21. Mikhail
Mikhail
The arena is empty when we arrive, no one here at all. Daniil looks at me, confused, and I try to give him a reassuring look, my little finger reaching out to brush against his before pulling quickly away. It’s probably just a quick meeting, and then we can leave.
We walk down the steps slowly, looking around us. The cage sits empty in the center of the room, but there’s something white lying in the middle of it. Some sort of note. We come to a stop next to the cage.
“I don’t like this,” Daniil says carefully, his voice tight.
“Me neither. I’ll go look at the note. You can wait here.”
He bites his lip and nods, then walks over to seats near the cage. I head up the metal stairs, the sound echoing in the empty space, and open the cage door. It creaks as I step inside and walk over to pick up the note.
I know what you did.
Written in Russian, nothing else. Not even a signature.
Blinking in confusion, I glance toward Daniil, my mouth opening to ask if he has any idea what this means, when I see our father standing next to him with a gun in his hand. He grips Daniil’s shoulder roughly and shakes his head at me. “I hope you got whatever you needed from my office.”
My entire body freezes. My mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.
“That little stunt you two pulled at lunch made your mother upset,” he continues.
“You both know I don’t tolerate seeing her upset, and I especially do not tolerate my own sons being the cause of it.
She has given you everything, and she doesn’t deserve to be disrespected like that.
” He pauses, his grip tightening on Daniil’s shoulder until I can see him wince.
“Causing a distraction while you slipped upstairs was more strategic than I expected from either of you. Now you will tell me exactly what you were looking for?”
He knows. But how? I don’t understand how he always figures it out. Every single time. How does he keep doing this?
“So, what is it, Daniil?” He looks down at him, the gun points at his head. “Was it that news article? The one about the German family?”
I freeze.
“Father,” I start, taking a step forward.
“Don’t talk, Mikhail,” he snaps, cutting me off. “Consider this your punishment.”
He shoves Daniil down into the seat, sitting down next to him with the gun still trained on his temple. Daniil’s face has gone pale, his hands gripping the armrests.
I’m going to kill him.
The cage door creaks behind me, and I spin around. Two men step inside, both of them massive and clearly trained, holding knives. They move to block the exit, trapping me inside the cage with them.
“You wanted to fight so badly,” my father says from his seat. “So fight.”
One of them lunges at me with the knife, and I barely make it back in time, my leg snapping up to kick him in the chest. He flies backward and lands with a heavy thud against the cage wall.
The other one comes at me immediately, his knife slashing toward my ribs, and I twist to dodge it, but he’s faster than I expected. The blade cuts across my elbow, and my sweater tears open, blood pouring out instantly and soaking through the fabric.
Pain shoots up my arm, but I don’t have time to think about it.
The first guy is already back on his feet, charging at me again.
I sidestep and catch his wrist as he swings, twisting it hard until I hear something crack.
He grunts in pain but doesn’t drop the knife and brings his other fist up to slam into my jaw.
My head snaps to the side, and I taste blood, copper flooding my mouth.
The second one comes from behind and wraps his arm around my throat, pulling me backward into a chokehold.
The knife appears in front of my face, inches from my eye, and I lock onto his wrist with both hands, pushing it away with everything I have.
My lungs are screaming for air and black spots dance at the edges of my vision.
My head slams backward into the guy’s face, and his nose crunches under the impact.
His grip loosens just enough for me to rip free and spin around, driving my elbow into his temple.
He staggers backward but doesn’t go down, blood streaming from his broken nose. The first guy is coming at me again, knife raised high and aiming for my throat. I duck under his swing, and the blade whistles past my ear, so close I feel the air move.
Driving my fist into his stomach with everything I have left, he doubles over, gasping for air. I bring my other fist up hard into his face and blood explodes from his nose. He drops to his knees, and I kick him in the side, sending him sprawling across the floor.
The second one lunges with his knife aimed at my side, and I twist away but not fast enough. The blade slices across my ribs, shallow but burning like fire, and warm blood soaks into my shirt.
I catch his arm before he can pull back and jerk him forward, using his momentum against him to throw him off balance. He stumbles, and I kick the back of his knee hard, sending him crashing down onto the cage floor.
