Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
ANTON
Volchok jumps on the bed, settling in his usual spot at the foot while darkness takes over outside. The day is long gone, and my mind is turning into a jigsaw puzzle of everything I still have to do.
Reaching into the nightstand, I pull out Thora’s picture, the one Konstantin gave me when he handed me the job.
How should I kill her? Would I want it to hurt? Would I have mercy?
Should I have mercy?
Maybe that would be the right thing. But when have I ever had mercy for anyone? Why should she be any different?
Still, she was kind to my dog. In the real world, that counts for something.
But I never grew up with mercy. I don’t even know what the fuck that looks like.
When I close my eyes, my father’s face appears, his stare hard and unforgiving. The kind that never accepted no and never forgot failure.
I had failed him for the last time, and that failure changed my entire future before I even had one to begin with.
“You’ve disappointed me, moy malchik.”
My arms stay at my sides, fingers curling into my palms until it hurts, because that’s easier than looking at him or saying something that might make him madder.
“You know what happens when you fail Papa, right?”
Of course I do. Something bad.
The chair scrapes against the floor as he stands, and my eyes jump to my three brothers, who are all standing there, knowing what’s going to happen to me.
Papa tsks, letting out a disappointed sigh.
“I really thought after all your training, you would succeed. Your brothers all did. But you…” He grabs my wrist so hard it hurts.
“You are a disappointment. Maybe I should have tried harder. Maybe I was too soft with you because you are the youngest. But no more.” His nostrils flare.
“I will retrain you, and you will never question an order again.”
He yanks me forward before I’m ready, and I almost trip over my own feet as he drags me across the room. My shoulder hurts where he’s holding me, and I try really hard not to cry, but my eyes are already burning and I can’t make it stop.
It’s hard to breathe and even harder to think. His fingers dig into my arm, and I know this is only the beginning.
“Papa.” Konstantin’s voice cuts in as he steps in front of our father.
He’s fifteen, the oldest and strongest, but even that doesn’t help against Papa. Papa always gets what he wants.
Konstantin steps forward anyway, putting himself in the way, and hope rushes in that maybe with my brother here, Papa can’t hurt me.
“That’s enough.”
But the gun is already in Papa’s grip, and the sound it makes when it cracks against Konstantin’s head echoes through the room.
“You dare question me?!”
Konstantin drops, one knee slamming to the floor as blood spills down the side of his face.
My stomach twists when Papa lets go of me and turns his full attention on him. He brings the gun down on Konstantin’s head again, and my eyes bulge. He will kill him.
Konstantin groans and crumples to both knees.
“Stop.” The word leaves me, but it comes out too small and weak.
Papa, of course, doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t even look at me.
My eyes dart around the room, searching for something, anything. Some kind of distraction, something I can do to help Konstantin before Papa kills him.
He can’t die. I won’t let it happen.
There’s a closed beer bottle on the coffee table.
I don’t remember seeing it before, but I grab it anyway, fingers wrapping hard around the neck while my heart pounds and drowns everything else out.
I don’t even know what I’m going to do with it.
I only know I can’t stand here and watch him hurt Konstantin again.
Just one hit. Enough to make him stop.
I move behind Papa, lifting the bottle, and that’s when my brothers notice what I’m doing. Aleksei gives the smallest shake of his head, warning me without a word, but I won’t listen.
I have to be brave. I have to stop Papa.
Every step feels too loud, but my father doesn’t even notice me.
“You will be punished with him!” He brings the gun down on Konstantin again, and more blood pours from the gash on his head as he starts to sway.
And when Papa lifts his arm to strike him again, I swing. The bottle connects with the back of his neck, and my whole body goes cold when he freezes.
“You little svolich!” he roars, his face twisting with rage.
And in the next second, the bottle is ripped from me.
Tears spill down my cheeks as he comes for me, and when I try to step back, my foot catches and I fall hard onto the floor with him towering over me.
The impact comes fast. Glass explodes against my head, the crack so loud it rings in my ears. The hit knocks me backward, my fingers losing their grip as broken pieces scatter across the floor.
Pain tears through my head while everything around me tips sideways. I try to get to my feet, but my knees fold beneath me and I fall before I can grab anything.
The last thing I see is Konstantin still on the floor, blood running down his face as he looks at me, trying to get up.
Then everything disappears.
I don’t know how long I lie there, but eventually the darkness flickers in and out, voices around me muffled, like I’m hearing them through water. My head hurts too badly to think straight, and even that pain starts slipping away until I feel like I’m drifting.
Something begins to flash behind my closed eyes—faint at first and then stronger, like light pushing through my eyelids from somewhere far away, while I lie there unable to move.
Maybe I’m dying.
It wouldn’t be so bad. I wouldn’t have to deal with Papa anymore. It would be like a vacation. I almost smile at the thought.
“Anton,” a woman whispers.
I jerk, trying to force my eyes open. Her voice comes again, closer this time, and it sounds familiar.
Who is she?
“Anton, vstavay…” Anton, get up.
I try to move, but I can’t. My stupid body won’t listen.
“Ty dolzhen prosnutsya.” You need to wake up.
Her hands… I feel them shaking me, but I can’t see her. Or maybe it’s too dark here.
Am I in hell?
“Anton, are you listening?”
My body won’t move. It’s no use.
“Ty ne mozhesh pozvolit emu pobedit.” You can’t let him win.
But he always wins.
“Anton. Vstavay. Pozhaluysta.” Anton. Get up. Please.
How does she know my name? Who is she?
“Help me…” I call, but it might as well be silent.
My body is broken. I try to reach for her, my fingers trembling while a groan escapes, and pain instantly explodes in my head.
“Wake up!” Her face snaps into view, and my pulse slams in my ears as I jerk upright.
Jolting awake, I don’t know where I am at first until my mind starts to focus.
It felt too real, being back there when it all happened. But I’m not that helpless kid anymore, and every day, I’m grateful for that.
I don’t want to be that person. My work is what matters. Doing the job right, completing it, and moving on to the next. That’s what helps me stay alive and makes this life worth living.
Thora Whitlock. She’s what’s important right now. And once I’m through with her, she’ll be nothing more than another mark I handled.
Heading into the shower, I let the steam wrap around me, clinging to my skin until my eyes close and I see her there smiling, thinking I’m something I’m not.
I saw the hunger in her gaze. I could almost smell it. It’s a shame she has no idea what I’m really after.
And if I play this right, she’ll never know. Not until I have to pull the trigger.
By the time the water runs cold, my mind is already there, at her place, hoping to find something more to help me get to know her just a little better.