“Where is my brother?” I demand as Edik opens the door for me.
“I took him to his townhouse, got him a drink and couple of pills for the pain. Ivan is watching over him and texting me updates. It seems he’s calmed down,” Edik explains, getting in the back with me.
“Good,” I grumble. Hopefully it will be easier to talk with Pyotr with a few sedatives in his system.
“Get an account line set up for Annika,” I command, moving on. “No limit. Make sure she has easy access to it.”
Edik raises a brow.
“Of course,Pakhan,”he replies. “But may I ask why?”
Edik being my oldest friend and protector, I take no issue sharing the details. When I finish, Edik has no more questions, and simply gives a single nod before pulling up his phone to make the necessary arrangements. The account is set up by the time we pull up to Pyotr’s townhouse, a purchase I made for him only a year ago. He is still welcome at the lavish Pavlovich compound that lies just outside the city, but it didn’t take long for Pyotr and me to agree that it's best we don't share permanent living quarters.
I spared no expense on the townhouse. It’s four stories, and has a fenced in, very private back yard, and Pyotr is able to do with it what he wishes.
Pyotr took the last part as a challenge, and in my opinion, ruined the once elegant space.
Now, every room is either spray painted with some sort of grunge monstrosity or decorated in heavy gothic, vampiric manner. There are tire treads on the once pristine wooden floors from the many motorcycles Pyotr collects and often drives into the house. Holes are always being repaired in the walls after his constant ragers. And there is always some sort of riff raff stumbling out at all hours looking half-drugged out of their mind and worse for wear.
Today is no different, and as I exit the town car, I can hear the blare of heavy metal music thumping from inside the house. I sigh, not wanting to think of how much money I’ve spent making sure the neighbors don’t complain about any of it to the police.
Knowing one of Pyotr’s body guards is no doubt watching the security camera's feedback, I let myself in, and find my brother in the large first floor living room lounging on the long, blood-red couch. A bottle of vodka rests on his knee and a joint is tucked between his busted lips. Even though my little brother sees me, he pretends to ignore me until I walk over to the massive stereo and turn off the mind-shattering music.
“So,” Pyotr asks after sucking in a hit of his joint. “How’s our little damsel in distress?”
I look over to the two body guards watching Pyotr from across the room, and signal them to leave. They nod in unison and disappear without a word.
“Have you kept your mouth shut?” I ask, walking over to the large marble bar in the far corner of the room.
“What choice did I have?” Pyotr grunts, staring at the joint in his hand, “Your ape took my cellphone and wouldn’t let me bring my people over.”
I nod as I pull out an unopened bottle of vodka and pour myself a shot.
“Good. We need to keep this quiet. If anyone asks why we went to the hospital today, you tell them that your bride-to-be had an allergic reaction.”
Pyotr half-coughs, half-laughs as he is halfway through another drag of his joint.
“I had no idea that pregnancy could be an allergic reaction,” Pyotr chortles.
I fix him with a glare, my shot glass half raised to my lips.
“It’s mine,” I state, then down the shot.
Pyotr’s head whips toward me, his eyes wide as he looks at me for the first time since I walked in.
“Shit, bro. You’re serious?” he asks.
I nod, pour another shot, and down it.
“Look, man, I didn’t know she was your intended,” I tell him. “The circumstances under which we met were not ideal, and I trusted Yulian enough not to try to pass another girl off as his daughter so I didn’t even bother to do an image check. I had no idea she was the woman I hooked up with until I saw her today.”
“But you’re sure the kid is yours?” Pyotr asks. “I mean, if she didn’t even bother to ask for your name, she can’t be all too particular about who shares her cat with.”
“Watch your language,” I growl, feeling a spark of rage shoot through my veins. “Yes I am sure, and I’m going to make this right.”
The combination of pills, vodka, and weed must be working well, because Pyotr bobs his head up and down at the news.
“Good for you, bro. Stepping up and doing the right thing. Good for me too, because even if the kid is yours, I still wouldn’t want to marry a girl who’s already knocked up,” Pyotr says.
