still here. Still sitting in this piece of shit chair, in this tiny apartment, listening to Wren mother those kids.
Blyat, stop fucking caring.
I stand up, my knees cracking like old floorboards. The siren outside wails louder, then fades, replaced by the sound of tires screeching.
My hand’s on the doorknob when I hear footsteps.
Soft, but there. I turn, and there’s Wren leaning against the wall. She looks… different. Softer, somehow. Like she’s peeled off that ice-cold shield she always wears.
Suka. My dick twitches, yeah, but there’s something else. A tightness in my gut that ain’t just about wanting to fuck. It’s… respect? Shit. I don’t know what to do with that.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, I see everything. The exhaustion. The worry. The fierce protectiveness.
