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My legs move faster than I ever thought they were capable of. I turn my head to look behind me and see the men trying to catch up to us, but they’re not fast enough.
None of that matters once we reach the dead end of an alley and I stare into the face of a man who doesn’t look like someone we want to mess with.
My face numbs at the glare he gives to me and my brother. He doesn’t appear to be pissed; if anything he looks intrigued, and I’m not sure what to make of that. The man’s eyes are hooded and have the color of the dark moss that grows on the bottom of aged trees.
Kirill stands with his legs lined up with his shoulders. He doesn’t look as nervous as I am. But then again, he never is. He’s always been the man to be strong.
While my spirits fall, I see his interest spike.
I can feel my heart racing as if it’s about to pound out of my chest. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to refrain from saying something I’ll regret.
“You stole from one of my people,” the man in a light gray tux says to us in Russian. He laughs at my silence. The sound doesn’t bring joy but fear, the vibrations that fall from his throat are coated with power. The sound of his voice alone could make a grown man question everything about himself. “If you steal from a man, you own up to it.”
“I was just trying to feed my brother,” Kirill says, taking the blame for the wallet I stole.
He looks me up and down with his dark eyes. “Your hands and face—what happened?”
“Our father,” Kirill starts.
“I asked the kid. I’m sure he can answer for himself.”
A noise escapes Kirill. I glance at him with a hope that’s quick to wash away. The man I’ve always looked up to seems to be drowning in shame all of a sudden. I pull at his arm, begging for his attention, but he refuses to look at me.
Is he ashamed?
Terrified to speak up, I gulp down my fear. “As he said, it was our father.”
“He beats you two?”
My brother and I nod slowly in response.
The person we stole from walks up behind us, screaming to the world that we’re thieves.
“If it’s that big of an issue, do something about it,” Mr. Gray tells him. His words come out almost as a threat—not to me or Kirill, but to the man.
“I’ll fucking kill you,” he says, kicking me in the stomach, only worsening the pain of my already cracked rib—the rib my father cracked just this morning.
Mr. Gray takes a gun out from his waistband and places a bullet in the center of the man’s forehead. He gives it no second thought; shows no sign of mercy. He shows no emotion at all.
My heart drops and I shudder at the loud gunfire. A high-pitched ringing fills my ears and makes everything around me sound muffled. I had no idea they could be so loud.
The man falls to the ground, and I watch the endless stream of blood flow from his skull. I stare at the dead man as if I’ve seen many bodies drop to the floor. It doesn’t shock me as much as I thought it would. Seeing the man fall to the ground isn’t what scares me—it’s the sound of him choking on his own blood. It gurgles through his closing throat while he fights for his final breath of air.
Mr. Gray walks up to the dead man and mutters something under his breath. He’s calm and collected. That should terrify me, but it doesn’t. In fact, I admire it. Even at the age of thirteen, I’m not ignorant to the idea the man who hit me deserved to die.
“Never speak empty threats. If you have a purpose, you stay true to it.” Mr. Gray looks directly at me. His hair is slicked back and his eyes have dark shadows. I look up at my brother and notice he’s just as in awe of him as I am. “Never let a man beat you when you’re already down, kid.” His words are aimed at me. Then he demands, “Your names?”
I normally refrain from telling anyone anything about me, but there’s something different about Mr. Gray. I feel obliged to tell him everything.
“I’m Mikhail. This is Kirill.”
“Did you two deserve the beating you got?”
I ponder his question. Do we deserve to be beaten for stealing something from another person?Yes. But does anyone ever deserve a beating if they haven’t done anything wrong? Father hit me because I started to clean up his mess—at least, I tried to. I started by sweeping the bugs off the ground and gathering his trash. He didn’t like that. He grabbed me and beat me until I was choking on my own breath.
“No.”
“Does he deserve the same beating you got?”
