Page 11 of Thorns of Lust
The last image I had of her was her casket covered in thorns and roses as she was lowered into the ground.
It all started that night my mother died. That fateful night that changed the course of our lives. Even Tatiana’s, who hadn’t even been born yet.
Somebody shook my body, but I was sleeping too heavily.
“Wake up.” A hushed whisper. My mother’s voice. The scent of roses. Mama always smelled of roses. My brain dazed, I blinked the sleep out of my eyes. It took me a while to take in my surroundings. I was in my bedroom. My eyes connected with my mother’s green eyes, her messy blonde hair framing her face.
“We have to go, baby,” she said in a hushed tone.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her I wasn’t a baby. I was six. A big boy. At least that was what my father said all the time. My twin, Maxim, was already awake and crying. It was nothing new; he always cried.
“It’s okay, Maxim,” I mumbled sleepily, accustomed to comforting him. “Don’t cry. Everything will be okay.”
Although I had no clue what was happening. Mother gently yanked me out of bed, then handed me my shoes.
“Mama… where are we going?”
Her gaze, the color of the deepest green forest, darted around, as if she feared someone would appear at any moment. “Somewhere safe.” I gave her a confused look. We were safe here. Father was the Pakhan and protected us from everyone. I opened my mouth to argue but she stopped me. “Don’t argue with me, Illias Konstantin. You are my sons, and I’m not leaving you behind.”
I hurriedly put my shoes on and took Maxim’s hand in mine as Mama led us outside. My younger brother, although only by a few minutes, stumbled behind me, still crying, his steps clumsy.
“It’s okay, Maxim,” I comforted him. “We’re together.”
Before I could say anything else, Mama pushed us gently into the back seat of the Range Rover that Papa gifted her only days before.
“Fasten your seatbelts,” Mama ordered in a whisper, then rushed to the driver’s side and got in. Just as I helped Maxim with his, the tires screeched as she took off, and I hurriedly put my own seatbelt on.
The streets of Moscow were empty as we left our city house. It was dark and freezing cold, this winter being particularly cold. Most of the city slept, no other vehicles or people for as far as I could see. I glanced at the dash and saw the red ‘3:30 a.m.’ staring back at us.
“Mama, why are we leaving in the middle of the night?” I questioned her, staring at the back of her blonde head.
Mother’s hand trembled, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel. She was paler too; her expression was fearful. She kept glancing around as if she expected someone to appear and hurt her. But Papa wouldn’t let anything happen to her. He loved her too much.
I heard Papa’s friends say that he loved Mama so much that it made him blind. It was dangerous to be like that in our world. The Omertà vow was above all else and nobody survived violating it. Not even a family member. The thorns are poisonous, Papa’s second-in-command muttered. The Black Rose means death.
Back then I struggled to understand what it meant.
“I don’t want to go,” Maxim whimpered. “I want my toys.”
Mama paid him no mind. My brother cried a lot and got attached too quickly. At least that was what I heard Mama and Papa say.
“We’ll get them,” I said softly, just as mama took a sharp turn, and I reached out to steady Maxim before he’d hit the door as I held onto the seat with one hand. I glanced out the window and saw we were leaving the city behind.
“Mama? Where are we going?”
Her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and she smiled. That special smile that always softened even the hardest hearts.
“We’ll start a new life,” she whispered roughly. “Somewhere away from all this.” The answer made no sense. “A real family. You’ll gain a brother. We’ll be a happy family. Away from your father.”
That answer made even less sense. Mama didn’t have any more babies. Maxim and I were her babies. She always said that. And father said we would always be together.
“But Papa won’t be happy,” I said softly. “He’ll be sad without us.”
Her eyes lit up staring in the distance, but she didn’t answer. Just as I thought maybe she realized the error of her ways, she turned into a dark, gravel lot. Then I saw it. Another car sat there, a beat up van. Our car came to a stop and the van flashed its lights. Once. Twice. Three times.
A soft squeal left Mother’s lips. “Unbuckle your seatbelts,” she said. “Our new life awaits.”
She reached for the large bag on the passenger seat that I hadn’t noticed and jumped out of the car, then opened the door for us.
