1. Ciro
1
CIRO
“S hakal!” Matvey laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
“Matty-Mack!” I clap him on the back.
“You look like shit, this is usual now, no?”
“I make this prison uniform look good.”
“Today, you finally get to change into regular clothes.”
“I’m actually extremely excited to wear my blood-spattered dirty laundry from when they threw me in here.”
“Volk will outfit you soon with new clothes. No worry.”
“I’m not. I’m more worried about making it to the gate.”
“Good point.” He nods, tonging the inside of his cheek.
Our rivals in the Gulag make it a point to make one last try for any member of an opposing branch of the Bratva leaving the prison on release day. Super cool.
Almost as awesome as three months of nonstop fighting for my life.
Without Matvey at my back, along with the other handful of Volk Bratva members that call this place home, I would’ve been dead a thousand times over. They’ve become like family.
Matvey like one of my own brothers.
“So, what is first thing you will eat when out of this?—”
“Shitsmear hotel?”
“I’ll never quite get your humor, Shakal. What you say is just true statements.”
“It’s all about how you say it, though. Never mind.”
I swear he does that to piss me off.
Russians understand sarcasm just fine.
But every time I make a joke about the god-awful room service at this place, I get fucking crickets. I will say, though. The amenities have improved since I got here.
After two weeks and that initial arena battle, they only tried to shank me in my sleep every other night. They got me a few times.
Several dozen lost fingers later, they cut it down to once a week. Guess they got sick of me cutting off body parts.
The beatings in the yard were always on the table, but I tried to make them regret it.
I laughed when they broke my fingers. I laughed when they cracked my ribs.
But then they broke my nose.
And nobody was laughing. I don’t remember much in the blur that followed…
Except the screams.
Call me conceded, but nobody fucks with my face!
Apparently, I went apeshit and tore some guy’s ear off. They finally managed to get me tied up. Beat me right proper.
When I woke up in the infirmary a few days later, I had a little leeway. A little respect.
Every one of my attackers outstayed my hospital visit. A couple transferred to the furnace in the morgue.
I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get to me.
The constant panic. The lack of sleep. The brutal weather and even worse treatment by the guards and inmates alike.
But I fucking made it.
And ever since then, they call me a few different names.
Not sure exactly what “ bies ” means, but I think it’s some sort of demon. And I might have leaned into it a bit to fuck with them.
I make sure they always hear me coming, chuckling as I walk down a hall by myself. It’s satisfying to hear them scatter ahead of me. At least the low-level rabble.
The name Shakal started whispering around a little while later, and it stuck. Almost 100 percent sure Matvey is the source for the nickname, truth be told.
Call me a drama king, but I kinda like it. If my twin is alive somewhere, he’s rolling his eyes at me.
The Jackal.
Fits the bill even more because I joined up with the Volk. Means “wolf.”
Brotherhood of the Wolf, to be more accurate. And although I am sworn in blood, I doubt they’ll ever completely accept me since I’m an outsider.
I guess I’ll see once I get out and present myself to the big boss.
Speaking of which…
“Tell me again what happens after I make it to the gate?”
“We make it to gate. Someone from Volk will be waiting to take you home.”
“Home. You say it like it’s your home.”
“It is. Same for you now.”
“Not what I meant. Why are you always so cagey about your life before we met?”
“Right, because you spill beans about Diamante family history all of time, no?”
“Hey! You actually used that phrase right—Ow!” His fist numbs my shoulder. “And keep it down! I kept my fucking mouth shut about my past in here because there’s always someone listening !”
I hiss out the last bit, annoyed that he used my last name.
Not that it’s a secret.
But it doesn’t do me any favors. A lot of the branches of the Russian mob hate my family.
With good reason, apparently.
“Heads up, guard coming for us.”
“Oh goody! One last baton to the back of the knees, I hope!”
I slap on my Shakal grin as the two brick shithouses in full riot gear step into our common area, making a beeline right for us. Not that I really like playing the role, but…
Doesn’t hurt anything bein’ careful.
Never know what the Jackal might do to you if you even look at him wrong. And it actually kind of works. Even with the guards.
My buddy narrows his eyes, slowing down warily as he approaches me.
“Hands on head!” he barks in Russian, pointing his billy club at my skull.
“ Zastav’ menya, ” I chuckle, sneering.
