Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
LUKYAN VOLKOV
Something soft smacked me in the face. I woke instantly, my body reacting before my mind. The leather hilt of the knife tucked beneath my pillow at all times was gripped between my fingers as I jumped up on the bed, knees braced, arms up defensively, ready for any attack that could come my way.
My big brother was leaning against the doorjam, one foot crossed over the other, arms folded, and a shit-eating grin on his face.
I glared and threw my knife. Aleksandr didn’t move a muscle, not even when the blade embedded deep into the wood right next to his head.
“You big-headed asshole!” I hissed. “I told you I need to be woken up calmly and softly from now on. I have PTSD from the last prank you lot pulled on me in my sleep.”
Aleksandr rolled his eyes. “You do not have PTSD.”
“Yes, I do,” I stated adamantly. “My therapist said so.”
“You don’t have a therapist anymore because you ended up fucking your last one.”
My lips curved. “Oh. Right.” I took notice of the time on the clock next to my bed and let out a groan. “Why the hell did you wake me up? My flight doesn’t leave for another five hours.”
“Come with me.”
“I don’t wanna.” I collapsed back onto the bed and threw my arm over my eyes.
Ain’t no way. Ain’t no fucking way.
I’d stayed up late the night before, well into the early hours of the morning, just hanging out and spending what little time I had left with my family before the big move. There’d been drinking, laughter, constant bickering—our usual. And I had committed every second of it to memory.
Despite the fact that I was hungover and tired as all hell, it had been worth it.
“Lukyan.”
The seriousness in Aleksandr’s voice made me peek out from under my arm.
On the outside, my brother was colder than Antarctica in winter.
But on the inside, he had a heart as warm as the sun.
He hid that kindness behind an impenetrable wall, only allowing it to be seen in rare and important moments.
This was one of those moments. I could see it—a sense of fear and fragility on his face I’d only ever glimpsed once or twice in my life.
“Please,” he uttered softly.
I shot straight up. “I’ll get dressed.”
Aleksandr took me outside. We walked along the gravel footpath in silence. It was 7 a.m., and despite the fact that it was early, it was still as hot as Satan’s balls.
The aftermath of the attack at my going-away party had all been cleaned up, the only remnants of it left behind being the bloodstained grass.
I wasn’t sure what this whole thing was about, but I had the sneaking suspicion it held a great importance to my brother.
So, I went along with him. No questions. No jokes. No inappropriate comments or remarks. Just patience, which wasn’t a trait I particularly possessed in situations such as that.
I could do it for him, though.
Based on the path he was taking us down, I knew exactly where we were going. Aleksandr was a few steps ahead of me, so I just followed his lead as he took us past the warehouse, continuing down the footpath and right to the shooting range behind it.
Sitting in the middle of the field was a large, wooden structure, designed with separate sections so multiple people could fire at once. Directly opposite it, several miles down, were the targets, set up and spaced out evenly in correlation to the spots in the wooden structure.
Usually, the target range was a hive of activity. There was always someone there, practicing and honing their skills. But that time, it was empty, not a single soul in sight except for Aleksandr and me.
He walked into the shooting structure, went right to the slot in the middle, and turned to face me, arms crossed over his chest. Sitting on the bench were three different handguns. A Glock, 9mm Luger, and an MP-446 Viking.
I arched a brow. “Seriously? You’re testing me?”
Aleksandr said nothing. Just continued to stand there all tough and stoic and shit. I knew the drill. He wouldn’t say a damn thing or let me leave until I did whatever it was he wanted me to do.
I wasn’t an idiot, and could put two and two together.
Releasing a sigh that I made sure was loud as fuck so he could hear it, I picked up the Glock first, aimed—
“Disassemble,” he barked.
I gave him an incredulous look. Fucking seriously?
Fine. Keeping my eyes on him, I disassembled the gun with practiced ease, not looking away from him once as I unclicked and took apart each piece, one at a time, placing them down on the bench.
