Chapter 12
DIMITRI
I STAY AWAY - ALICE IN CHAINS
Idon’t know why I came here.
It was stupid.
If there was a sure fire way of getting noticed, and in some kind of fucking trouble, my dumbass figured out how to go about it.
Hiding in plain sight is how my cousin referred to it and the phrase didn’t have any real meaning until now.
Leaving was going to be risky on its own.
It’s not like my absence would go unnoticed.
As the heir to one of the biggest branches of the Russian mafia in New York, one operating out of a random as fuck small town that was not even remotely obvious in its connection to things, the fact that I was gone for more than a week or two would start to raise some eyebrows.
Being gone for just over a month now? That means I need to start watching my back a lot closer than before.
Alexei disagrees.
He’s convinced Minneapolis is too obscure to be an immediate thought in the head of anyone from my father’s organization. It’s too far, too clean, too innocent for them to assume that not only does any Bratva not reach this far, but it wouldn’t be connected to our family in any way.
I think X has been away from home too fucking long. He seems to have forgotten who the hell Boris Volkov is.
There is no doubt in my mind that I’m being hunted.
Not one. By my father’s men, by outside trackers he might have hired, by any one of our rivals who might have gotten wind of my departure.
To think I’m not being followed would mean I’m a lot stupider than I already am for leaving in the first place.
But I didn’t have a choice, not after I found out everything I did.
If I’d have stayed with all the knowledge I acquired over the last year rattling around in my head, I’d have easily started a war. One that began with a mutiny and ended with a body count that might have given anyone who’s ever been affiliated with us a run for their money.
Leaving was the most constructive way of handling things and frankly, it was the easiest decision to make because the desire to do so was already being fueled by my instincts.
There isn’t anyone I can trust, though. No one beyond my cousin.
The simple fact that he doesn’t share blood with my father was enough for me to know that, but we’ve maintained a relatively secret relationship over the years and that’s another reason I know I can trust him.
It’s how I know I’ll be safe hiding out with him.
If he wanted to fuck me over to get back at Boris for killing his parents, he could have done it when we were children.
He could have done it then, and he’s had beyond ample opportunities to do it since.
Alexei hasn’t. I don’t think the thought ever crossed his mind, not even for a second.
I’m sure I owe some of that to my grandparents.
If it wasn’t for them making sure he knew why it happened, X could have killed me and the rest of my family years ago and it would have been justified in his, or anyone else’s, eyes.
Then again, my cousin doesn’t really operate that way.
Don’t get me wrong, the fucker is as cold and callus as they come, and he’ll put a bullet between someone’s eyes just as quickly as he’d shake their hand. But Alexei Pushkin is also a goddamn cinnamon roll in some ways, comparatively speaking, and that makes him even more dangerous if you ask me.
No one thinks the teddy bear has claws, but that’s how he gets them. The false sense of security, the charming smile and boisterous laugh. All part of the deception, genuine or not, and once your guard is down, that’s when the claws come out.
I’ve seen it firsthand.
My cousin is a huge, unhinged teddy bear.
I’m just glad he’s on my side.
Especially right now because he’s the only one on my side after what I found out.
Coming here still might have been a mistake.
The problem is, I had nowhere else to go, not unless I wanted my location to get back to my father immediately. This seemed like the smartest option, it was definitely my best one, and something is telling me I’m supposed to be here.
In Minneapolis, not necessarily the strip joint.
When X gave me the address I wasn’t really surprised, but when I got in here and saw the operation, I was. Even more so when I found out he’s in some sort of partnership with a faction of the Irish mob.
Who would have thought both would be thriving in goddamn Minnesota? I’m just waiting for the Cosa Nostra and Los Zetas to show up and round things out.
With a shake of my head, I stare down into my glass for a second, swirling the clear liquid as I lift a hand and rub the center of my chest.
I am so goddamn fucked it’s not even funny.
When my father inevitably finds me, he is going to do everything in his power to destroy me, then erase me from our family history.
The bullshit I saw, what I heard on those tapes, it’s enough to get a lot of people in trouble but after what happened, he’s only going to hear my name. My name, and my alleged plans, and the truth won’t matter. Not even from me.
Something else I know firsthand.
Family means everything and nothing at the same time, and there is no in between.
There’s no reasoning with someone like Boris.
Whatever narrative he concocts, whatever story he firmly believes, that is the truth and nothing will change it.
It’s that line of delusional thinking that’s ruined my life twice now, and it’s the same one that will most likely end it.
I knock back my drink and set the glass on the table, scanning the room briefly before I decide I need to take a leak.
The auction doesn’t start for another two hours but the basement of Knotted Obsessions is already packed.
I have no idea how Alexei got hooked up with Ransom Adder but that business move has proven to be very lucrative for both parties.
The strip and sex club upstairs benefit the Irish brothers, but it’s the only legit thing happening on this property.
Knotted Obsessions was something they started years ago, apparently as a way for their dads to run drugs and guns without getting on anyone’s radar, and when my extended family came to town, they expanded.
My maternal grandfather used to head our Bratva and when my parents bonded, he passed it down to my father.
He let Boris run the show, successfully I might add, and retired in his late fifties.
Then he buried both of his daughters and one son-in-law in his early sixties because my old man is a paranoid and jealous piece of shit on top of being ruthless and twisted.
