“You be careful, alright? Don’t let anything happen to you.”
He punched my shoulder, and I mugged him, but I relented quickly.
“You too, Real. Don’t let Everly’s walls keep you out.”
I opened the door and jumped out, on my way to God knows where with only the clothes on my back. A minute later, I heard Real pull off. As I approached Mikhail where he sat in the blacked-out car, I pulled out my phone. Dialing Theory’s number, my mind raced as I waited for her to pick up.
“Hey, Suga,” her voice flowed through the line, warm and sweet. “You good?”
“I gotta leave,milaya. Immediately,” I managed to say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the anger simmering inside me. “Maxim called. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
She was silent, then…
“Leave? Targen, what you mean? You can’t just?—”
“I really can’t talk,baby, but please, just trust me,” I interrupted. “I’ma miss you, and I swear I’ll come back as soon as I finish. Just remember everything I promised, alright?”
“Nah, don’tyouforget, Targen. You better come back to me,” she replied.
I could hear the tremor in her tone. That shit ate me up, made me feel even worse.
“I will. I promise,” I said.
“Another promise,” she whispered. “I’m counting.”
She disconnected, and I stared at the phone for a minute. Mikhail lowered the window.
“Sir—”
“I know. Just give me a minute. It ain’t like we can be there in three hours,” I said bitterly.
“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “get in. We’ll be there in two-and-a-half.”
(Ten-and-a-half monthslater)
The cold. It whipped through every layer of clothing I had on, bit at my skin, chilled me to the bone. Logic told me that at some point, I should stop noticing it. Hell, I’d grown up in Kansas City, where temperatures could drop below zero, and snow was a winter staple. But KC weather was nothing like this. This was hell—or its opposite—where I’d worked my ass off in sixty degrees below zero temperatures, barely feeling my extremities, my face numb, my eyelashes frozen. Compared to those circumstances, today’s fifteen below was damn near toasty. The man walking ahead of me glanced back, an amused smile on his face.
“Ne rasstraivaytes'. Posetiteli redko privykayut k pogode matushki Rossii,” he consoled me.Do not feel bad. Visitors rarely get used to the weather of Mother Russia.
“Ya ne posetitel',” I corrected quickly.I am not a visitor.
My brother and father were determined that I see myself as Russian in a way that I never had. My acceptance was reluctant but necessary.
“Of course not, Mr. Sidorov,” he responded, fake smile in place.
The fact that he switched to English let me know he didn’t believe his own words, even as he addressed me by my father’s last name. It was another thing that time had yet to make me comfortable with, even as my brother, mypakhan, insisted I accept it.
Thoughts of my half-brother, Maxim, fueled a rage inside me that would not be extinguished until that crazy ass white boy ran me my one. This “training” he had sent me on included months in a Siberian penal colony, fighting for my life against men harder and more violent than almost any I had ever seen and weather that was so brutal, I couldn’t even describe it. The Gulag days were over, Russia assured the rest of the world. But the people who ran Russian prisons apparently missed the memo.
Nights there, I fantasized about the things that kept me warm—my favorite Moncler, my mother’s spiced hot chocolate… and Theory Grace Miller. Memories of the short time I had with her would have me off the hard bunk assigned to me and on the floor doing endless rounds of sit-ups and pushups, trying to shut down my mind. I couldn’t let myself think about her too much, her beautiful face, her sweet laugh, her soft body, her thick curves… Yeah, memories of all that would have me saying fuck this training, fuck the Sidorovs, fuck my promise to my brother.
But I couldn’t. My word was my bond, and Maxim was ruthless. I wasn’t scared of my brother or any man, but I knewhe’d never let me have peace if I backed out. Thoughts of getting back to Theory, of claiming her properly and keeping all my promises to her, were the only things that kept me going through the long, cold, Siberian nights.
Now, I was here to survey some of the diamond mines the Sidorov Bratva controlled here in Yakutia. The man with me, Boris, led me into another building. Nothing more than a shack, really, with equipment they must’ve used in the operations. The only exceptional things about the building were the three men who were standing there looking like death personified. Boris made some excuse and hurried out.
Ahh, shit. Another test. I was going to have to fight my way out.
Again.
