“Definitely is. Don’t be a baby. Anyway, the question is, do you have any siblings?”
“No, but I have four cousins. Mike is nine years older than me, and he lives in Russia, so we don’t see each other as often. My other two cousins, my aunt’s children, are way younger than me, so I just dote on them. I’m closest to my cousin, Lidya. We were born around the same time and were brought up together, so she’s like my sister.” He smiles fondly as if he can see her in front of him. “She wants to be a badass mafia leader, and Dad and Uncle said they’ll make it happen. She wrestles and boxes all the time, often coming home with bruises and cuts, which really worries her parents. Whenever she gets in trouble, she calls me so we can go together behind our parents’ backs and beat the shit out of anyone who’s hurt her.”
“She sounds like fun.”
“She is. A headache, too, sometimes.” He slides his eyes back to me, the shadows of the night starting to eat him. “How about you?”
“A sister, Alina. She’s a ballerina, plays the piano, and is a classical music snob. She’s the softest, most well-mannered kid you’ll ever meet, but she’ll roast you alive if you get on her nerves or criticize her favorite composers—Stravinsky, Prokofiev, and Chopin, by the way—so maybe don’t insult them if you ever meet her.”
His lips twitch. “Noted.”
“Next. Who’s the family you have in Russia?”
He pauses as if he’s choosing his words. “My maternal uncle and a cousin.”
“Are you close?”
“Yes. And I get to ask two questions now.”
“Touché.” I chuckle, then cough when my wound burns.
Vaughn makes a move toward me, but I hold up a hand because, really, I need the distance.
For his sake. Not mine.
He sits back down with a frown, but it soon disappears when I smile.
Vaughn pauses for several beats, then asks in a calm voice, “How does your mother let your father treat you like that? Surely, she’d stand up to him and demand he protect you properly?”
My smile falls. “Going straight in with the deep shit?”
“You never said what questions aren’t allowed.”
“Fiiine.” I stay quiet for some time, but he doesn’t hurry me up—just remains still, as if he’s anticipating my answer. “You’re assuming my mom could stand up to my dad. Maybe in your family, that’s normal, but in mine, and as much as I fucking loathe it, Mom and Alina don’t have a say in anything. She’d just get beaten and possibly kicked out, forcing her to abandon her children.”
He stiffens, tension rolling off him in waves.
My own spine is in a rigid line, because fuck this shit. I don’t want to talk to him about my fucked-up family. But at the same time, I don’t feel pity from him, just concern.
Why would he be concerned for me?
Maybe that’s why I add, “Besides, she has cancer and has been dealing with this chemo shit forever with no real results. She finished her last round of sessions before I came to the camp. She’s feeling better and the doctors are hopeful, but those assholes are always hopeful when they’re at the other end of a gun.”
“Fuck, that sucks.”
I smile. “You curse?”
“Sometimes.” His cheeks go a little red, which tells me it’s definitely less than sometimes.
“It’s unlike you.”
“I can kill, so I can curse.”
“Nah, they’re not correlated. Anyway, tell me about this girl you like and plan to lose your virginity to. I can give you pointers.”
“No, thanks.”
“Come on, don’t be shy, Mishka.”
