Page 41 of Bratva Butcher

“He died in a car crash, and I’m fucking glad.”

His brow arched up high.

“He was a dick. Bullied me my whole life, and my parents let him because he was the golden child and I was the accident. They always took his side. Never mine. Not even when I told them about what he tried to do to me when I was eight years old.”

Dimitri frowned. “What did he try to do?”

I gave him a deadpan look.

“You’re joking,” he all but growled.

I shook my head. “Nope. Lucky for me, I had an affinity for sharp objects, even at that age. He’d been far too preoccupied feeling me up to notice when I grabbed the screwdriver and stabbed him in the eye with it. Unfortunately, he didn’t die. Just lost his eye. But he never tried that shit again, so it was a win-win, I guess.”

Anger burnt in his eyes. “There’s nothing more cowardly than hurting children.”

I debated not saying anything. I really, really did. We were having an actual conversation—one that didn’t involve us growling at each other or threatening to kill one another. But, of course, keeping my mouth shut when I had something to say wasn’t exactly my strong suit.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you—”

“No, I didn’t,” he snapped instantly, somehow knowing exactly what I was going to say. “I’ve never harmed a child.”

I frowned. Everyone knew the story behind the Bratva Butcher. After the death of his wife by a rival family in the Bratva, he took retribution by killing everyone in that family, and I meaneveryone. Man, woman and child.

“But I thought—”

He cursed and abruptly got to his feet, moving towards the front of the cell. He leant against the bars, his arms crossed over his chest, face hard and stoic as he stared out into the darkness. “I know what you thought. What everyone thinks. And I let them believe it. Truth of the matter is, though, even in my state of anger, I could never kill a child. I’m a bastard, and evil to the core, but that’s one line I will never cross. During that dark time in my life, I killed a lot of people. Too many to count. Some of them had children. After I’d killed their parents, I couldn’t leave them there to fend for themselves. I had enough deaths on my conscience. I didn’t need more. So, I made sure they were taken care of.”

“And let everyone believe you’d murdered them?” I queried.

“Why not?” he asked, shrugging idly. “It made me a bigger monster in people’s eyes. Made them think twice about attacking me and my family. Only someone truly heinous could murder children. So, I let them think that I had. Instead, I took them to an orphanage. A baby, three toddlers and a couple of teenagers.”

So, the Butcher has a heart. Who knew?

“You’re not worried these kids are gonna come back when they’re all grown up and take their own form of retribution against you?”

“They’d be entitled to it,” was all he said. He turned to face me fully, arms crossed over that wide, expansive chest. “Switzerland?” he questioned, steering the conversation back to where it had originally begun.

“Switzerland,” I exhaled, sitting up and spinning around to plant my feet on the floor. “It was just my parents and I. It was supposed to be this huge bonding moment for us up in those mountains. Nothing but us and nature. Quality time.” I scoffed, shaking my head as the memories flooded back in a rush. Along with the anger. And the betrayal. “I knew they never really loved me. Corey was planned.Iwas the accident they didn’t want but were forced to have. But evenIhadn’t been prepared for what they had planned.”

He frowned. Moved a step closer.

I kept going like I didn’t notice, but I did. I noticed everything he did.

“Imagine my surprise when they took me out to those mountains not to bond, not to finally build some sort of connection with me, but to hand me over to some man they’d met on the internet. Tosellme to him.”

He took another step.

“I don’t even know how they knew someone in that game. My parents owned a shitty little furniture store in Australia. They weren’t drug users. Or dealers. Or killers. And yet, they’d managed to find some perv to sell me off to. Who knows, maybe there’s some sort of website out there where you can contact them. PervsRUs.com.”

Another step. “Australia?”

I whipped up a finger, pointing it at him. “If you ask me to say, ’throw another shrimp on the barbie, mate’, I’ll knock your two front teeth out,” I warned.

His hands flew up, palms out. He said nothing, but the smirk on his lips told me he’d been thinking about it.

I’d lived in America for over twenty years, but that Aussie twang never quite went away. I started talking with an American accent somewhere around the hundredth time someone asked me about crocodile fucking dundee.

“There were no tears. No apologies. No heartfelt goodbyes. To them, this was nothing more than a business arrangement. They just handed me over to that man and his two friends and walked away without looking back. What happened next… Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.” I exhaled, continuing. “I fought as much as I could, but a fourteen-year-old girl was no match for three grown men. After they were done, I ran for it. Didn’t get very far. When they caught me out in those woods, they each took me again before beating the crap out of me and leaving me for dead.”

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