Chapter 23
Mikhail
Twenty-two years ago
That same night, Ekaterina fastened her silk robe, put on a designer fur coat, and dragged Mikhail out of the house.
His small wrist hurt in her tight grip, the wind lapping at his tear-streaked face.
But he said nothing. For whatever reason, she was taking him down the small road behind the mansion back to where his brother was.
She wasn’t going to free him—that, he knew.
The determination in her steps only made his stomach churn.
Something bad was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it—no father to cry out to for help, no guards to stop this woman and her madness.
When the Pakhan was away on business, Ekaterina was their master.
They reached the small wooded area near the root cellar, and the men waiting there stood aside.
“Bring him out,” Ekaterina ordered. “And get some chains.”
“Please,” Mikhail pleaded, the word rare on his lips. “Leave him alone. I’ll—I’ll stop coming here.” A lie, of course, but a necessary one. Not that she would believe him.
The door opened, and two guards descended into the dark cellar, their heavy combat boots thudding against the stairs until the sound became muffled.
Mikhail waited with his heart in his throat, making himself sick with anxiety.
There was nothing worse than seeing the person you loved be on the receiving end of unfathomable abuse and not being able to stop it.
Eventually, Wolf’s grunts speared the silence.
The guards threw him to the wet, rooted ground, and because he was so malnourished, he didn’t find the strength to fight back. Mikhail noticed a split lip, and a bunch of fresh bites had appeared on his face—the blood there was still glistening under the moonlight. He wanted to vomit.
“Strip his back,” Ekaterina’s voice thundered. “Whip him until he passes out.”
Mikhail yanked on his wrist, but his mother’s grip only tightened, her nails biting into his skin.
“Stop! Just stop!” he cried out. “I said I’ll stop coming here. What don’t you understand?!”
“And I said I’ll make you care about your future. One day, you’ll thank me.” She smiled down at him, but her eyes were frowning, the smile cruel and unsettling. “I said. Whip. Him.”
Wolf didn’t cry when he heard her words, though he did find the strength to look up. His eyes were dead, but his lips twitched like a promise, like a future threat. “If I were you, I’d kill me tonight,” he said and left it at that.
Mikhail knew what that meant. He knew because he felt what his brother felt, the rage and need for vengeance, for spilling blood.
He hadn’t even been initiated into the Bratva yet—hadn’t made his first kill—but tonight, he felt like he belonged already.
Like the killer instinct had crawled under his skin, never intending to leave again.
At just eight years old, he welcomed it and understood his place in this world at last.
When the first lash landed on Wolf’s back, he growled so loud, Mikhail felt it in his bones. Bits of skin flew everywhere. Mikhail blinked, shocked and paralyzed, before thrashing in his mother’s grasp.
“Stop! Just stop! Stop!” he yelled.
His mother pursed her lips. “You stop. Stop being so goddamn pathetic. You want these men to obey you? Show them you’re someone worth taking orders from. Take the chains and finish the job yourself.”
“W-what?” Mikhail breathed out.
The first lash landed.
Crack!
Then another. Another.
The chains lapped at Wolf’s terrorized skin, his grunts becoming feral.
“You heard me,” Ekaterina answered.
Mikhail shook his head, and she shrugged, as if there was nothing she could do about the situation at hand.
“Then let’s get you back to bed. They can finish the job here,” she added.
“No…no…” Mikhail mumbled, his entire body humming with an aching nausea.
Crack! Crack!
She yanked him backward, toward the path leading to the house.
Each step away felt like a betrayal. He couldn’t take his eyes off what was happening behind him.
He couldn’t leave his brother to die because he had been stupid enough to get caught feeding him.
Maybe if he took those chains, if he pretended to hurt him…
She’d still be satisfied. And Wolf wouldn’t have to suffer as much.
Crack!
“Wait! Wait—” Mikhail pleaded.
Ekaterina halted, a victorious smile spreading on her face. “Yes?”
“Tell them…tell them to stop.” Mikhail swallowed, his body shaking uncontrollably. “I’ll—I’ll do it.”
“You tell them. Get them to listen. Show them who the fuck is in charge.”
Mikhail didn’t have to think twice. When he yanked his hand out of his mother’s grip again, this time, she freed him. He found himself running back, yelling at the guards with all the strength he could muster, until the whip made of chains touched the ground at last.
Mikhail didn’t take it immediately. Instead, he crouched next to his brother’s face, lifting it up with his still-bloody hands.
Wolf was heaving as his eyes barely fluttered open. He made a monumental effort to look at Mikhail, to force his lips to move and thank him.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Mikhail cried, his voice thin and ragged.
“It’s alright.” He winced. “Do what you need to do. It’s the only way.”
Mikhail nodded fast and hard, turning his face to his mother, waiting there like a statue carved from nightmares, her impatience running thin.
Ahead of him, the guards waited too, their eyes empty and bored, as if for them, this was just another day at work.
Mikhail took the whip in his small hands and shuddered, scrambling to his feet and going behind his brother.
The way Wolf’s back looked—raw and stripped of skin in multiple places—made the vomit crawl higher up his throat. He knew once he let that whip hit him once, he’d break. Maybe Wolf would too.
“If you’re not going to do it, just say so. Stop wasting people’s time—” Ekaterina chided.
Mikhail didn’t let her finish the sentence.
Instead, he lifted those chains up to the sky…
and brought them down on Wolf’s flesh with a mere ounce of the strength he actually possessed.
Enough to fool his mother into deeming it good enough, but not enough to cut into his brother’s skin like those psychopaths did.
Wolf’s grunt, however, was just as loud as before. He, too, was pretending.
After the first crack, Mikhail couldn’t help it. He fell to his knees and puked until only acid came out. By the time he got up again, his mother and the guards were gone.
Only later would he understand that she had never needed him to finish what he started. One lash had been enough. Once he’d crossed that line, she could always push him further the next time.