Chapter Three Maskim
As I sped along the highway towards the Newark airport, my mind twisted and turned in a jangled mess.
More than anything at the moment, I missed my fucking bodyguards.
Whenever I attended a hunt, I refused them.
My transformation into the Beast was something I didn’t want to share with anyone in my world.
I didn’t give a fuck if it meant I was vulnerable to our enemies.
But now that I was trapped within the steel frame with my spiraling emotions, I wished for someone to take the wheel. To be able to dissociate and not have to concentrate on the road and the drivers around me. All I could do was dial Dima over and over again.
Every time his phone went to voicemail, my chest clenched tighter. With no outlet for my emotions, I took it out on Dima’s phone. “Answer my fucking calls, mudak! T-Tell me to my face if I’ve got a fucking b-bullseye on me from the Kavanaughs b-because of your actions!”
The fact that he was ignoring me made me livid. He’d truly morphed into our father, and it was fucking devastating. After losing his mother at Father’s hands, I never thought it would be possible. We’d spent years keeping each other from that fate.
And now he’d embraced the evil we’d despised.
About an hour outside of Newark, my phone finally rang. I growled in frustration at the sight of Aleks’s name on the screen. Without even a hello, I said, “Let me g-guess. We’re at war with the Kavanaughs.”
“Dima’s been shot.”
Every molecule in my body shuddered to a stop. “What?” I demanded.
“One of the Kavanaugh bodyguards returned fire when Dima shot at Kellan.”
“Was Kellan hit?”
A pause came over the line. “Mila screamed Kellan’s name, so he had time to react.”
Fuck. This was bad. This was so very, very bad. If Mila had chosen Kellan over her family, she was in grave danger with Father. As much as I hated to, I had to shift my concern from my sister to Dima.
“What about D-Dima?”
At Aleks’s anguished breath, my blood ran cold. “Not good.”
“What d-do you mean?”
Another agonized breath. Another knife to my heart and sledgehammer to my soul. “When they went in to get the bullet…something went wrong.”
“What?”
“He had a stroke on the table, and now he’s in a coma.”
“Jesus Christ, Aleks. How’s he having a stroke at twenty-eight?”
“I don’t know. That’s just what they told us a little while ago. We’re just landing from Pittsburgh.”
“Wait, what the fuck were you d-doing there?”
“It was Leonid Kleist’s birthday, remember?”
With my mind reeling, I recognized the Pittsburgh pahkan’s name. “Right,” I murmured.
“We won’t know more until we get to the house.”
Like most Bratva families, our mansion included a full medical bay. “P-Please keep me p-posted.”
“I will. Where are you?”
“Heading home from Jersey.”
Normally, Aleks would’ve inquired what I was doing out of state. But he was too rattled today to be nosy. “Get here as soon as you can.”
“I will.”
When I hung up, all the rage I’d felt towards Dima evaporated in an instant and was replaced with crippling anguish. As my chest clenched in a vise, I wished for a way to expel the pain. If I’d had a knife, I would’ve cut myself. I always said I would bleed for him.
I wasn’t one for tears. I only allowed them on the anniversary of Irina’s death, which coincided with the night that changed the trajectory of my life.
But suddenly, the interstate became wavy before me. Swiping my eyes, I eyed the moisture on them.
The tears came.
And they wouldn’t stop.
And I couldn’t stop.