He thought my mother was having an affair with one of Alexei’s dads, his mom knew about it, and all three of them were stealing money so they could run off together.
I never understood how he got to that line of thinking, but knowing what I do about the shit from a year and a half ago, I can see there’s no reasoning behind it. There is no understanding what he does or why. More of the he believes his own narrative shit.
X and I were forced to watch my father execute all three of them and the only reason it stopped there was because my grandfather intervened.
Head of the Bratva or not, Boris would never fuck with him.
I think he was the only person my father was truly afraid of, and he didn’t bat an eye when my grandparents took Alexei and his other two dads away from New York.
He just made sure they couldn’t take me with them.
My life would have been drastically different had I been raised in Minnesota with my cousin and grandparents.
Different and much simpler, but certain things wouldn’t have happened, things I wouldn’t change for anything in the world and that’s enough for me to know why I was stuck with my father.
While those things wouldn’t have happened if I lived out here, neither would a handful of others.
Bad things, shit I can’t change no matter how desperate I am to try.
Nothing can be fixed, not really, and I have to wonder if it was worth having the little slice of heaven, only to have the most extreme hell follow.
I should have moved right away. Should have put things into play sooner. I had the means, had the funds necessary to make it happen, but I dragged my fucking feet and it almost killed me.
Some days I wish it had.
Dreaming about that little tattoo parlor and one-bedroom apartment, the cats and binging Netflix, pining for the future we always talked about. That’s fucking torture, and it hurts more than the five or six rounds that snuffed it all out.
My hand moves up to the side of my neck, touching the mark on my skin, tracing the center of my tattoo with my fingers.
I have a love-hate relationship with the scars on my body.
At least, I do with the two most obvious ones.
I wouldn’t get rid of them for anything, not even if someone was holding a gun to my dick threatening to let me bleed out that way.
But I hate what they remind me of. Who they remind me of.
It hurts too goddamn bad and I'll never forgive myself for the role I played in the destruction.
Lighting a cigarette and sticking it between my teeth, I head toward the bathroom, relieved to find it empty.
I’m not shy by any means but I fucking hate small talk. Especially with other alphas and Russian dickheads who think I’m one of them. The amount of dick swinging that takes place in here should have the whole fucking room saturated in piss.
“Why do I get the feeling this isn’t really your scene?”
I glance over my shoulder just as I finish, then roll my eyes as I zip my fly.
It’s the alpha that’s been hanging around Knotted Obsessions as long as I have.
The one with nearly white hair, light green eyes, and a permanent shit-eating grin.
The one who smells like fucking sugar pine and patchouli.
The one I’ve watched fuck the redheaded beta, Ransom’s brother, in the backseat of a car the last three nights in a row after closing.
My dick has been damn near decorative for about a year and a half but the second I could smell them fucking, the bastard hanging between my legs took notice and reminded me it’s not a nicknack.
Something else I feel like I’m going to be punished for.
I don’t deserve to have those feelings, those thoughts or interests, not after what I did. I definitely don’t deserve to act on them but for some fucked-up reason, watching this asshat smirk at me in the mirror while I wash my hands makes me want to bend him over the goddamn sink and do it anyway.
The worst part is, I know I wouldn’t feel guilty if I did it. Just like I don’t feel bad about openly watching those two big fucks go at it in a car they barely fit in.
I’m a horrible fucking human. I’m an even worse mate.
“You’re not here for the show upstairs. Not unless you count the one Styx and I have been giving you, but I don’t because it’s free and we like it.
But that also means you aren’t here for the red room action either.
” He leans against the wall by the door as I turn to face him.
“Again, why pay for something you’re getting for free? ”
I drag my smoke then flick the ash in the sink, obviously not able to leave until this dude says his piece.
“You don’t jerk off to us, though, do you?
” He shakes his head and holds out his hand.
“No, you like to participate too much, so it wouldn’t suffice.
I thought maybe you were here for the auctions.
” I hand him a cigarette and my book of matches, watching as he lights up and inhales deeply.
“But that’s definitely not it, either. Once again, there are plenty of willing participants filling the walls of this fine establishment, you wouldn’t need to bid on one in order to get your dick sucked. ”
I pop my hip against the counter and cross my arms against my chest. I’m not nearly as annoyed as I usually am when people talk to me, but I’m getting there. I like listening to his voice and how it changes octaves with each new inflection, but the words are a different story.
“Judging by that pretty little mark on your neck, you aren’t interested in anything happening inside this building, and you’re struggling with your interest in the things that take place in the parking lot,” he says with a wink.
“Same time, same place, by the way. All of which leads me to believe you have more problems than the ones you’re running from, and I’m inclined to help you with them. ”
I arch a brow as he pushes off the wall. “Is that so?”
He nods as an over-exaggerated shiver racks his body. “I’ve been waiting to hear you speak and fuck, it did not disappoint. But yes, I’d like to help you with a lot of things whenever you’re ready, D. Just say the word.”
Then he hits the cigarette one more time, exhales through his nose, and sticks the half-smoked Camel between my lips before he leaves me alone in the bathroom.
Pears.
He tastes like pears dipped in brandy, and the only thing that runs through my mind is how good that would taste with my mate’s caramel flavor.
My seat in hell just got ten times hotter.