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Dmitri, Krystof, and I were the last of the Pashkin children. For a long time, I thought it was only the two of us, but apparently, life has a way of coming full circle.
It was only days after my sixteenth birthday that everything hit the fan. Father found out about Dmitri taking my virginity and set the dogs on him. Krystof killed Vasily to save me.
I never went back for Dmitri.
I’d assumed he was dead instead of checking, making sure he wasn’t injured and unable to move.
After I left Krystof, I wandered the countryside for days, nowhere to go and no idea what to do. I can’t really remember much, everything was such a daze following that day. Maybe if I had had my wits about me, I wouldn’t have been picked up by Fatso and Smokie, Benjamin and Jakob as I later learned. It was when I was cutting into their flesh as vengeance for the months of rape and torture that I found that out.
Sin’s words echo in my ears, and I feel another tear slip free.
“Him I expected it from.But you, little flower, you never came back.”
I wonderhow long he waited for me? Bleeding out on the hot Shakhty rocks, calling for the sister he’d tried to save.
My now black heart weeps for what could have been.
My eyes weep for what is and has been.
“Little cunt,”Fatso’s foot comes out, and I try to shy away, but it still connects with my ribs, forcing the breath out of me. “Teach you what fucking happens when you burn our dinner!”
I pushthe abhorrent pieces of shit from my mind as best as I can.
I never went and checked. I never made sure Dmitri was really gone.
I think back to the night Dmitri showed me his love, saved me in the only way he knew how. I remember how right it felt.
It’s a wonder my time with Sin didn’t tell me that. The connection that lies between us is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.
“Are you okay?”he whispers into my hair. I manage to give a choked nod of agreement.
“Yes, don’t stop,” I rasp out as I cling to Dmitri. Despite the pain, the closeness, the oneness, is incredible.
If this is wrong, I never want to be right.
Chapter 38
Ginger
One Month Later
“How the fuckdid you deal with these motherfuckers?” Kris vents as he paces the room. Though I’ve been upgraded to my own bedroom, the length of chain keeping my foot to the bed and the manacles at my wrists don’t make me appreciate it as much as I could.
“Unreliable, they say. Rumors of escaped prisoners. This is a fucking mess!” He runs his hand through his blond hair in a gesture that so much reminds me of Dmitri.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at his tantrum, one of many over the past weeks. There aren't any windows in my room, so I can’t be entirely sure, but I think it's been about a month since the contract failed.
I huff out a breath, and Kris turns his gaze on me.
“Something to say?” He strides up to the bed where I’m sitting, and as much as I want to pull away, I remain still. His hand comes up and caresses the side of my cheek.
“If you’d just agree to help me, we could fix all this,” he tells me, his voice soft. “It doesn’t need to be like this. You know that.”
His hand moves down to my neck, his thumb pressing against my trachea just hard enough that I need to swallow deeply to try to dispel the touch. He squeezes lightly before smiling, his thumb moving upward to trail my bottom lip.
“So fucking beautiful,” he mutters, leaning his face down.
My body shakes as I pull my head back from his kiss, his sharp inhale the only warning I get before he smacks me across the face. I don’t reach up to hold my throbbing cheek as much as I want to. He takes my chin, none too gently, in his hands and forces my eyes up to his.