Before he can get up, I’m on him, gripping his head with both hands and slamming it into the metal grating once, twice, three times until his body goes limp beneath me.
I shove him off and stand up slowly, breathing hard through the pain radiating from my elbow and ribs.
Blood drips steadily from both wounds, pooling on the cage floor beneath me.
I turn and look through the cage at my father, who’s still sitting there calmly next to Daniil with the gun pointed at his head.
Picking up one of the knives from the ground, I drive it into the first guy’s throat, then the second. Blood sprays across the cage floor, and I don’t look back as I kick open the door and jump out, heading straight for my father.
He stands and points the gun directly at my face, stopping me in my tracks.
“Take another step, and I’ll put a bullet in your head. Drop the knife,” he says calmly.
I freeze, breathing hard, blood dripping steadily from my wounds. The knife falls from my grip and clanks against the concrete floor.
He walks toward me slowly, the gun never wavering, until he’s right in my face and he brings it up to my temple.
“You want to know why I keep you around, Mikhail? Because you’re useful when I point you at something.
But tools that break everything eventually get thrown out.
Wouldn’t be a big loss, you are the biggest disappointment of my life. ”
The words hit me hard, and my jaw clenches.
He grips the back of my neck, fingers digging in hard enough that I know there will be bruises.
“You’ve got potential buried under all that rage and pathetic weakness.
But potential doesn’t mean anything if you can’t control it.
Your brothers disappoint me in boring, predictable ways.
You disappoint me in new and creative ones every single day. ”
He shoves me back hard and I stumble but stay on my feet, then he points the gun at both of us.
“Listen to me very carefully,” he says, his voice dropping lower.
“You look into Daniil’s past again, and you’re dead.
You think you’re curious? You have no idea what hell you’re inviting by digging into this.
No idea who’s watching for exactly this kind of stupidity.
Pray to whatever god you believe in that your idiocy hasn’t already gotten us all killed. ”
He gives me a final look and then walks off, cursing under his breath and barking something at his guards who stand there waiting for him by the entrance.
That’s when I see Vincent’s head on the floor next to his body, blood pooling around it. Daniil rushes to me so fast the air leaves my lungs when he crashes into me.
“A-are you okay? He’s losing it,” His hands hovering over my wounds like he’s afraid to touch them.
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. Look at you.” He gapes at me, his eyes scanning every cut and bruise, the blood soaking through my clothes. His hands shake when he reaches out to inspect the gash on my elbow.
“Let’s just get out of here quick,” I manage, dragging him by the arm toward the exit on the opposite side from where our father left. My legs feel unsteady beneath me, but I force them to move.
“Are you okay though? That was brutal. I mean, I think he’s completely lost his mind—”
“Danya, please,” I interrupt. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
I just need to get us out of here before our father changes his mind and comes back. I drag him faster toward the exit, ignoring the pain radiating through my entire body, ignoring everything except getting him somewhere safe.
We burst through the exit doors, and the air hits me like a slap. The car is parked across the lot, and I stumble toward it, his hand gripping my arm to keep me upright.
We enter the apartment, and Daniil drags me toward the bathroom, already pulling at my shirt before we even get through the door.
He peels the blood-soaked fabric off me carefully and tosses it on the floor.
The cut on my elbow is deep, still bleeding, but I’ve had worse.
He fusses over me anyway, grabbing bandages and antiseptic, his hands shaking slightly as he starts wrapping it up.
He bites his lip, and I see his eyes filling with tears. “God, I’m so sorry. We shouldn’t have looked into my past. It’s all my fault. We can drop the entire thing right now.”
“Stop worrying. I’m okay.”
“No, you’re not okay. Look at you.” He curses and pulls washcloths from the cabinet, wetting them before he starts cleaning all the blood off me.
He inspects my ribs, wrapping the cut there carefully, then wipes blood from my face, my neck, my chest. His touch is gentle, but his movements are rushed, panicked.
“He’s so cruel,” he says, his voice breaking slightly.
I know. I’ve always taken the worst of it. Since I was a toddler, I’ve been his favorite target, the one he can break over and over.
“I don’t know what our mother sees in him,” he mutters.
“She’s stuck with him. You know that.”
“She needs to leave him.”