Page 43 of Deviant Need

“Yulian told me something last week. I didn’t bring it up because we hadn’t confirmed it, but we have now,” Father says, and leans forward, fingers drumming on the table. “There’s a rumor that Santiago has dementia. That’s why he’s been acting erratic. There’s a power struggle happening with the cartel.”

Lev shifts in his seat, crossing his arms. “How reliable is this information?”

“Very reliable,” Yulian says. “Multiple sources confirmed it independently. Santiago’s losing it. His cousin Omar has taken over everything now.”

Father rubs his temples. “They hit our Baltimore airstrip. Again. I’m getting tired of this pattern. I need someone to contact Alexei and tell him that he needs to go with Calder to the Baltimore strip and find out more information about this situation.”

The hypocrisy doesn’t escape me. Using Alexei for the dangerous work but making us deliver the orders instead of calling him directly. All because Alexei likes men and Father is a fucking bigot.

“If this dementia situation is true, then Santiago will be hitting us more frequently. Erratic behavior, poor decision-making, desperation. That’s not something we need right now with the Vegas extension and everything else,” our father says.

Yulian leans back in his chair. “What’s our play if the power struggle escalates?”

“We adapt. But first we need intelligence. Real information, not speculation.”

My eyes dart over to Daniil. He’s not looking at me, just stares down at the table completely silent. His face is blank, that careful neutral expression he wears when he doesn’t want anyone reading him.

Our father keeps talking, but his voice starts to blur.

Because suddenly I’m remembering something. His lips brushing against mine. Soft and warm and real.

Did it actually happen?

The memory comes in pieces. His hands coming up to my neck, maybe pulling me closer. The heat of his body pressed against mine. The way he gasped into my mouth when I deepened it, or did I imagine that part?

My mouth opens slightly, and I stare at him across the table. He notices and glances at me for half a second, then looks away fast and stares at the floor instead like it’s the most interesting thing in the room.

It happened… Didn’t it?

“Mikhail,” Father’s voice cuts through, and I snap my attention back, realizing everyone’s looking at me.

“Hm?”

“Are you listening?”

“Yes, Papa.” I have no idea what he just said.

His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t call me out. “Good. Then you understand what I expect from you.”

I nod because what else can I do? My brain is spinning, trying to piece together what happened. Is that why he’s avoiding me?

What did I do?

I was so fucked up from the drugs. I took five benzos after the shower hoping to knock myself out, then smoked two joints with him when we got into bed. Everything’s hazy and fragmented, but the memory of his mouth on mine feels too real to be fake.

My hands come up to my face, and I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood. Panic slams into me so violently I can’t breathe, my lungs seizing up and refusing to work properly. Air won’t go in, won’t come out, just sits there trapped in my throat.

I shoot up from the table and claw at the corner of my t-shirt, pulling at it desperately like the fabric is choking me. The chair tips backward and crashes onto the floor.

Everyone’s staring at me now with disappointment written all over their faces. They probably think I’m high right now, that I came to this meeting wasted.

Stumbling towards the door, my vision starts blurring at the edges.

“Mikhail!” Father’s voice cracks, his hands slamming onto the table hard enough to rattle everything on it.

Ignoring him, I push through the door, barely staying upright as I make my way down the hallway. I slip inside my office and slide down to the floor with my back against the wall, bringing my shaking hands up to my face. I keep gasping for air that won’t come. Each breath feels like trying to breathe through a straw, thin and insufficient and terrifying.

He’s my brother.