Page 132 of Violent Pawn

63

ANASTASIA

Images—memories—flash.

Papa instructing the soldier to fight me, to teach me the same way he does Lev. The man grimaces but does as instructed and runs at me. His shoulder jams into my stomach, probably bruising me internally, and I’m slammed to the mat.

The businessman turned target for the night comes down on top of me, hands gripping my thighs open. If he paid the slightest bit of attention, he would have watched me slip the drugs into his drink earlier. Now, it’s a matter of time until they kick in and I can kill him without a fight.

My ex, the first man I ever murdered. Whether or not he was a piece of shit, it was murder. Plain and simple.

Papa shoving me out of the room when Lev was being dragged away.

Papa always being at the centre of everything bad.

And the last memory I have of him, pre-dead body era.

Lev’s a stranger, his expression filled with cold fury as he shoves our father out the door of our house, causing him to trip down the front steps. “Leave,” he demands in an equally empty voice. “Leave and never return to Russia.”

Papa gets to his feet, straightening his jacket. Even now, he insists on looking proper. “I am your kin.”

“Exactly. For the blood we share, Anastasia and I have decided you’re allowed to live. Enjoy it while it lasts. Leave here and don’t return to Russia. Your time as an Elite is up, and if you do anything to ruin Vanessa, I’ll ruin you.”

Papa shifts his unfeeling gaze onto me. “And you, my sweet, little whore? You’ll never be what you’re trying to become.”

A low rumble comes from Lev, but I nudge in front of him, reminding my brother I can stand up for myself. “What am I trying to become?”

“A normal woman. You’re an assassin, and Vanessa will never see you as more than that. You’re trying to be her friend, but life will eat you up and spit you out. You’ll never be average. You’ll never get married to a respectable man once I ensure everyone across Russia is aware of the many men you’ve spread your legs for.”

That might hurt if I gave a fuck.

“Good thing I never plan on getting married. I’ll never fall in love. I’ll curse your name before I do.”

“Cayman Islands,” Lev states coldly, his voice slicing through our spat. “That’s where you’ll go. You return, Papa, and we’ll kill you.”

He sneers, straightening his coat again. “You’re as big of a disappointment as I ever feared. Useless fuckin’ boy.”

Once he slinks away, Lev turns around. “You’re not a whore. If you want to get married, never let that stop you.”

Still watching where Papa disappeared, I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. Like I said, I’ll curse his name before falling in love.”

Well. What do you know?

Fuck you, Papa, and every curse out there.

I fell in love.

64

NERO

Amedically induced fucking coma. A coma.

I nearly lost it when the doctor explained her CT scan came back revealing internal bruising and a concussion. Those accompany the cuts and bruises, as well as a broken nose.

Beeps fill the room, and while I’d like to say they’re irritating, they reassure me that she’s breathing. That, and her chest beneath the hospital gown rising and falling every so often. I live for those movements, unable to tear my attention away, to do anything but count them as she pulls through.

It’s been forty-eight hours since she went under. The doctor feels good about releasing her from the coma today, stating the worst has passed. Then it’s a matter of her eventually waking on her own, following more days of healing in the hospital before being put on bed rest at home.