Page 16 of Addicted Lies

“You’re only happy because it’s not you she’s pissed at,” Hawke says.

“Is that why you’re hiding out here?” I add.

“Damn right.” He chuckles. “But someone has to let the dogs out to go to the bathroom.” He whistles, and with lightning speed, the two chow chows bolt from the darkness. They’re not the same dogs from eleven years ago, but Ivan and Thor are a staple in the family. They greet us happily, tails wagging. I bend over and pat Ivan, him being my favorite of the two, as Thor goes to Hawke.

They appear friendly until the well-trained assholes are commanded to attack or someone breaks in. We’d know because we were made to wear the padded protection gear and run around the fucking backyard when they were being trained. Let’s just say dogs are not a deterrent for Hawke and me when breaking into premises.

We follow our father into the house and find our mother pacing the kitchen. She’s always been a shit cook, but at least she tries. And she only cooks when we come over, adopting the Taylors’ family tradition of dinner once a month to feel “connected.” Whatever the fuck that means.

Except in true Anya fashion, once a month was far too long for her not to be in our business, so we’re here once a week, as requested.

If we’re overseas, we’re required to fly home.

We don’t miss our weekly visits.

Or else.

“Oh, so you think it’s a good idea to roll in late?” Anya snaps at us, a lock of hair escaping her usually perfectly secured bun. She blows at it, irritated. Hawke and I point to one another at the same time. “I don’t care whose fault it is. Take a seat. Dinner is ready.”

Hawke salutes her, and she says something in Russian, which I know are swear words, as we walk to the table. River’s already sitting at the head of the table, looking smug. I swear the fucker actually gets off when we’re in trouble, and I sometimes wonder if he cleverly dragged us into this household for his own amusement so he wasn’t the only one being punished by his wife’s hand.

“What’s with the smiling?” Hawke asks. I think, in a lot of ways, Hawke mirrors River, especially in the way he’s openly a smartass.

“Your mother makes me happy,” River replies. That much we know. This man could literally go out, come home covered in blood, and have the worst day, but when he sees her, everything else is forgotten.

Their love is sickening, considering they have no filter on their still-booming physical attraction despite them both being almost sixty years old. But Anya doesn’t look like she’s aged a bit since we first moved in. That scorn forever molded into her expression.

I itch to pull out my phone—a habit of mine when in social settings. But considering the last time I did that at the dinner table, Anya stabbed a knife through it, pinning it to the table, and established a “no phones at dinner time” rule, I think better of it.

“What work did you do today?” Anya asks as she carries a plate of chicken into the dining room. It doesn’t look fully cooked. But she places it on the table, reaches for a knife, and stabs it. We all stare at her as she attempts to cut it. “Let me guess, top secret because Eli Monti said.” Anya doesn’t dislike Eli. She actually respects his family. But she hates that we work for someone else.

Our relationship with Eli didn’t start out on a good note. One day at school, Eli picked a fight with us, and despite hearing the warnings to stay clear of him, we had no issue hitting back harder. Eli was a finely tuned weapon even then, but we’d grown up fighting for our lives—literally. We were bigger and played dirtier. He was impressed by that, and when he discovered who we were living with, we became friends. We all left the school bloodied, none of us reprimanded for the scuffle, with Dutton shaking his head, disappointed that he didn’t get an opportunity to play with his knives.

Eli might’ve come from money, but he’s as fucked up as the rest of us.

That’s what we liked about him.

And then, as the years went by, we started fucking around, doing illegal shit with him. You name it, we did it. Even killing with him and for him. Then we became his seconds and Dutton, his silent adviser.

I should feel guilty for fucking Dutton’s sister. But I don’t.

“Mother.” Hawke interrupts the carnage that is Anya Ivanov trying to shred a chicken apart. River’s smirking like a dickhead at the still-bleeding chicken.Jesus. I’m not a religious man, but that shit ain’t right.

I ate before I came. For the simple fact that the food sucks unless she orders in.

But I still attempt to eat it.

“Don’t “Mother” me.” She stabs the meat again. “You show up late, and now you want to criticize my cooking?” she snarls, despite no one saying anything.

I’ve never seen someone make such a mess of cutting poultry.

“Red,” River says. Her gaze shoots up to him, and she puts down the knife, a forced smile appearing on her lips. “A deal went bad today. You both know how your mother is when things don’t go her way.” Our father reaches for her hand, and she lets him squeeze it before she pulls it back and looks at the disaster, which is the roasted chicken.

“It’s fine. It’ll be sorted because our sons will be sorting it.” She smiles like that makes her happy, and being the only woman in this house, we sure do love to make her happy. Because when she’s upset, we all feel it.

“And who will we be killing tonight?” I ask. It’s very rare for our mother to ask for our help and not handle a situation herself. But when she does, I think it’s because killing is her love language, which means this time it’s personal.

“A man wouldn’t sell me a ring I wanted for my collection. He tried to haggle with me.” Shehumphs.

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