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I stare at the entrance of my childhood home with thoughts of pulling my gun from my waist and taking everyone out, except my brother. But definitely Maxim, my father. A bullet through his head and this will all be over.Fuck!That will only lead to more problems. I toss my head back, swiping my hands across my face as the glare of the sun pierces me. Yanking the visor down, my reminder falls to my lap. The reason for all this worthy chaos. I pluck the photo from my lap. A quick snapshot of the woman who has enlightened the darkest part of me, long lost. The white sheet of my bed slightly covers her face, but those deep brown eyes burrow into me even through the lens of a camera.I love her.
But the Bratva doesn’t give a shit about love. She is a problem and has been since the moment I laid eyes on her. In a sea of a tattooed, gritty, motorcycle gang ready to enter the largest weapons deal I’ve ever experienced stood a woman of beauty and grace. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, studying her every move, from nudging glasses up her nose, to continually checking the time on her watch. I was hooked as if I started to breathe properly that very night. I knew I wanted more. Of her. Her likes. Her triggers. Her desires. Her body. Her pussy. Putting the visor back up, I slide the picture back into place.
Stepping out of the car, I saunter up the lengthy stares of the Maxim estate. Opening the door, I immediately want to turn the fuck around. It used to be a sanctuary. My place of peace and tranquility. But that was so long ago. When my mother was here. She brightened the darkness of the cold home my father grew up in. It took many years for me to get over her being gone. The little soul that remains in my father is decimated with her death. I don’t have many memories of her, but my brother does, being five years older. And he never let it go. No matter how hard my father pushed.
There are no memories of her here. The only thing this house says now is money. Power. Prestige. That’s all my father cares for. And he made sure to mold the better, younger son into that light.The better son.Those words used to bring tears to my brother’s eyes.Tears.What my father considered weak. Along with everything else he attributed to my brother. So, my father poured everything into me. Teaching his son the ins and outs of the criminal world he has come to love. He even went so far as to get me speech therapy so that my Russian accent can disappear at my will.
I walk toward the back of the house and the sounds of my father berating my brother for whatever reason. I stand at his office door quietly for a moment to hear what their saying.
“We must do something about your brother. He lost his mind.Lyubov’ eto zlo!She will fuck him over.” He sucks his teeth before it sounds like he sits down. “We already have enough trouble. People are always after us. All of us. Women are distraction.”
My father’s thick, Russian accent echoes across the room before I hear glass being slammed on a desk. If he weren’t so focused on my love life and thinking love is evil, things could be normal. But they can’t be while he continues to scream about my choices.
My brother scoffs. “Father, he’s grown. He loves, so what?”
“What? Theirlovealready interfere with new business. Motorcycle people are backing out.” He sucks his teeth.
“That is you, not him, Father. You lose your temper, and they don’t answer to you.”
“Watch your tone! You need to be big brother for once and talk sense into my son.”
“I am also your son.”
“Errr... That is up for debate.”
What an asshole.I silently walk into the office and head straight for the bar. Although their conversation stops, no one says a word. I drop a few ice cubes into a small glass before pouring vodka over them. I take a swig before turning to face my father and brother.
My father sits behind his large mahogany desk, with his feet up on it and leans back in his oversized, dark brown, leather executive chair. My brother sits opposite him in one of the same-colored chairs as my father’s. I saunter over and sit beside my brother.
“What is problem, Maxim?” I ask in my Russian accent. I rarely ever call him Father these days.
My father drops his legs to the floor and leans forward. The scent of his strong cedar cologne hits my nose, pushing me further back into my seat. He wears too much of that shit. Just like he wears too much goddamn jewelry.
“Your dick is problem. I don’t care if you fuck. But that’s it. That’s where you leave it. You sneak around with this woman like you’re teenager. Come now! I teach you better.”
“Father—,” my brother starts, but I put my hand up to stop him.
“No, Brother. Let our father say what bothers him. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”
My father nods in approval. “You must end this... this tryst. It will go nowhere. She not one of us, anyway. You need Russian girl.”
I scoff. “You mean white woman,” I correct him.
“I say no such thing. I’ve laid with black women before. I get it. Beautiful, juicy, dark pink pussy. I bet hers is just as—”
Before he finishes his misogynistic statement, I hop from my seat, place my palm on his desk and swing my long legs over it to his side. I push my father back in the chair until it hits the window, with my hands gripping his collar. We are face-to-face. Father to son. Man to man. I seethe, breathing heavily, ready to rip his head off. His eyes are wide as he grips the arms of his leather chair. My father is no small man, but his ego shrunk just now.
“Say one more disrespectful thing about my woman and I’m done!” My stomach flutters as I try to hide my smile. He’s the reason I’ve lived with so much suppressed anger. My dick even jumps at the thought. A quick vision of murder. The tighter I squeeze, the looser the top that holds in my animosity gets. My hand surrounds his carotid instead of his shirt. I want to kill him. Threaten it. But he’s still my father. I’ll have to do what I always do. Find other ways to release this anger. With my fists. Or a fucking bullet.
The smile that comes across his face shows he’s proud. He’s disgusting. There’s no changing him.
My entire body urges me to punch him in the face.
Instead, I leave the room. He will never accept Evonna. I can’t deal with this anymore. Not like my brother has.
I’m almost at the door when I hear my brother call after me and run down the long hall into the foyer. I turn to face him as he stands before me slightly winded.
“Brother,” I say to him. “I’m not dealing with this shit.”
