Page 19 of Kings of Cruelty

Sierra

I tabout of the university’s online classroom system to check my emails. I should probably be doing all of this at a real desk, but Yuri had hooked me up with a lap desk, so I’m ruining my posture by working in bed.

All of my professors but one have given me new due dates for my assignments, but the last one has been annoyingly slow to communicate with me. It’s not like he can refuse to give me an extension when I have a note from the hospital covering the dates I missed, but that doesn’t mean he has to make it easy on me.

Unfortunately, the new email I spotted isn’t from any professor.

It’s from Kyran.

I give serious thought to simply deleting it without reading it, but in the end, my curiosity wins out.

Sierra,

I’m sorry for losing my temper. I hope you understand I’m worried about you. I miss talking to my favorite sisterlol. I know you don’t really want to talk to me, and I am trying to respect that. I was hoping maybe you’d want to email back and forth though so we can at least keep in touch.

Love you sis.

Kyran

Tearswell up in my eyes, and I clench my hands into fists at my sides.

It’s not the words themselves that have me so upset. It’s the fact that without a doubt, he had Silvano fucking Cresci help him with it instead of doing it on his own. If my brother had written it by himself, there would be more than an errant “lol” in there. It would’ve been littered with typos and abbreviations to the point where I’d have shaken my head in exasperation.

I wish I was thinking of the email with fond frustration, but instead, I can feel Silvano’s smarmy touch on every fucking thing my brother does.

I exit out of the window without responding.

If he really was going to respect my wishes about not talking, he wouldn’t be trying to contact me.

As much as I want to lament the way men seem to have a problem taking no for an answer, I don’t feel like sitting alone in sullen silence.

I close my laptop with more force than necessary, getting up and grabbing the lotion. The gunshot wound is healing well, better than I’d expected, but I’m definitely going to have a scar.

Like it wasn’t bad enough that I already have a brand—their brand—on my chest.

I scowl, but I’m too agitated to sit in here alone.

I’d normally go to Yuri, but he’s still self-flagellating, and Nikolai is always hit or miss. That leaves Konstantin, who iscalm and rational enough for the most part while still managing to be comforting in his own way.

I head to his office. To my surprise, the door is open—and all three of them are inside. They’re all sitting around the small coffee table, where finger food is laid out. Konstantin and Yuri are on the couch, while Nikolai is in the armchair.

Yuri isn’t wearing a shirt, so I can see all the tattoos across his body.

“Hi,” I mumble. I hold up the small bottle of lotion that’s supposed to help reduce scarring. “I thought one of you could help me with this?”

They all know I don’t need help with something that basic, but none of them call me out on it.

Konstantin nods and pats his lap. “Of course, Sierrochka.”

I head over to him, and Nikolai gets up to close—and lock—the door behind me.

Of course, now my curiosity gets the better of me too. I glance at the coffee table. “You three having a light lunch? In here instead of in the kitchen or dining room?”

Yuri’s eyes dart to Nikolai, then he shrugs. “Just discussing some business.”

Business. Right.

I scoff lightly, but I don’t challenge them as I settle down on Konstantin’s lap. I hand him the lotion, then unbutton my shirt and slide it off of my shoulders so he can inspect the wound. “How’s it look?” I ask him. It looks nasty to me, but I don’t know enough about gunshot wounds to really be able to tell. The stitches are already out, but the skin is tender and it still hurts to lift my arm too high.

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