Scarred Angel (The Severed Heirloom #1)

Prologue

MAKSIM

Twelve Years Old

“Pull the trigger.”

The voice cuts through the ringing in my ears.

The gun is heavy, heavier than it looks, making my hands shake.

They’re slick with sweat and blood, only I can’t tell which is mine.

The smell burns. Metal, smoke, something rotten, and I breathe through my mouth, so I don’t taste it, but it’s too late. It’s already there. Iron on my tongue.

“Maksim…” he says again, sharper this time.

I grit my teeth and try to focus, try to keep my eyes on the man kneeling in front of me, but they sting, and I blink too much. But if I look away, he’ll hit me again. If I cry, it’ll be worse.

Don’t cry. Don’t shake. Don’t let them see fear.

That’s what he tells me. Uncle Pyotr. That’s what he beats into me with every fist to the face and boot to the stomach.

Be a man, Maksim.

Be the monster you were born to be. You're a Belov.

I learned early that tears don’t matter anyway, that begging is useless because no one ever comes for me, and they never will. They’re all dead.

Papa. Mama. Every single last one. It's just too bad they left me behind.

Now it’s just me. Me and the half-dead man bleeding at my feet, his life in my hands.

All those lessons, all that pain, everything they taught me all comes down to this.

“What are you waiting for?” he growls, breath hot against my ear, cigar smoke spilling into my lungs until I almost gag. “Don’t be a pussy, Maksim. Kill that bastard.”

I give a small, hesitant nod and steady my grip. And with a shaky breath, I force my finger toward the trigger.

“Okay,” I whisper, so soft I don’t even recognize my own voice.

I raise the barrel to the top of the man’s skull. All I have to do is pull. One twitch of my finger and I’ll never be that weak boy again. I’ll finally make Pyotr proud.

But then…the man lifts his head, and our eyes lock.

Blue. Not the dull gray I expected, but blue. Just like Papa’s.

Something twists in my chest, sharp and ugly. And I can’t breathe. His gaze isn’t begging, not even angry. Just…empty. Like he already knows how this ends. And then, worse than anything, the corners of his eyes crinkle. A faint smile, like he’s daring me. Taunting me.

Not him, too.

The world shrinks to the space between us, to my shaking hand, his broken body, and those blue eyes staring back. As the gun trembles in my grip, I realize it’s not the weight of steel anymore. It’s the weight of every ghost and all the pain I carry.

“No.” The word scrapes out of me, broken, like glass in my throat.

A hand clamps down hard on my shoulder, shaking me, snarling in my ear. “What the fuck did you just say?”

But I’m frozen. My eyes locked on the man bleeding out on the floor, and the faint smile still clinging to his ruined mouth. He doesn’t flinch or fight what’s coming. He just waits.

“No,” I repeat, louder this time, my shoulders squaring in defiance.

Not because I feel bad. Not because I’m afraid. Maybe if I push hard enough, Pyotr will snap and end this. End me too. And that would be better. Better than never-ending beatings, of knives carving lessons into my skin, of living as their dog.

I lower the gun, letting it fall, metal clattering to the floor as my chest rises fast, heart pounding so loud it drowns everything else—until the sharp crack of titanium whips across my face.

Pain.

I stumble, my vision flashing white as I crash to my ass. But there’s no time to process because the moment my hand flies to my face, a single shot rings out.

The bullet hisses past me, so close I swear I feel the heat graze my ear, before it slams into the man on the floor. His body jerks once, then stills, that faint, mocking smile still frozen even in death. A moment later, I’m staring down the barrel of Pyotr’s .357.

He gnashes his teeth, breath sour with smoke and whiskey.

“Your father would roll in his grave if he knew how much of a weak little pussy his only son has become.” My skin sears when the muzzle makes contact, but I don’t flinch.

I take it. “I should put you out of your misery, let you join them in hell and be done.”

Another shockwave of metal smashes across my face, this time splitting skin. Tears blur my vision, and black spots swarm the edges, but I stay upright. I spit blood at his boots, brace myself against the floorboards, and grind the words out through clenched teeth.

“Do it…Kill me.”

His laugh is cold, ugly, echoing off the walls as he slides the gun toward my mouth. “If that’s what you want—then open up.”

I hesitate, fear crawling up my throat. I’ve fantasized about dying, about closing my eyes and never waking up, but now, staring death in the face, I feel…scared.

“Not so brave now, eh?” Another dark chuckle, then his gaze hardens. He shoves the barrel past my teeth, the metal still hot enough to burn. “Close your eyes and count to three.”

