Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
For sixteen hours, I've thought about Taya. The happy memories I've held onto. For years, I kept her safe in a remote cabin in Istra. She went to work as a nurse's aide, but no one knew where we lived except Demyan. We had no visitors, even my brothers. It was for the safety of both of us.
She wasn't found in the cabin, though. She was found dead just outside the hospital where she worked, stabbed to death and left to bleed out on the pavement.
The pain of her loss makes a gnawing, aching pain grow in my belly at the initial shock.
An innocent woman. Murdered.
My woman.
For hours, I think about who could have done this, and how I'll exact revenge. I imagine being back in that cell, only I'm the one wielding the weapons on those who hurt her. I imagine screams, but instead they belong to my enemies. I imagine their blood staining the concrete floor as I avenge her death.
And I will fucking avenge her death.
By the time we land, I'm ready to hunt. I'm ready to kill.
A ride is waiting for us. Demyan and I load our luggage and take our seats in the back of the car.
"You need your rest, brother," Demyan says with concern. "You're no good to anyone if you're a walking zombie. And I know you don't want to hear this, but if you're thinking what I think you are, you need to heal first."
"Fuck off, Demyan."
He clenches his jaw but gives me space to vent my anger. I don't want to talk to him about my weaknesses. I want to talk to him about fucking finding the people who killed my woman.
They killed her. My Taya.
My eyes burn with unshed tears, venom coursing through my veins with vicious heat. My fingers clench into fists, and for one moment, I see nothing but the faces of my enemies. Bloody. Broken. Howling in torment and begging for forgiveness.
I look out the window as we drive away from the airport and don't say anything else to him. I want to sleep, but I don't want to revisit that cell.
"Just sleep, brother."
"I will," I tell him. "Eventually."
"Maybe you should get something from Rothsky to help you?" he suggests with a shrug.
I give him a withering look. "Would you take something to help you sleep?" Demyan's only a year older than I am. With his blond hair and blue eyes, he looks nothing like me, and yet, this is the man I consider my brother. He will give me honesty. Finally, he shakes his head.
"No," he admits. "Probably not."
Neither of us would willingly choose the loss of control a sleeping aid would give us. I want to be alert. I need to be.
"Fine," he says. "At the very least, I want you to promise me you will do everything in your power to heal before you seek revenge. During that time, we will do everything we can to find out who did this, so your justice can be swift." He lets the words sink in for a moment. "Agreed?"
"Agreed," I say with a frown. "Make an appointment with Rothsky."
I say nothing else.
I'll bide my time.
I'll strengthen my body.
I'll heal from my injuries and train my body to fight to the death.
For certain, violent death will come to those who killed my Taya.
Chapter 1
Maksym
Two months later
I stretch my legs out, ignoring the ever-present pain I get even now. Yesterday, during my physical therapy session, the therapist pushed me harder than he ever has, and I feel it today.
But I want him to push me. I want to train my muscles and optimize my strength. I want this recovery more than anything, so I allow him to push me. I move past the pain. Sometimes, it even helps the constant anger I carry abate for a time.
I lift weights, heavier than I ever have, longer than I've ever sustained. I'm shredding my body and strengthening my mind and intellect.
Training to be the vicious killer I need to be. Training to avenge Taya.
In the past two months, I've convinced Demyan to give me another job in the Bratva. Until now, I've played the role of extractor, which helped hone my skills for what I do now.
We all pay tribute to our leader Demyan, the pakhan, but I've assumed the role as head Brodyaga. I'm the group heavy, the strike force of the Bratva. In our case, that means I'm executioner. I convinced myself that if I became the one who executed our enemies, I would grow immune to the weight of taking the life of another.
I was not wrong.
One week ago, we discovered the owner of one of our warehouses where we oversee arms dealing had pilfered several million dollars' worth of weapons. Demyan wanted him punished for his theft. I offered to do the job.