by Jane Henry
It's early, the sun just coming up over the water in waves of pink and blue.
I slowly swing my legs over the side of the bed, pull a t-shirt and shorts on, and set my feet on the ground. I ignore the pain that radiates up my leg when I touch the floor. Though my broken leg was set immediately upon my rescue, the break was severe, warranting weeks of bedrest followed by physical therapy. Both my lower back and femur suffered major trauma. The doctor says it could take up to six months for a full recovery, but the combination of both injuries and my interrupted sleep have made recovery longer. Every time I move, the memory of how my body was broken and how long it will take to recover makes my blood thrum in my veins.
I walk out to the porch to meet them. The rest of the house still sleeps.
When I step outside, Kazimir looks up at me in surprise.
Family life has been kind to him. Though he has some more gray around his temples and in his beard, his eyes have gentled. He no longer wears a perpetual frown, and he smiles more readily than he ever did. The former brigadier of our brotherhood, he retired from the Bratva and came to live in America with his wife, Sadie. They now have two small children and are every bit in love as the day they came here. Karol, who calls me "Uncle Maks," is three years old, and little Yolanda under a year. It's a busy life, but beautiful, and makes me long for the same.
I wanted babies with my Taya.
Though Kazimir and Sadie want nothing at all to do with Bratva life anymore after Kazimir's resignation, when Demyan asked them if we could visit, they welcomed us here. Demyan came with his new wife Larissa, and the three of us have been here a few days. Sadie and Larissa became instant friends. Demyan, Kazimir, and I are like brothers. We're family, though none of us are related by blood.
"Maksym," Kazimir says. He doesn't say anything else. He knows I don't want to talk. I'm surprised I even came out here but being around the children makes me smile.
I sit across from him on a worn wooden deck chair, when little Yolanda reaches her chubby arms for me. I hesitate, but Kazimir chuckles.
"She wants a hug from the big teddy bear, Uncle Maks." I smile and open my arms, taking her and settling her on my lap. She lays against my chest, playing with my beard and giggling.
"Such a sweet little girl," I whisper. The first words I've spoken in so long, my voice is husky and rough from disuse. It feels good to talk to her. Healing, even. Kazimir tenses when he hears my voice. He knows I don't want to speak of what happened, but I know he's been worried about me.
"She is very sweet," Kazimir says, as if my talking isn't out of the ordinary at all. "Intelligent, like her mother."
"And fierce, like her father," Sadie says from the doorway, walking out onto the deck wearing a robe and carrying a cup of coffee. She looks with concern to me. "Coffee, Maksym?"
I shake my head and force myself to respond. "Thank you, no." Her pretty face breaks out into a smile and her eyes dampen when I talk to her. She says nothing, but reaches a hand out and gives my arm a gentle squeeze.
"And what about your husband?" Kazimir asks with mock offense.
"My husband can have whatever he wants," Sadie responds with a smile. She turns to go inside, when Demyan meets her at the door, clad in shorts and a t-shirt. His eyes are sober, his face drawn and stern.
Something is wrong.
"Sadie, would you take the baby?" Demyan asks calmly. "I need to talk to Kazimir and Maksym alone."
I sit up straighter and inhale. I know this feeling. I know his look. He's about to deliver news we won't want to hear. The hairs on the back of my arms stand on end. Sadie's eyes quickly go to Kazimir, who gives her a serious, reassuring nod. She takes the baby from me, who clings and wails, while Demyan and Kazimir watch in sober silence. Sadie shuts the door behind her.
"What is it?" I ask him. He turns to me with a sorrowful expression, his lips turned down in a frown. His eyes are bloodshot, and I wonder if he hasn't adjusted to the time difference, or perhaps he never slept at all the night before.
"Demyan." Kazimir says. "Out with it."
But it's me Demyan's looking at.
"It's Taya, Maksym." Something slides between my rib cage, making it difficult to breathe. The air in my lungs constricts, my hands fisting by my sides.
"What about her?" I grit out.
His concern morphs to fury. "Taya's been killed."
It's a sixteen-hour flight from Washington to home. Larissa and Demyan sleep for much of the trip, but I don't. It's hard enough waking in a cold sweat to my own tortured screams when I'm in bed. I have no interest in doing so on a plane. The sun is barely rising when we touch down on the runway. My eyes burn from lack of sleep, my bones suffused with a heavy, leaden feeling.
They killed Taya.
Who? The only enemies we have are The Thieves.
How did they find her? How did they know she was mine?
This is my punishment. My consequence for escaping them.
"Maksym, did you sleep at all?" Larissa looks at me with concern, frowning.
I shake my head. "No, but I'm fine," I tell her. We both know it's a lie.
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. "M
ake 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.
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About the Author
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USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. She writes what she loves to read: kink with a tender touch. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives on the East Coast with a houseful of children and her very own Prince Charming.
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