I exhale sharply, masking the terror clawing through me, and do as he says. Tears scorch my throat as I begin to mumble the numbers around hot steel. But the word barely forms before he wrenches my head back by the hair, ripping the gun from my mouth so hard I taste blood.

“Stupid little bastard,” he sneers. “If I can’t make use of you, I’ll sell you off. Plenty would pay good money for that pretty face.”

“No!” My scream shatters out of me as I thrash in his grip, nails tearing against the concrete as he drags me across the cellar. “Kill me! Kill me—please!”

The handle of his gun crashes down against my face again. Bone splits, vision explodes white, but this time, I don’t fight the dark. I let it take me.

Sharp slaps hit the fresh cuts on my face, dragging me out of the dark. My eyes flutter open, and my lids are heavy as the world tilts in and out of focus.

Three days. It’s been three days of hell. Every inch of me aches. My skin is raw, my bones sore, and my spirit...broken.

Even the leather seat under me feels like barbed wire digging into my back.

The last time I blacked out, I prayed I wouldn’t wake up. But I did. And the nightmares waiting for me weren’t dreams anymore—they were real.

Pyotr kept his promise. He said he’d break me, and now he means to sell me.

Just another piece of flesh on the market.

He told me so himself, whispering it in my ear before holding me under water until my lungs caught fire. His favorite game.

“Time to wake up, dog.”

He’s in the passenger seat, silver tooth flashing every time we pass under a streetlight.

“Where…where are you taking me?” My throat feels like sandpaper.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just smirks at his own reflection in the side mirror, then shifts his cold gaze to mine in the rearview.

“Got a friend willing to take you off my hands,” he says. “Fly you across the Atlantic. Start your new life.”

A shudder rips through me, and I shake my head, frantic despite the pain and exhaustion weighing on me. “No. J-just let me go. Right here. You’ll never see me again. I promise.”

Pyotr’s smile deepens, lines creasing around his eyes like the cracks in stone. “Now, Maksim…if I did that, who would pay me for all the years of work I put into you? Work I didn’t have to do, but accepted out of the kindness of my heart.”

“No!” I lunge forward, but a massive hand slams me back against the seat. Oxygen leaves my lungs in a rush. Daniil’s grip is a vise.

“Sit,” he growls, crushing me into the leather. “Maybe he’s right. Not worth the trouble. We toss him off that bridge and be done.”

Pyotr exhales cigar smoke, the embers flaring. “Daniil, do I pay you to follow orders or make suggestions?”

“Follow orders, Pakhan.”

When the big bastard finally loosens his hold, I spot the Glock at his hip and the water glittering below the bridge. My gut twists, but I know what I have to do.

Before I can second-guess it, I rip the gun from his holster, rack it, and fire. The shot explodes inside the car, and blood sprays. We jerk sideways, nearly sideswiping a bus. But I don’t wait, don’t think. I throw the door open, hit the asphalt, roll, and run.

Gunfire cracks behind me. And I dash for the railing, my shoes skidding on the loose gravel.

“You goddamn bastard!” Pyotr’s voice roars after me. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands!”

I grab the barrier, stare into the black water, and my stomach drops. Maybe it’s not as far a fall as it looks. But if I don’t make it…will it be such a bad thing? A lifetime of fear and violence flashes through my head, and I know right then that I’d rather die than go back.

I hook my legs, push off, and let go.

A fist catches my collar mid-fall, jerking me back so hard my neck snaps tight. He’s there, faster than I expected, boot crushing my chest, and his breath hot on my face.

“You think you’re getting off that easy?”

“Fuck you!”

I scoop a fistful of gravel and hurl it at his face. He curses, blinking and staggering, and that’s all I need. I twist, rip free of the torn fabric, and crawl for the edge. This time, I don’t stop and throw myself over the rail.

The wind tears past me. He fires from above, and a round clips my arm, another burns through my leg. Hot pain, then cold…so cold as I hit the river.

Water swallows me whole, the impact knocking the air from my chest. I fight for the surface, kick once, twice, but darkness rushes in faster.

I wasn’t supposed to survive the fall. Not awake. Not like this.

Even though I know how to swim—Papa taught me—my arms and legs don’t listen. They’re too weak. For a moment, I think about letting go, just sinking until it’s quiet. But something deep inside refuses. I thrash, claw, and kick, but each movement is slower than the last as the river pulls me harder.

Fuck.

“H-help…” The word tears from me, bubbles bursting in the water. No one can hear. No one ever does.

This is what you want.

Cold floods my chest, and my vision starts to close in until there’s nothing left to fight.

I stop kicking. The world goes quiet—then slips away.

“What the fuck!”