Page 10 of Wayward

“Just realize that what I said to Burian was what I knew would scare him the most.”

“And you make it your business to know what that is, don’t you.”

Of course I did. It was yet another reason why people always thought twice about crossing me; they knew they’d be crucified.

Vanya said, “I remember when Nara tried to explain it to me after she took all her psychology classes.” His tone and smile were bittersweet, his hand on my knee. “She said, ‘Vanya, all the hypermasculinity in our family that we all grew up around is so very toxic.’”

“Like you didn’t know that already,” I scoffed, head back, sighing deeply.

“She said it’s a death sentence for any boy being raised in that environment.”

And it was for some.

“You know,” Vanya went on, “even if you’re not gay…even simply being kind, like Pasha is, means there’s no place for him in your father’s world.”

I nodded.

“That’s why even though he was supposed to take over for your father—he’s the oldest, after all—you did instead.”

“I still went to college and—”

“At night,” Vanya snapped. “Don’t bullshit me. You had scholarships. Between your grades and football, you could have gone away. Everything could have been different.”

“It was a long time ago,” I said dismissively. “Why’re you bringing up ancient history?”

“You always talk about me being weak, but so is Pasha.”

“Pasha is not a junkie whore,” I retorted, cutting deep.

“Yeah, no. I know,” Vanya agreed with a shrug, “but we both know Pasha couldn’t handle the blood. We all heard the story about the racehorse.”

“Pasha and I have different strengths.”

“So the breeder was out of money, and they’d made the poor choice of selling the stud rights, a year earlier, to your father.”

I leaned forward, head in my hands. “We both know what happened. Why are you recounting it?”

“Basically, at that point, because he was insured, the horse was worth more money dead than alive,” Vanya continued, ignoring me.

“Just—”

“What was it? Forty million or something?”

“Could you not—”

“You and Pasha show up to check on your father’s latest crazy, though legitimate, business venture the day before he’s supposed to collect on his first stud fee, and they’ve got this thoroughbred champion tied to a fence and these guys ready to break its leg, which will effectively end its life.”

“Why are you—”

“Because Pasha wanted to let them go,” he reminded me. “And you thought, if they’ll do it to one horse, a great champion, they’ll do it to foals and mares and all those horses no one ever sees. They’ll hurt the most vulnerable.”

I still remembered the horse’s wild, terrified eyes, and the utter terror I could see it was experiencing had enraged me. “Why is this important, Vanya?”

“Because it shows how you are and how you work, and no one can really see it.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“To your father, it looked like you went there with only the stud rights and came home with a horse farm in New York that now allows him to show up at Churchill Downs every year and rub shoulders with the rich and famous. But I know, because Pasha told me, that you had the guy who owned the horse farm sign it all over to your family, and then you put him on his knees and shot him execution-style in the back of the head.”