Page 14 of Twisted Cage

Four letters. One name. And really, is there much more to say?

My oldest brother—half brother—has a taste for torture. Evil through and through, his only competition to be the most sinister of monsters is against himself.

“Your father indulged the little shit for far too long.” Frustration laces his voice as he struggles to dig through a bin of supplies, then pulls out a couple fresh candles.

“My father covets him. He’s exactly the kind of evil my father wishes he could have been.”

“Nikoletta—”

“Don’t. You know it’s true. Besides, you have no idea the things he’s done to me. No one knows.”

“Tell me.” He lights the first candle and sets it on a makeshift nightstand next to me.

“What part do you want to hear about? How he used to lock me in rooms in the dark and leave me for hours on end? Or maybe how he started locking me in smaller places when rooms no longer held a thrill for him.” A humorless laugh scrapes from my throat and dies.

He crouches next to me and lights the next candle. Despite his proximity, the chill of panic reaches into the deepest parts of me and I shiver, wishing I could curl into him again.

“The best was the false wall in Father’s wine cellar. A space no more than three feet tall and full of bugs. He shoved me in and locked me there for hours while he taunted me through the wall.”

A slew of Russian curses cuts through the air. I’m stupid to take solace in them, but I do.

“As horrible as it was, none of it could match what came next. When locking me in small spaces no longer held a thrill, he locked me in the dark with him. And nothing is more terrifying than being trapped with Vlad in the dark.”

He reaches for me then, smoothing the hair from my temple. His hands shake with barely restrained rage for which he has no target right now. “What did he do to you?”

“Whatever he wanted.” I can feel him willing me to look at him, but now it’s my turn to hide.

“Did he…” His words trail off and he swallows thickly. A giant of a man, my own warrior, and he can’t bring himself to say the words.

But I know what he’s asking. Every woman knows exactly what he’s asking.

“Yes. He touched me.”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. A growl of anger and agony tears from his throat. He grabs my chin, his grip almost punishing, and turns my face up to his. “He’ll pay for this, Pcholka. I promise you. He. Will. Pay.”

“When, Kostya?” My voice breaks and I hate it. I hate the weakness in the emotion. Anger is better. I cling to my dreams of revenge and when I speak, my voice is stronger. “When will he pay? How much more of me will he take before he does?”

Violence ripples through him, anger blooming in red slashes over his sharp cheekbones. “He won’t take one more piece of you, Pcholka. He’ll never get near you again.”

I reach out while he’s distracted by his need for vengeance and trace my fingers over his full bottom lip. His taste is a part of me now; nothing will ever wash him away. “He takes now, even when he’s not here. He made sure of it. Made sure I can never really escape him.”

He kisses my fingertip, all the reasons he clings to as to why he shouldn’t seemingly forgotten for this brief moment in time. “Nikolaj will win. I have no doubt he'll win.”

“Why do you have so much faith in him?”

He lifts his face, jutting out his chin with a hint of pride. “Because he's smart, cunning, and maddeningly patient. But also, he has a level of compassion for his family that is unmatched. He didn’t get it from your father.”

“Mama,” I whisper. Nothing has been the same since I lost her. Since this life took her from us by whittling away who she was until all that was left was a shell of a woman plagued with paranoia. It happened so fast. In less than a year, she went from being full of life with endless energy and the best hugs to a hollowed-out version of herself with no life in her eyes. And just when I thought I couldn’t take one more day seeing her that way, she ended it by throwing herself from a cliff into the sea at our vacation villa.

Women in the Bratva break. They always break.

I’ve never been able to look at the ocean since.

“Yes. Your mother.” He lets go of my hand and settles against the wall next to me with a wince on the cold, mercilessly hard stone beneath him. The stubborn ass should just get in the bed. It’s big enough for both of us, but nope. That fucking honor slides right back into place.

“But Nikolaj is still a man. Even if he wins and rises to power. I’m still the princess of the Romanoff empire—just a bargaining chip. If you don’t think he'll default to those old fucking moves and reduce me to something that is passed between families, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

His gaze snaps to mine, his eyes full of challenge. “You think so little of me.”

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