And oh, does he ever make me .
A gloved hand snatches my wrist, wrenching it around and kicking out my knee, driving me to the ground. The sting of the cold cement rings through my kneecaps in that sweet, familiar way. Like the way stubbing your toe feels. Every. Single. Time.
Never gets any more fun.
But it’s all part of the show.
Can’t break character as long as I’m in these walls. It’s the only thing keeping half the population ill at ease enough to not swarm my ass and tear me apart. I’m honestly lucky as fuck.
Or maybe they’re all way more scared of the Volk’s influence here.
Apparently, my new family is the most brutal in the country as far as retaliation goes. Sounds like a blast. Harassment and hazing are all fair game, but you kill one of us?
Let’s just say the only time it happened while I was here, three of the Krest Bratva thugs got skewered and posted out on the outer wall. Not sure what killed them first, the bleeding or the cold.
Not a fate I’m looking to have thrown at me.
So, I put on a hell of a show at Ledyanoy Ad Prison. Fitting. “Frozen Hell” pretty much sums it up.
And now, I’ve got an encore waiting for me on the other side of those walls. A score to settle with Dom Vipera if I ever get the chance, and more immediately, some very choice words for a certain sexy Russian Mafia woman and her blond, flattopped cohort.
The two who put me here.
Both members of the Volk Bratva. The biggest sect of the mob that runs half the country. The ports. The nightclubs.
They caught me snooping around on my family’s orders and decided to see what I was made of. Or see me eliminated by this shithole’s inmates.
So far, all Matvey’s shared about them is that they are not to be messed with. That he knows them from rumors and talk on the street. Supposedly he is also being initiated.
Yeah. Well.
“Get up and do not give trouble, fuck-ass!” The guard growls in my ear, dragging me to my feet. By now the whole block is in an uproar, clacking anything in reach on the bars.
It’s an announcement of my departure.
The front gate is a half mile walk from the main entrance to the grounds. A long way out in the open for just about anything to happen.
I’m not given any time to pack. No chance to plan or say my farewells. So I just grin up at the faces lining the railing, the cells along most of the hallways, hands reaching out, voices shouting obscenities and cheers after me.
“Have drink for me out there, Shakal!” A familiar voice shouts.
“I will, Dmitri! You have one in here for me!”
“Fuck you! I am sick of toilet wine!”
“And yet your breath reeks of it even now, brat ! Stuff’s going to make you go blind.”
“Eh, then I do not have to look at all of these ugly faces. Proshchaniye, zasranets. ” I catch the last of his words as they slam the door to the cell block behind us.
“Do svidaniya, Dmitri.” At least my Russian improved.
Dmitri is one of those guys who will never get out.
Which means he is either a plant by one of the gangs, so institutionalized that he lives here permanently, or he crossed someone in his own organization. I would think they’d just kill them, but this place is worse than death, so…
Heading down the main complex building halls, I catch a glimpse of Matvey, being led along by the other guard, brought down through another block. At least we get out at the same time.
“Looking good Matty!” I snort, eyeing his change of clothing. He’s covered in old mud, dried and stained. You get them back just the way they took them off.
“It’s bullshit! I got all the way here, barely a scrape on me, and one of these ublyudki trip me into the ditch.”
“Shut your face, Volk. Keep walking.”
He’s herded out as I have a handful of familiar clothing shoved into my chest. Guess I just change right here on the bench in the hall. As soon as I’m dressed, I stumble through the same door and out across a small courtyard. I barely recognize the exit.
The night I got brought in is a blur in my memory.
“You coming?”
“I was giving you a head start.” I chuckle, joining Mat at the final archway.
“You first.” He smirks, letting me lead the way.
“Fine, you chicken.”
“Duck.”
“That’s a terrible comeback?—”
“No duck !” He shouts and I’m almost too late.
I feel the swish of something heavy swing into the air where my head just was.
A scuffle behind me has me dropping back, snagging a pant leg with one hand as I hear Mat grunt, taking a blow across the shoulder. Yanking with all my strength, I pull the ambusher’s leg out from under him at an odd angle, twisting until I hear a snap.
His low wail of pain precedes his full body weight hitting me square in the face.
Shit.
It’s like wrestling with a sack of dumbbells to get the guy off me. Just in time to spring to my feet in the center of a ring of six Krest Bratva brutes.
