Page 4 of Bratva Butcher

The pain morphed from a roaring agony to a dull ache, humming in the background. My mind conjured up her image—a way to deal and cope with the stress my body was under.

She looked exactly as I remembered. Long, beautiful dark hair. Smooth, pale skin. The softest lips in the world. Eyes the colour of the ocean on a bright, sunny morning in the Maldives.

A big, beaming smile broke out across my face.

My beloved.

“I think you broke him, Boss,” one of the men under Dominik’s thumb said, stepping into the light. He walked right through the ghostly image of my Yekaterina, and she swirled away.

It wasn’t the first time I’d hallucinated her before. In fact, it wasn’t even the third or fourth. I’d done it so many times that I was sure I was actually starting to lose my mind.

She never said anything. I mean, she was a figment of my imagination… What could she say? But I cherished those moments when my mind was so far gone, it showed me the only person in the world who could bring me peace.

I’d looked it up. Apparently, it was a condition quite common among people who’d lost a loved one. Bereavement hallucinations, they called it, where one subsequently experienced sensory perceptions of the deceased.

I never told anyone. It was for me and me alone. If going crazy meant that I got to see her, then I hoped I went fucking insane.

Dominik looked at the soldier who spoke. “I think you’re right. I have broken him,” he sighed, disappointment layering his voice. He tucked the lighter away into his pocket and patted the top of my head condescendingly. “We’ll try again tomorrow, baby brother, and the next, and the next. You and I are going to be spendinga lotof time together. I can’t wait.”

I said nothing. Any outburst would show how much his words and actions affected me, and that was something I absolutely could not allow.

He gripped my chin roughly andforcedme to look at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. “If only Father could see you now.”

“Why don’t you show him then,Dominika?Hmm?” His hateful glare could have burnt down the room. Hehatedit when I called him that. It was a teasing nickname from when we were children. I gave him an arrogant smile. “Because you know as well as I do that he wouldn’t be impressed by this. It would show him exactly what you’re so desperate to hide.” My smile widened. “Howweakyou really are.”

“I. Am. Not. Weak,” he growled. “Would a weak person have thePakhanof the Bratva in his fucking basement? Huh? Huh?!”

Getting called weak was a pressure point for him—one I thoroughly enjoyed pushing. It was all he’d heard from our father growing up.

“Ty budesh’ slabym, malen’kim mal’chikom vsyu svoyu dolbanuyu zhizn’? Are you going to be a weak little boy all your fucking life?

“Pochemu ty ne mozhesh’ byt’ bol’she pokhozhim na svoyego brata?” Why can’t you be more like your brother?

“Ty slab! Slab, slab, slab!" You’re weak! Weak, weak, weak!

Before our rivalry had reached this point, I used to actually feel sorry for him whenever Father would pick on him. But that was a long,longtime ago.

“But that wasn’t you, was it?” The look on his face was worth all the pain and torture I’d just endured ten times over. “You didn’t even have the balls to join the raid yourself. You just sent your lackeys in to do it for you.Slabyy! Weak!” I spat, channelling Sergei Volkov, that terrifying aura he exuded when he was angry.

It worked.

Dominik flinched, an involuntary response from years of emotional trauma and physical abuse. It was exactly what I was hoping for. To that day, Dominik was still scared of Sergei. Was still trying to impress him. Earn his love and affection, even after all of those years, after everything he’d done. He refused to see what was right in front of him. WhatIhadrealised when I was only ten years old.

Our father didn’t give a fuck about us. He didn’t love us or care about us or want us to be happy.

The only thing that mattered to him was his legacy.

My smile turned downright feral. Psychotic. Once Dominik realised what he’d done, the fear he’d shown me, his jaw clenched in anger, hands squeezing into tight fists at his sides.

He struck hard. Fast. I didn’t even see the blow coming. His knuckles pounded into my jaw, and my head snapped to the side, pain exploding across my face. Blood pooled in my mouth, coating my teeth. Despite the throbbing pain, I couldn’t help but laugh as my body slowly swayed back and forth in the air.

The cuffs around my wrists had rubbed my skin raw. Nearly everything hurt, but still, I laughed and laughed and laughed.

Imight have been the prisoner.Imight have been the one chained up and being tortured for hours on end. Buthewas the one who was hurting. Dominik’s face turned bright red in embarrassment the longer I laughed at him. It wasn’t a good look for him, especially in the presence of his men. Or even the other prisoners, for that matter. It undermined his authority. Made him look bad. Not in control.

Weak.

With an angry huff, he spun on the balls of his feet and stormed out, his men following behind him.

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