Then, without waiting for prompting, I put it all back together just as fast, turned slightly, and—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
I didn’t stop until I emptied the entire fucking clip into the target. Once it was empty, I ejected the clip, slapped in another one, adjusted to the target on my right, and fired again and again.
As soon as the bullets ran out, I switched the Glock for the Luger and did the whole thing again, disassembling and reassembling it all in the span of thirty seconds before taking aim and firing all the bullets in the clips at the targets in front of me.
I didn’t slow down. I didn’t stop. I went headfirst into the MP-446 Viking, taking it apart, putting it back together, and unloading all the bullets without an ounce of hesitation, my aim fucking perfect.
Aleksandr watched me, eyes as critical as ever as he studied my every single move.
When the final bullet left the MP-446 Viking, smoke billowing into the air from the barrel, I straightened, slammed the gun back down onto the bench, and faced my brother head-on.
“Satisfied?”
The bastard, of course, didn’t answer me.
He pressed the big red button on the pole next to him.
The targets shot forward from their spots all the way across the field, thanks to the metal track they were on, and stopped right in front of us.
He inspected each target closely, seeing exactly where each of the bullets landed.
Most of them where bullseyes because I was a good fucking shot.
There was a stray one here or there that went somewhere else.
Sometimes, I liked to mix it up a little.
Some of them had shots in the stomach because a gunshot wound to the stomach was painful as shit, and sometimes, you didn’t want your opponent to just straight up die.
You wanted to be able to interrogate them and ask questions before they died.
A couple of the others had a few shots to the groin because… well…I was evil.
Aleksandr inspected each one closely. Methodically. With the eyes of someone actively looking for a mistake.
Irritation flashed through me, and I gritted my teeth to refrain from speaking my mind.
After what felt like thirty fucking minutes, he finally gave a stiff nod, pushed the button again, and the targets flew back to their designated spots.
I thought it was over. I hoped it was over, but of course, I should have known better. Aleksandr was on a mission, and when my brother had his mind set on something, nothing got in his way. Nothing stopped him.
He picked up the three handguns, deposited them on the bench beside him, and replaced them with an M16 assault rifle.
I rolled my eyes. Here we fucking go.
He flicked the lever underneath the button on the pole.
Dozens of targets popped up across the field in a random, sporadic frenzy, impossible to anticipate.
I picked up the assault rifle, checked it over quickly before hiking it up, my hold perfect, the heel of the gun tucked tightly into the crease of my shoulder, and fired.
Targets sprang up, one after the other after the other, all across the field. Sometimes, one at a time. Sometimes, two or three, spread out over a distance, forcing me to shoot and adjust my aim with sharp pivots left and right.
Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!
It was easy. As if I wasn’t even in control of my own body, the muscle memory from years of doing that exact same exercise taking over and guiding my aim.
I blinked, and the whole thing was over, the magazine—filled with thirty rounds—completely empty. I ejected the empty mag, took the assault rifle apart, placing all the pieces down onto the bench as I went, and then turned to face my brother.
“Are we done now, or do you want to go check my shots?”
He went to check.
The dick.
Aleksandr knew I was being sarcastic. But he was testing me for God only knew what reason, and that testing involved checking if all my shots had hit their marks.
I leaned against the back wall, arms crossed over my chest, absolutely stewing in the angry and negative emotions circling inside me.
He’s just looking out for you. He’s just looking out for you. He’s just—
“You missed one,” Aleksandr yelled out from the middle of the field.
—a fucking asshole, I growled in my head.
I tracked him with my eyes as he checked each of my targets, my anger bubbling inside me, higher and higher, threatening to boil over.
I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when he was finished.
Maybe a good job or, fuck, even a not bad.
But my brother gave me none of that. He marched back to me with his “drill sergeant” expression firmly plastered on his face, nodded once, turned, and started walking back up the path we came.
He’s just looking out for you.
I repeated it over and over in my head as I followed him, like the words themselves held the power to quell the raging anger inside me.
They didn’t. Each step I took, my anger grew, and I found it hard to keep it all back.
