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.Whothey 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 placein 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.
CHAPTER 13
NIKO
