Page 105 of Rough Exile


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“What? Your dream wasn’t to run the crematorium with me?” Oleg said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

“I want a divorce,” Alexander’s wife, Alina, declared.

“Good. I’ll give you half my share, and I never want to see your face again.” Alexander threw back the rest of his drink and slammed his glass down on the table. She walked out of the room and didn’t look back.

“I know he’s not blood, but I think Ilya deserves a share of the money,” Andrey said from his spot further down the table. “He may not be our brother by blood, but he’s the one who had the balls to get rid of our problem.”

“He also has an axe back in his room,” Oleg pointed out. “I think giving him a share is the logical choice.”

“I want the island,” Ilya said without hesitation.

The rest of the brothers looked disgusted.

“That pile of rock? You can have it,” Kirill said. “I doubt it’s worth much. I know I never want to see the place again.”

“Why do you want it?” Alexander asked, brows pinched.

Ilya shrugged. “It’s my home.”

“It can be your bonus for solving our problem. The rest of us will fight over the properties that are actually worth something.”

Oleg and Dmitry started acting out how they imagined Vas’s murder went down, complete with their impressions of the face Vas probably made as he died.

Alexander and Bron agreed to look over the books together the next day, and we left what was rapidly becoming a drunken celebration.

“They’re all so fucked up,” Bron said as soon as our suite door was closed and locked behind us.

“I think they’re just letting off steam,” I replied. “Your father controlled their lives. He even said several of your brothers’ children were actually his.”

“I think most of them are going to either run through their inheritance filling the pockets of their therapists or they’ll drink themselves to death.”

“Not our problem.” Ilya’s face was stoic.

Bron grabbed the front of Ilya’s shirt and pulled him close. “Such a coldhearted little brother.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, now that we know we’re not related, I think I’ll always call you that. It’s funny as fuck.”

“I don’t know how you can call days of hell funny.”

“Did you miss me so much, Ilyusha?”

“I thought I might die.” He said it so earnestly, with his heart in his eyes. I held my breath, worried Bron would make a joke of it.

Instead, Bron’s expression softened, and he kissed him, long and sweet. I collapsed onto the couch and watched them, more than happy to play voyeur and give myself a minute to breathe.

“I’m sorry we were right about your mother being dead.”

“Well, if they were in love with each other, I’m glad my parents died together. If something ever happened to you or Delilah, that’s what I would want.”

“Ridiculous, romantic boy.” He grabbed Ilya’s hand and kissed his knuckles.

Eventually, they let go of each other, and Bron led him to the couch where I sat. Bron picked me up and then sat down, holding me on his lap. Ilya cozied up next to him and pulled my legs over his.

“Will you still stay with us, wife?” Ilya’s hand was warm on my knee.

“I don’t know. Maybe Alina had the right idea,” I teased. “Seriously, though—you kidnapped me, used me, married me without even asking me. How am I supposed to trust two men who don’t understand the concept of consent?”

Bron bit my bottom lip hard enough to make me whimper, and then he kissed me long and thoroughly.

“Do you think our wife is in a temper because she misses having both of us in her bed at the same time?” Ilya’s hand closed over my ankle and squeezed.

Bron removed his tongue from my mouth and let me breathe. “I think she’s tired. It’s been a long day.”

“It has.”

“You’re a murderer.”

“I am.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“It should. Maybe it will tomorrow.” Ilya shrugged.

Bron pressed his forehead to mine. “I’m sorry I trusted him with you and that I wasn’t here to protect you.”

“He sent you away on purpose.”

A growling sound came from low in his chest. “Probably. I wish I had been the one to kill him, but I’ll have to be satisfied with helping my brothers dispose of him.” He cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Do you want to see a doctor or a therapist?”

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