All of them armed.
All of them scarred with plenty of wounds from yours truly.
I disarm the first, whipping the shiv around and stabbing him in the forearm, disabling his hand. He just grunts, swallowing the pain like a true Bratva. Blood and pain are signs of pride.
Screams are for weaklings.
Well, lets see if I can get some of them screaming for me.
This place made me tougher than all of them. They tried to destroy me. They tried to beat me down. And I just smiled. It’s why they call me the Jackal.
That selfsame grin splits my lip in the dry cold and a laugh shakes my chest as two more rush me. But I see their fear.
I use it, making one flinch with a feint, kicking him in the side of the knee, whipping my elbow into the face of the other, spinning back to drive my knee into the falling guy’s sternum with a sickening crunch.
Another from the side, I flick out my hand lightning fast, crushing his windpipe in a single chop.
A chord loops over my head from behind and I barely get my hand up in time to keep from getting throttled. My other hand finds a handful of crotch and I squeeze with everything I have.
Now he’s screaming!
I hear cussing and shouting and know that it’s time to boogie. My choker is rolling on the floor as I hop over him, snagging Matvey from between two thugs and racing away.
“Hey!”
“More coming. Time to go.”
So we run. Hard.
We’re halfway to the gate when I hear Matvey yelp, but he barely stumbles, keeping pace behind me.
“Fucking zipgun!” He grunts followed by that strange, low-keening wail he cries whenever he gets stressed out. He was probably one of those nutcase kids that screamed when he got mad.
“Why are you yelling?”
“Helps me drown out your laugh. You know how crazy you sound? Gives me nightmares.”
“I wasn’t…” Oh. I guess I was.
Maybe I’m the nutcase.
“See? Just like when you forget how vicious you fight.”
“It’s not that bad!” I chuckle, gasping. “Besides, we always win!”
“Yes, win. If that is what you call the twisted things you do when you fight. You are like nightmare clown.”
“Hey! I am not a clown. I just need a haircut!”
“It is a bit like Bozo, yes?” Matvey coughs out a laugh, limping the last few feet to the gate. We turn, looking back at the mass of screaming men charging down the walk.
“Hm. I think we could take ’em.”
“Fuck you!” Mat snorts, shoving me through the open pedestrian gate and hobbling after me.
The guards slam the gate behind us, firing off several shots into the air, or possibly the crowd still rushing the other side. They immediately reverse course, seeking shelter.
We made it.
“I bid you farewell, gentlemen. L’chaim ! To life, and never seeing any of your fucking faces again!” I open my arms wide, shouting at the gate.
The only reply is the barrel of a guard’s rifle out a window. Mat and I hustle along down the road as quickly as we can, not even looking back. Good riddance.
It’s a half mile to the “parking lot.”
By the time we reach the small gravel plain, Mat is sweating, hopping on one foot. The bullet must have been a small caliber, lodged in his calf. Fired out of a makeshift gun. Car antenna probably. Like in the old greaser movies.
Won’t kill him but hurts like hell.
“Look at these two sad sacks of shit.” A deep, resonant voice snorts, stepping out of one of two black SUVs parked at the end of the dirt road.
“Fyodor,” Matvey grumbles, letting me go and trying to stand.
“You’d recognize a sack of shit when you see one. I mean, assuming you look at yourself in the mirror from time to time.” I should really keep my trap shut. But that Dolph Lundgren looking mother fucker sure does know how to make me instantly pissed off.
“Ciro!” Mat snaps quietly, giving me a look.
“Ah. The jester.” Fyodor sneers.
“That’s it? No comeback?” I honestly must look shocked.
“No need. I will come to break your back soon enough.”
“That was…actually not bad.” I nod, smirking.
An expression that is immediately replaced by an open-mouthed silent shout of pain as someone kicks the back of my knee out, driving me to the ground.
“Mind your tongue, initiate.” The woman’s voice is dark, sultry. Frigid.
Glancing over my shoulder, I catch a glimpse of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. Raven black hair. Crystal blue eyes. Hips like a goddess.
“My tongue is completely at your service?—”
The boot takes me in the jaw, knocking me clean out.
* * *
A faint, alluring scent fills my nostrils.
Spices, sweet honey. Shivers up my spine.
