Page 4 of Fractured Devotion

I wasn’t sure I was ready to face my siblings, but if that was where Aleksi was, then it looked like I was going home. Wiping the blood-stained blade on my pants, I sheathed it in the leather strapped to my thigh and made my way out of the dingy hotel room. Luring Byron Coltzoff here had been easier than I’d anticipated. The moment he laid eyes on me at the dingy bar, getting him to take me to this pay-by-the-hour hotel had been a piece of cake. And since crime and death were a common occurrence, no one would think anything unusual as I walked out of there speckled with blood. The only thing I regretted was that I’d had to hold his tiny cock in my hand before plunging my blade into his fat belly.

It was the one good thing about being in Columbia. Drug lords and skin traders ruled the streets with fear. Too bad for them. Fear wasn’t an emotion I could feel anymore. After being tied down and whipped, then raped, the things that go bump in the night hid from me now. I sauntered down to the alley where I’d left my bike and tugged on the cool black helmet. Slinging my leg over the smooth leather seat, I jerked the key I’d tucked into my bra out and cranked the engine. The purr of the engine grounded me, allowing me to center my thoughts on what had to be done.

I navigated my sleek, black motorcycle over the rough roads, revving the engine as I ascended the hill toward Harlen’s secluded home. His house, perched on the hill, had a creepy aura that unnerved the locals, resembling a set straight out of a horror movie. The daunting appearance served us well, keeping curious eyes at bay and providing Harlen with the solitude he craved. That same privacy had been an advantage for me, too, as I transformed into someone new.

My once long, brown hair was now a cascade of bleached blonde strands, always pulled back in a tight ponytail. Physically, I was in top form, my body stronger and sturdier than ever, but beneath the surface, I was a mess. My mental state was feeble, plagued by nightmares that disrupted my sleep, a nightly reminder that I was far from recovering from the traumas that had reshaped my identity.

Harlen, twenty years my elder, held a special place in my life. Though he was unquestionably handsome, to me, he was like another brother. His presence was a constant, a grounding force in the whirlwind my life had become.

The only occasion Harlen’s touch didn’t unsettle me was during our sparring sessions. Any other contact was too much for me to bear. The brutal experiences I had endured had destroyed any spark of sexual desire I once possessed. When you’re violated, when your body is exploited for someone else’s twisted satisfaction, despite your desperate pleas for them to stop, intimacy becomes a tool of fear rather than an act of love. The very thought of sex filled me with dread, not longing. I doubted if I could ever engage in it for pleasure again.

My torment had taught me to weaponize my own body, turning it into a tool of revenge against the wicked criminals I hunted. In a cruel twist of fate, the very act that had been used to overpower me had become a strategy in my arsenal. My body was a weapon, and I wielded it with cold, calculated efficiency, channeling my pain and anger into a relentless hunt for justice.

Sex was a means to an end—their end.

The person I had transformed into was someone I knew I couldn’t return from, yet it didn’t matter to me anymore. Knowing the man I cherished more than life itself was gone, my heart had become trapped in a past era, a time that had vanished like smoke. My past had been obliterated, my present stained, and my future, once full of promise, now seemed like a void. All that drove me was the pursuit of vengeance, a quest that overshadowed even my own existence.

I steered my motorcycle into the garage and shut off its rumbling engine. Swinging my leg over the seat, I rose to my feet, feeling the weariness in my muscles. Each encounter with the lowlifes I vowed to erase from the earth took its toll on me. I tossed my helmet onto a table by the door and stepped inside, calling for Harlan.

It didn’t surprise me to find him in the kitchen. Harlan found solace in cooking; he said it helped him escape the harsh realities of our world. His reason didn’t matter to me as much as the result—his meals were undeniably delicious, almost equaling those of my brother, Vin. The mere thought of Vin tightened a knot in my chest, and unconsciously, I pressed a fist against the ache just above my heart.

“You okay?” Harlan’s gravelly voice pulled me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Did you find out what you needed?”

“I did. It means I have to travel.”

Harlan paused his stirring of the rich, aromatic soup. “So, Alexsi isn’t in Columbia.”

We had considered this might be the case. What I hadn’t expected was how close his whereabouts would bring me to my own history. I hadn’t been ready to confront it. Staying away meant I could keep pretending Alex wasn’t gone and that my life hadn’t been torn apart. Going back to Vegas would change everything. I’d have to face the harsh truths of what happened. And tell my family I was still here.

“No, he’s definitely not here.”

Harlan leaned on the counter, arms crossed. “You going to tell me where he is, or should I start guessing?”

I closed my eyes, trying to steady myself. Harlan understood my reluctance to return to Vegas. I pushed away the encroaching darkness in my thoughts and took a deep breath. When I opened my eyes, I met his gaze.

“He’s in Vegas. Aleksi Lipovsky is in Vegas.”

“Damn.”

That summed it up. “Looks like I’m heading home.”

three

ALEX

As I sat there, absorbed in Drake Winston’s recounting, each word he spoke seemed to weave a darker, more complex narrative, one that inevitably entangled Aleksi Lipovsky. The disturbing story of his fiancée, who barely escaped death at the hands of her ex-husband—a man deeply connected with Lipovsky—sent chills down my spine. The extent of Lipovsky’s reach, how he had ensnared and twisted countless lives beyond recognition, was stomach-turning.

“You’re saying your father was mixed up with the Russian mob?” I asked, my voice tinged with disbelief and a growing sense of horror.

Drake gave a solemn nod, his expression grave. “Yes, that’s exactly it. The things I’ve uncovered… it’s like peeling back layers of a life filled with deceit. He was involved with them, and not just on the surface. All signs point to him being neck-deep in their operations.” His words hung heavily in the air, painting a grim picture of betrayal and hidden truths. “To further prove what kind of man my father was… I’ve recently learned I have three brothers. All the product of a forced union that was kept hidden for obvious reasons.”

The man to Drake’s left, who’d been silent until now, finally chimed in. His voice carried an undercurrent of bitterness.

“What my esteemed half-brother here is delicately trying to say is that we’re connected by blood, a shared lineage we both wish we could disown.” He extended his hands in a welcoming gesture, his smile tinged with a hint of cynicism. “I’m Dallas Nash. My brothers, Griffyn and Ryker, couldn’t make it to this delightful gathering, though I can’t say I’m upset. Every revelation just adds another layer of mess to this already complicated situation.”

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