I lift my head slowly, every movement sparking discomfort in new places—my ribs, my shoulders, my cheekbone. There’s something metallic in my mouth. I spit. It’s blood. Probably mine. But might not be. I think I chewed on someone’s skin when I was transported like a rabid dog.
Oh, right. I bit his fucking ear off as he was carrying me to the plane, and he screamed like a pig. But I didn’t getto witness his reaction in full before someone knocked me out again.
Good times.
The room comes into slow focus.
I’ve been here before, in the basement. The stone walls are stained with mold and splashes of dried blood that haven’t been cleaned off. A single bulb swings above me, flickering like it’s debating whether or not to stay on, casting fractured shadows across a rusted table lined with tools that my dear papa uses on his enemies—and his sons. Yes, plural. My brothers face his wrath as well when they don’t meet his grandiose expectations.
And…there he is.
Yaroslav Dimitriev is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his sleeves rolled up. His face is calm, as if this is just another business meeting.
He’s watching me like he’s waiting for something. Likethisis the moment he’s been anticipating.
“Finally awake,” he says, his voice even. Almost casual.
My tongue feels like sandpaper, but I manage to smirk. It cracks my lower lip open, and warm blood trickles into my mouth. “Didn’t realize we were having father-son bonding time. Question. Did you bring cards?”
He doesn’t laugh. He never does. Not even when I was young. He’s never once shown me a soft side, or that he cares about me even a little.
My father picks up a pair of brown leather gloves and slides them on like he’s getting ready for a procedure.
There’s shuffling of feet outside, my father’s men waiting as backup, probably also scared I’ll chew the rest of their ears—and noses—off. I’ve done it before and will doit again in a heartbeat, including but not limited to, fighting the guards I know he likes the most, because they’re an extension of him.
My father grabs a tool out of the box, really large scissors, and I doubt it’s because he wants to cut my bindings.
“What’s the reason for the sudden kidnapping?” I joke as he walks toward me. “What happened to a phone call to summon me home?”
He pulls out his phone, then thrusts it in my face. I blink once so the blurry image gets clearer, and my chest squeezes because it’s a picture of me kissing Vaughn, hungrily, like a goddam madman, one hand around his throat and the other in his hair while he has a palm to my chest.
The screen goes black, shoving me back to the present and the bitter reality that my father has a picture of Vaughn and me.
He pockets his phone, his muscles bulging. My father has always taken care of his appearance, part of his “not a weak man” mantra.
“What did I say, Yulian?” He speaks slowly but with simmering rage.
“About? You say a lot of things about a lot of shit. You’d have to specify?—”
His punch whips my head sideways, copper flooding my tongue. The next strike comes harder, a boot slamming into my chest, and the chair buckles beneath me, toppling, and I hit the ground with it.
“I told you I’d kill you if you did that disgusting business again, you useless bastard.”
“It’s not disgusting,” I murmur, blood dripping down either side of my mouth.
He grabs my collar with one hand, pulling me all the way up, his manic eyes staring down at me. “The fuck you just say?”
“Me liking another guy isnotdisgusting.” I glare at him. “Maybe you’re the disgusting one for thinking that.”
He snarls. “I bet you bend over like a pussy to be fucked by another man. What a fucking weakling.”
“What I do with my dick does not make me a weakling!” I yell, spit and blood splashing his face. “Beating your son for as long as he can remember, spawning illegitimate children and forcing them into the army, then proceeding to abuse them, and neglecting your terminally ill wife while dipping your dick into all available holes is what makes you a weak man, Dad!”
His fist slams into me again, followed by a brutal kick that topples me sideways. “I should’ve killed you years ago, you useless piece of shit. You should’ve gone with your worthless mother.”
I growl deep in my throat as I cough up a mouthful of blood and struggle against the binds. “My mother was not worthless.”
“Sure was for spawning a faggot like you.” His boot grinds into my chest, the pressure so sharp, I swear a rib snaps.
