Chapter 14 Volk
Volk
SONG: SPITTING OFF THE EDGE OF THE WORLD BY YEAH YEAH YEAHS, PERFUME GENIUS
I take her again and again in the darkness.
It's not gentle. It’s desperate and claiming and the physical manifestation of everything we can't say out loud.
I show her she's mine. Show her that she belongs to me in ways that have nothing to do with our history and everything to do with the dangerous thing growing between us that neither of us wants to name.
She lets me, surrendering in ways I know cost her.
She gives up control when control is the only thing that's kept her alive.
And when we're finally finished, both gasping, both marked, both changed, I pull her against my chest and hold her like she's something precious. Because she is. Because she is mine.
She fits against me perfectly. Like her body was designed to fill the spaces mine left empty.
Her head rests over my heart. Can she hear how fast it's beating?
How being this close to her makes me feel like I'm fifteen again and stealing my first car.
That same rush and certainty that I'm doing something that'll change everything.
"Tell me about Thomas," she says quietly, almost shy, like she's afraid the question will shatter whatever fragile glass bubble we are in.
I stiffen. I should've known she'd ask, should've prepared. But lying to her feels wrong now. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything." Her fingers trace patterns on my chest, idle movements that feel anything but. "You said he was your cousin , that the Pakhan killed him, but you didn't say what happened.”
Why did I care? How do you explain loving someone who was more brother than cousin? Who taught you how to survive when the world kept trying to kill you?
"Thomas was older than me by eight years." The words come slow. I don't talk about him. "He found me on the streets in Moscow when I was fourteen, half-frozen, half-starved. Probably days from death."
She shifts and looks up at me with those green eyes that see too much.
"He took me in. Fed me. Taught me how to fight properly instead of just throwing wild punches. Got me out of Russia when things got too hot…" I pause, swallowing. "He brought me to America , to Phoenix. To the Pakhan."
"And you've been here ever since."
"Yeah. I worked my way up, proved my loyalty and became Vor v zakone at twenty-five. Youngest in the history of the Bratva." Pride is still there despite everything. Despite knowing it's all ashes now. "Thomas was proud. He said he always knew I'd go further than he ever did."
"What did he do? For the Pakhan?"
"Logistics, moving product and managing shipments. The boring shit that keeps criminal empires running. He wasn’t Russian, he wasn’t really even blood.
His mother was best friends with mine until mine died.
He was from Spain, and I think his mother came to Russia looking for work.
" I run my fingers through her hair, still damp from sweat and exertion. " Because of this he wasn’t allowed to get his hands too dirty, stuck doing more mundane, admin type stuff. But he was good at it. He made the Pakhan a lot of money. Earned trust most people in his position never get. It also didn’t hurt that I was there, vouching for him, proving my value every day. "
"Fa— the Pakhan trusted him enough to be around his wife."
The observation cuts. Sharp and accurate.
"Yea.” I release a deep sigh. “He earned enough trust to be around Svetlana.
" Her mother's name tastes strange on my tongue.
Foreign. "Thomas told me once that she was sad.
That living with the Pakhan was slowly killing her.
She looked at him like she was drowning and he was the only thing that could save her. "
"Did he love her?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Or maybe he just saw someone who needed saving and couldn't walk away." I tighten my hold on her. "Thomas was like that. Soft in ways that got people killed in our world. He couldn't ignore suffering when ignoring it was the smart play."
"Sounds like you loved him."
"He was family. The only family I had after.
.." I stop. Some stories don't need telling.
"When the Pakhan killed him, I was there. I stood in the room watching him suffer, and he still looked at me and shook his head, telling me not to intervene. He knew it would only mean I joined him. Even in that moment he was saving me, thinking of me.” I swallow thickly.
"And you did."
"Yeah, I did." Bitterness floods my mouth, tasting like copper and regret. "I did nothing because I was a coward. Because I chose my life, my career, over family. Because I told myself Thomas wouldn’t have wanted me to die with him."
She's quiet for a long moment, but her fingers still trace patterns on my chest, writing words on my skin I can't read. "And now?" she asks finally. "Now what do you choose over the Bratva?"