Instantly, I’m rolling up to a seated position, groaning slightly but mostly just wondering what the hell has my cock as rigid as a prison cell bar in my pants. Memory cartwheels through my addled brain, smashing me back to reality.
Her.
The queen of all my existence.
And I don’t even know her name.
The black sack over my head whips off, leaving me squinting in fluorescent light.
“Clothes off,” she says.
A hasty glance around tells me I’m in some sort of communal shower, like a sports locker room or barracks baths. And we’re alone.
“Is this another test?”
“Only if you try my patience.”
The effect of her proximity is even more potent than it was three months ago. I’m riled up. Turned on. Pissed off.
So I raise my chin challengingly.
They’ve already done the worst they could do. And I know she could have me killed in a heartbeat if she wanted to. That kind of finality really puts things in perspective.
I’m confident. Death doesn’t scare me.
“It’s really nice to see you again.”
“I would agree. You’re even prettier than before.”
“You mean the scars? Not the makeover I wanted.” My face is almost unrecognizable in the mirror across from me, behind her.
“You look like you want to fight me. Like you want to attack me.”
“I don’t know what I want to do more, stab you or kiss you. You threw me in a fucking prison hell.”
“And you defied everyone’s expectations, Shakal.”
“And what, now I am one of your plebs. I’ve been at this game way too fucking long.
There’s gotta be more to this.”
“Indeed. Pyotr will explain all soon. For the time being, you will have duties. Job. A place to live.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You should. I chose you. You are mine.” The way she says it makes my dick throb, even though I know she means that I am her pick for initiation into the brotherhood. “Now, get clean.”
“Okay…I guess I’ll just…” I start stripping off my filthy clothes, dropping each piece of fabric to the ground, never breaking her gaze.
A tiny smirk plays on those perfectly round and plump lips.
“Care to join me?” I grit out as I move toward the spout. It’s rusty and old. Feels kinda comforting in a way. Rugged.
“I take hot showers in the main house.”
Her taunt makes my belly clench as I unbutton my pants, sliding them down and kicking them off. The boxers are last and she bites her lip as she traces down my body with her eyes.
Fuck me.
But seriously. I’ve been in jail for three months.
Even so, the way she acts, the attitude, makes me want to show her up. To taunt her right back, so I take my time, turning away so she can’t see everything yet.
Glancing back, I catch her licking her lips, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.
“You watch all the initiates strip?”
“We watch all initiates on first day. They have to rehabilitate from Gulag. Some try to run. Some kill themselves.”
“Why am I the only one here?”
“Matvey is getting bullet out of his leg.”
“And the others?”
“What others?”
Shit. The thought hadn’t quite occurred to me. Three other guys went in with us. One died the first day. The other two survived.
And were still there when I left.
Sighing, I reach for the first knob. Nothing happens. The next creaks loudly, stuck.
“Here, you must jiggle it—” she steps in close, way too close, reaching around me to grab the knob.
The sensation of her chest pressing into my back has my entire frame locked up. Tense as hell.
Right then the water sputters onto my chest, freezing cold.
Nothing I’m not used to, and the feeling of her right there has my blood pumping, my temperature scalding.
“My, my…” she mutters, looking down over my shoulder. I’m standing firm at attention.
Our eyes meet for a second, smoldering.
Aching. Our lips are an inch apart.
Until I shift to the left, letting enough cold water spatter back to make her move. I’m such a jackass. But I wanna make her work for it.
As if she can read my mind, she catches my eye, licking her lip and spinning her finger in a circle. With a huff, I turn, so slowly, hating myself for how badly I want her to grip my cock and pump me off right here.
I start to lather up, eager to be out of the water, but loving every second of this.
“Make sure and get clean everywhere…” Her eyes trail lower.
“Only cause you asked nicely,” I growl, tracing my hand down my stomach, soaping the length of my dick and flexing involuntarily in the frigid water.
“Are you going to take care of that?”
I try to hide my shock, the slightest bulge of my eyes.
I’m usually the one with the upper hand in these types of situations. At least in my past. But the way she has me completely at a disadvantage is absolutely doing it for me.
My chest heaves as I grasp my cock in my fist.
And she tugs down the front of her shirt, pressing her spectacular breasts together and moaning out the softest sigh for me.
I don’t stand a fucking chance.