Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 97448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97448 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
My brother watches me with a furrowed brow.
“You have something on your mind, too? I can’t guarantee your safety if you piss me the fuck off, so how about you disappear instead?”
“Never mind Kara.” His voice is too fucking gentle for my liking. “She’s too sheltered for her own good, and you know she’s never been able to read the atmosphere.”
“And you can?”
“Not when it comes to you, I’m afraid. But I’m starting to learn.”
His eyes soften, and I’m so ready to punch him square in the face if he starts to pity me, but that expression doesn’t come. Instead, I’m staring at a version of my brother I thought I’d lost.
A long time ago, when Yulia would decide to take him on a picnic or to some show, he’d hide in my room just to spend as much time with me as possible.
I’d ruffle his hair and tell him to enjoy whatever she was taking him to for the both of us. That’s when he’d look at me with the same expression he has now.
I thought it was only sadness. Maybe discomfort, but now I realize it’s a form of longing.
Konstantin always wanted to be with me, but Yulia happened, and that became impossible.
He releases a breath. “In case you didn’t know, you’re the hardest person to read, and that’s saying something considering I’ve known you all of my life. No matter how much I try to analyze your actions, I can’t find an explanation for the way your mind works. I can’t tell whether you’re truly a psychopath who doesn’t feel or you just have no fucking clue what emotions are and, therefore, can’t express them. I remember when we were young, you loved Kara and me more than anyone else, but that part of you disappeared, and you became…this. Whatever this is.”
“If there’s a point behind your tedious speech, you should’ve reached it by now.”
“I know you still care about Kara, and possibly me.”
“I didn’t realize you were adding delusional to your repertoire of words.”
“I know you do, or you wouldn’t have made my marriage with Kristina happen.” He grips my shoulder. “Which is also why I know Sasha’s death is affecting you more than you show. You were always the type who looked eerily calm, even after you came back from Roman’s torture sessions. You’ve been either on a violence spree or in this pretend calm mode, so I’m assuming you’re suffering inside or bottling your pain or both.”
“If you’re done being an amateur therapist…” I rotate my shoulder, forcing him to release me, and sidestep him to head toward the stairs.
“You need to get your shit together, Kirill!” he shouts after me. “You’re the Pakhan now, and your head is worth more than ever before.”
“Save the concern for your wife.” I don’t look at him as I take the stairs up.
He’s been subtly trying not to be all disgustingly lovey-dovey with her whenever I’m around. Even Kristina refrains from any form of PDA in my presence. They’re both walking on eggshells around me as if I could be broken by seeing them acting like husband and wife.
To be fair, I did contemplate shooting them in the head whenever I saw them smiling at each other. It’s not them. It’s the sense of fucking doom I have whenever I witness others being happy when that feeling has been wiped out of my life for good.
I didn’t know what happiness meant until I slept like a fucking baby in Sasha’s arms. There were no nightmares, no thoughts about the future.
Just…silence.
For the first time in forever, I had a break from my brain and just felt.
Now that the feeling is fucking gone, I want to confiscate everyone’s happiness, crush it to pieces, and bathe in its blood. I need to turn their worlds as black as mine.
Yulia crosses my path, lifts her chin, and pretends she doesn’t see me. She’s the only one who hasn’t tried to talk to me, and I’m glad she hasn’t or else we’d have a murder on our hands.
I might have some tolerance for Karina and Konstantin, but I’d strangle that woman to death if she ever brought up Sasha’s name.
I’ve had the staff move my clothes to another room near the office. My old room is now locked with a key, and I told Anna to keep it and never give it to me.
My movements are mechanical as I remove my clothes and step into the shower. I watch the blood washing off me, mixing with the water, and disappearing down the drain.
Could I disappear as easily?
No. Not yet.
I still haven’t found the motherfucker who ordered her death.
This isn’t fucking over.
Torturing Roel didn’t empty my thirst for violence. My rage remains powerful, tucked under the surface, waiting for another outlet.
I close my eyes and rest my head on the tiles as the cold water beats down on me.