Page 5 of Devotion

Without Matvey at my back, along with the other handful of Volk Bratva members that call this place home, I would’ve been dead a thousand times over. They’ve become like family.

Matvey like one of my own brothers.

“So, what is first thing you will eat when out of this?—”

“Shitsmear hotel?”

“I’ll never quite get your humor, Shakal. What you say is just true statements.”

“It’s all about how you say it, though. Never mind.”

I swear he does that to piss me off.

Russians understand sarcasm just fine.

But every time I make a joke about the god-awful room service at this place, I get fucking crickets. I will say, though. The amenities have improved since I got here.

After two weeks and that initial arena battle, they only tried to shank me in my sleep everyothernight. They got me a few times.

Several dozen lost fingers later, they cut it down to once a week. Guess they got sick of me cutting off body parts.

The beatings in the yard were always on the table, but I tried to make them regret it.

I laughed when they broke my fingers. I laughed when they cracked my ribs.

But then they broke my nose.

Andnobodywas laughing. I don’t remember much in the blur that followed…

Except the screams.

Call me conceded, but nobody fucks with my face!

Apparently, I went apeshit and tore some guy’s ear off. They finally managed to get me tied up. Beat me right proper.

When I woke up in the infirmary a few days later, I had a little leeway. A little respect.

Every one of my attackers outstayed my hospital visit. A couple transferred to the furnace in the morgue.

I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get to me.

The constant panic. The lack of sleep. The brutal weather and even worse treatment by the guards and inmates alike.

But I fucking made it.

And ever since then, they call me a few different names.

Not sure exactly what “bies”means, but I think it’s some sort of demon. And I might have leaned into it a bit to fuck with them.

I make sure they always hear me coming, chuckling as I walk down a hall by myself. It’s satisfying to hear them scatter ahead of me. At least the low-level rabble.

The nameShakalstarted whispering around a little while later, and it stuck. Almost 100 percent sure Matvey is the source for the nickname, truth be told.

Call me a drama king, but I kinda like it. If my twin is alive somewhere, he’s rolling his eyes at me.

The Jackal.

Fits the bill even more because I joined up with the Volk. Means “wolf.”

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