I tilt her face up, forcing her to look at me. "Now I choose you. Over everything. Over the Bratva. Over fifteen years of service. Over whatever future I thought I had."
"That's stupid."
"Probably."
"You'll die."
"Probably."
"I'm not worth it."
"Wrong." The word comes out harsh, forceful. "You're worth everything. Worth burning the whole fucking world down for if it means you get justice."
She searches my face, looking for lies, manipulation. For any sign I'm playing her.
"Why?" The question is barely a whisper. "Why me? Why risk everything for a girl you left to die in the desert?"
Because you should've died but refused to. Because you came back when everyone else would've run. Because seeing you walk into Lush that first night made me feel something than emptiness for the first time in a decade.
But I don't say any of that. Can't. The words stick in my throat like broken glass.
"I don't know," I lie. "Maybe I'm just tired of being the Pakhan's dog. Maybe you're as good an excuse as any to finally do what I should've done years ago."
"Liar." But she's smiling. Small and sad, the smile of someone who knows the truth even when you won't say it. "You care. You don't want to. But you do."
"Caring gets you killed."
"Then I guess we're both dead."
The truth of it hangs between us heavy and inescapable. Soon we will die. Maybe together. Maybe separately. But we die either way.
Unless we win. Unless we somehow manage to kill the Pakhan and survive the aftermath and become something besides weapons pointed at each other. But I stop that train of thought. Hope is a dangerous, dangerous thing, and the last thing we need is yet another obstacle to face.
"Tell me about her," I ask, changing the subject.
Needing to hear her voice talking about something besides death.
"Your mother. What was she like before..
." Before the Pakhan destroyed her. Before I stood in that office and did nothing while he murdered her.
Before I became complicit in the violence that created the woman currently pressed against me.
Sofiya's quiet for so long I think she won't answer, then she takes a shaky and uncertain breath.
"She sang, all the time. Old Russian lullabies her mother taught her.
" Her voice gets softer. Younger, like she's pulling the words from someplace deep.
"She had this way of making everything feel safe.
Like nothing bad could happen as long as she was there. "
"But bad things happened anyway."
"Yeah." The word cracks. " I wish I could ask her why she didn't run. Didn't take me and leave while she had the chance."
"Where would she have gone?"
"Anywhere. Everywhere." Sofiya's fist clenches against my chest. "She had no one, but she could've tried. Could've fought instead of just...accepting it."
"Maybe she thought accepting it would save you."
"Well, she was wrong." Anger, hot and bitter, drips from her voice. "All it did was get her killed and me tortured. If she'd fought , if she'd tried , maybe we both would've died, but at least we would've died together."
I don't point out that dying together doesn't sound better than surviving alone.
I don't mention her mother's sacrifice gave her ten years of life to build herself into what she is now.
I don't say any of the things that are true but wouldn't help.
Instead, I just hold her. Let her shake with rage and grief and the weight of years spent carrying both.
"I'm sorry," I say finally. "For not stopping it. For standing there and doing nothing while he murdered her. For every choice I made that led to you bleeding in the desert."
"You gave me water."
"That's not enough."
"It was enough." She looks at me with eyes that have seen too much. "It was enough for me to come back. To find you. To become this."
This. Whatever this is. Alliance and obsession and a dangerous thing that feels like love but can't be because love is for people who survive and we're both marked for death.
"Do you regret it?" I ask. "Coming back? Spending ten years building toward revenge that might kill you?"
She considers the question. Really considers it instead of giving me the easy answer.
"No." Definitive. Certain. "I regret not having more time.
I regret we didn't meet differently , that you're not just some guy I ran into at a coffee shop who asked for my number.
" A ghost of a smile. "But I don't regret the revenge.
I don't regret becoming strong enough to face the men who tried to break me. "
"Even if it costs you everything?"
"I lost everything when I was fifteen. Everything after that has just been on borrowed time.
" She shifts, pressing closer. "But these last few weeks with you?
Learning I have a brother who actually wanted to find me?
That's been more than I thought I'd get.
So, if tomorrow is the end...at least I had this. "