Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
“You were abandoned on a mountain and almost died. That’s not fine.” She’s sobbing again, always the sentimental one, my baby sister.
While she’s only two years younger than me, I’ve always made it my mission to protect her. Whether it’s from outsiders, the truth of my mom’s sickness, or from my dad’s wrath—by directing it toward myself.
She and Mom are the only splash of color in my world and the main reason I’ve been in survival mode since…well, ever. So I want to protect her innocence and let her live a completely different life from mine.
“Alya…don’t cry.” I stroke her hair. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But what if you won’t be here for long?”
“Nonsense. I’ll always be by your side. I promised, remember?”
She nods, a little smile brightening her face.
Alya and I have been inseparable from the moment I first saw her tiny face the day she was born. I don’t remember it well, but Mama said when she put my sister in my arms as I sat on the bed, I stared in awe at her full head of coppery hair and those impossibly bright blue eyes—so wide, so startling against her delicate features. Mama said Alya stopped crying the instant she looked at me and even smiled as if she already knew I was her older brother.
From that moment on, I swore I’d always keep that smile on her face. Because when she smiles, she’s everything I’m not—radiant, innocent, carrying none of the weight that’s crushed me since I was a boy.
“You’re finally awake.”
I tense, the pain in my side paling in comparison to the tension that crowds my shoulders in an instant.
Yaroslav always has the worst effect on people. The barely-there smile that appeared on Alya’s face falls, and the doctors line up and then exit one after the other.
“Nothing major, just a bullet.” I plaster on a grin, staring back at my father’s stone-carved expression. “They make a man, right? Injuries and scars, I mean.”
He narrows his eyes at me but then directs his gaze at my sister. “Alina, go to your mother.”
Her grip tightens on my fingers. “But I want to stay—”
“It’s okay.” I show her the smile I always wear when she thinks Dad will hurt me.
It doesn’t matter how much I try to shield her from it—she’s extremely bright and knows exactly who’s behind the fresh bruises on my body, even when I say it’s because I fell or had a fight.
Her fingers linger for a few seconds before she lets go and reluctantly leaves the room.
As the door closes behind her, I tighten my body. I wouldn’t put it past this prick to hit me even when I’m injured.
Time alone with my father feels like a death match I’m destined to lose. There’s no satisfaction, no high, no familiar rush of bone cracking under my fist or the metallic taste of blood.
My muscles coil tight, my brain snapping into survival mode.
I used to wonder why my father despises me so much—why he always looks at me like I’m nothing more than a thorn in his side.
I’m never smart enough, strong enough, good enough.
Just not enough.
Forget about love. I don’t think he even likes me.
The only fatherly love I’ve ever known came from my maternal grandfather during summers at his vast estate in the North Caucasus. He taught me to ride horses, to shoot, to chase the wind as if tomorrow didn’t exist.
But he died too soon, and I was thrown back into the brutal reality of a father who would trade me away in a heartbeat if he could.
“How did I get back home?” I ask, my voice losing its mocking edge, because I don’t think they pumped me with enough painkillers, and my side is throbbing. I don’t want to be dear old Dad’s punching bag on top of that.
He stands tall, his hands in his pockets, his expression solemn, the lines of age around his mouth looking more shadowy. Yaroslav has always looked and seemed like a wall I could never break through.
A fortress no one has ever been allowed to enter—not even his family.
“The more important question is, how the hell did this happen? Not only do you screw up the camp, but you also get involved in this?”
“Sorry, didn’t know being shot at could be avoided, or I would’ve done my best to avert the crisis.”
He strides toward me, and I lift both hands in a motion of surrender. “Wait…fuck…I don’t know. I think it was some other faction who did it…”
“Does that other faction have bases in the heart of the New York branch?
“New York?”
“Yes. My intel tells me that’s where it originated from.”
My eyes widen even as pain throbs in my side and sweat trickles across my brow.
“No way…” I choke on a cough, gritting out a grunt as the sharp pain digs deeper into my side. “Why would they want to kill their…heir?”