Page 93 of Brutal Reign
“Now you know what kind of monster I really am.”
Not long ago, I would have agreed. I would have seen only the killer, the man who destroyed my father’s empire. But staring at him now, seeing the broken piece of his soul, I see things differently.
Now, I see a man shaped by impossible choices and unbearable loss. A man who learned too young that love sometimes means making devastating sacrifices.
A man who might understand better than anyone why I’d do anything to protect Kin.
The realization terrifies me. Because if Pavel isn’t the devil I’ve been telling myself he is, then what does that make me for planning to take his son away from him?
When we pull into the compound, Pavel cuts the engine and sits motionless for a long moment. Neither of us says anything. I can see the war happening behind his eyes, all that pain he’s been carrying threatening to break free.
“Pavel—” I start, but he’s already out of the car, moving with that grace so rare in a man his size.
He disappears through the front door before a guard steps forward and opens my passenger door. I gather a sleepy Kin from the backseat. By the time I get inside, Pavel is nowhere to be found. I feed Kin dinner and go through our bedtime routine, but my mind keeps drifting to wherever Pavel has gone to bleed out his demons.
After I tuck Kin in, I go looking for him, but it doesn’t take much guessing. In my heart, I know where he is.
Music, something bleak and melancholic, drifts under the door of Pavel’s art studio. I knock softly, then harder when there’s no response.
“Pavel, I know you’re in there,” I say. “Please let me in. You can talk to me.”
I try again, but he keeps on ignoring me. Shutting me out.
He’s alone in there, probably painting his guilt onto canvas in violent strokes. But he doesn’t have to carry this alone anymore. Not when I understand exactly how that kind of loss can destroy you.
I rest my forehead against the door, my hand flat against the wood. The raw pain in his voice when he talked about Kamilla keeps echoing in my head. He opened up to me, was vulnerable with me and now he’s alone with those demons.
I have no right to comfort him, but I want to try. Except, he’s not letting me in.
After a few minutes, I feel a large hand land on my shoulder.
“Leave him to work through it,” Yarik says quietly. “He needs time. Come with me.”
He leads me to the kitchen, settling me at the table by the window before handing me a mug of chamomile tea.
“I’ve known Pavel a long time. When he first came to me, he was barely seventeen, but he fought like someone with nothing to lose. Angry. Alone. He lashed out at the world. Anyone and anything. Fought like he didn’t care if he lived or died, which after everything, he didn’t.”
Yarik’s voice carries the weight of memory. He takes a moment to blow on his tea, before taking a small sip.
“Took me a long time to show him that boxing was a skill. It was an art to perfect. If he wanted to lash out at the world, he didn’t need lessons. He could throw himself in any underground fight ring and get his face smashed in. But if he wanted to train with me, he needed to find his focus. Control the rage and pain that ruled him. When he learned the art of discipline, of funneling grief into something else, fighting or painting or whatever it is… It doesn’t take the pain away, but it keeps it at bay most days.” He shrugs, looking off into the distance as if he can see the ghosts of his past. “Still, sometimes he doesn’t know what to do with all that emotion he’s kept buried, especially now that he has you and Kin to care about again.”
I bite my lip, staring out the window into the darkness beyond. “I don’t understand.”
“He learned to protect his heart, and the best way to do that is to keep distance. Safer that way, less chance of failing someone who matters.”
My throat constricts. The careful walls I’ve built around my own heart suddenly feel paper thin.
“But you know,” Yarik continues, a small smile on his face. “Five years ago Pavel went to London for business. When he came back, he was different.” My heart hammers against my ribs as I read between the lines. “Restless. Like he lost something that mattered. It felt like he was waiting for something but didn’t know what. Since you and Kin arrived, that restlessness is gone. Whatever Pavel was waiting for, I think he found it. Give him time, Hope.”
Later, I go through the motions of getting ready for bed—washing my face, brushing my teeth, changing into an oversized T-shirt. But when I finally slip between the sheets, all I can do is stare up at the ceiling.
I think about a teenage Pavel, alone and angry, lashing out at a world that had taken everything from him. I know that rage. I know what it feels like to lose the people who are supposed to protect you, to have your childhood ripped away in an instant.
Both Pavel and I lost everyone we loved. My mother might have been the only one who died, but I lost my father that day too when he sent me away. It was as hard as losing her, maybe even more so because it was a choice he made. One that I’m still living with.
Something about Pavel’s broken confession earlier makes me want to show him he doesn’t have to face everything alone.
I’m tired of letting fear decide what I deserve. Tired of protecting myself by avoiding everything that feels right. Even if it makes no sense at all.