A slight rustle came from behind me. It was barely audible—something that, under normal circumstances, I might not have even heard, but I’d been honing my skills, remaining hyperalert in all situations, thanks to my grandfather’s antics.
A heartbeat later, I felt it. That creepy feeling of someone standing right behind you. In your personal space. Breathing down your fucking neck.
I always thought it was some strange defense mechanism our bodies had to alert us to the possibility of danger. Like it was saying, look out, there’s someone with unclear intentions behind you.
Mine was going ballistic, and I always trusted my instincts.
They guided my body right, and I just missed the thrust of a blade.
Another second later, and I would have had a knife firmly lodged in my side.
I grabbed my attacker’s wrist, plucked the knife from his hand, swung his arm back to flip him onto the ground, and jammed the knife into his chest in one quick, flawlessly executed move.
Except…nothing happened.
There was no shout of pain. No blood. Just…nothing.
With a frown on my face, I pulled the weapon away to see that it had a retractable blade.
It was fake.
What the fuck? Who tries to kill someone with a retractable—Oh, that motherfucker.
My gaze snapped to Aleksandr in front of me, rage not only burning in my eyes, but in my goddamn soul. “Seriously? Another test?”
He shrugged a shoulder, completely unashamed of his actions. The anger that had been slowly building inside of me for years reached breaking point.
“You know what? Fuck you,” I snarled, getting to my feet, nothing but my rage fueling me.
Aleksandr took a step back at the harshness of my tone.
Sure, I said shit like that all the time. I swore at my siblings. Fought with them. But that time? That time it was different.
And Aleksandr knew it.
“I am sick and tired of you and everyone else treating me like I’m goddamn incompetent. Like I don’t know how to do my fucking job.”
“Lukyan—”
“Oh, don’t fucking ‘Lukyan’ me. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to know you have such little faith in me?”
That impenetrable armor of his cracked. “I do have faith in you—” Aleksandr tried to insist, but my laugh cut him off before he could say anything else. It was one devoid of humor, filled with only derision and sorrow.
“No. You don’t. Let me ask you a question, Aleksandr. And if I’m wrong, I’ll apologize, and we can move on from this like nothing happened.
” I crossed my arms over my chest and glared him down.
“If Nikolai was the one going to Russia, if he was the one leaving today, would you have pulled this same shit?”
Aleksandr stared at me, his silence speaking volumes, saying everything he was refusing to.
I shook my head. “You know what’s funny?
I don’t even need you to answer that because I already know.
Nikolai went into the fucking lion’s den six months ago.
He went to an undisclosed location, completely unarmed, surrounded by enemies with absolutely no backup…
.His circumstances were ten times worse than mine, and yet, you didn’t feel the need to ‘test’ his skills, did you? ”
When he said nothing, I pushed for the confirmation I so desperately needed.
“For once, Aleksandr—just for once—respect me enough to tell me how you really feel. Tell me the truth.”
His words came out stiff and uncomfortable, as if they’d been pulled from him one agonizing syllable at a time. “No, I didn’t feel the need to test Nikolai.”
“But you did with me.” I didn’t phrase it like a question, but he answered it as if it were one.
Body stiff, jaw locked, Aleksandr grunted, “Yes.”
Even though I already knew what he was going to say, it still hurt.
Knowing my big brother didn’t believe in me, thought I was nothing but a disappointment, cut deeper than any blade ever could. There was just something about letting down your older sibling that hit different.
Sadness took over Aleksandr’s usually cold and hard features. “Ya prosto ne khochu, chtoby s toboy chto-to sluchilos’, bratishka.” I just don’t want anything to happen to you, little brother.
I smiled, but it was all fake. “I have enough self-awareness to understand I am part of the problem. I behave and act a certain way, so you assume that is all I know how to be. It’s not.
I can be just as serious and ruthless as you, Aleksandr. The difference between you and me is that you wear that shit on the outside.
I choose to hide mine. Maybe try to remember that before you completely write me off next time.
” I turned and walked away, not even giving him the chance to hurt me with whatever his reply would be.