Page 74 of Broken Sins (Volkov Bratva 3)

It has done this before. It knows its job.

I seize it in one hand and, with a deep breath, whip it backwards over my shoulder.

Only when I feel the knot strikes my back and I feel the first blush of sharp, cracking pain can I finally breathe again.

But I do not stop there.

I whip myself again and again until I can feel hot blood stream from the breaks in my skin. Until my breath comes in sharp, agonized spurts. Until I feel that I have paid what is owed for the promises I broke.

I go longer than I ever have before, because this was a special kind of sin. I touched what I should never have touched. Went where I shouldn’t have gone.

I don’t give a fuck that Vito told me to stay away from the girl. I haven’t cared what he tells me to do in a long time. I am here castigating myself because I swore to myself that I wouldn’t go there.

I knew from the moment we found her that this would not end well. My brothers think I am too caught up in my own madness to see that they are each victims of their insanities. But I see in them what I feel in myself: this girl is the flint that sparks the fire. None of us will survive unscathed.

I should have killed her when I had the chance. That first night, I went down to sharpen my knife and end things before they went too far. She awoke just before I was ready to kill her in her drugged stupor. That was a sign from heaven or hell—I’m still not sure which. Fate dictated that this girl would come into our home, into our hearts, and wreak havoc.

Though it is also true that she had already wreaked havoc before our eyes ever met. Her skin is flawless pearl, but it is stained with the blood of my brother and father. By mere virtue of her family name, she is responsible for their deaths. And, more to the point, she is the sacrificial lamb that must die in order to balance the scale.

Her father stole Sergio from me. So I promised that I would steal her from him.

I told Milaya that to her face. But I fear that now she knows I can’t go through with it. Maybe she doesn’t know the extent of my struggle. Of how many nights I sat outside her cell door when all else was dark and quiet, picturing myself throwing open the door and finishing what I started. I failed then. I failed now.

Christ, I am a pathetic wretch. I could not protect my brother and now I can’t even bear to kill for him in vengeance. I deserve the pain that is lancing through my back now as I lie huddled on the cold stone floor of this empty room. The only light comes from a steel-barred window. It is a clear night and cloudless, so the moon is bright and full. I wonder if she is looking out her window and seeing it the way I am.

After several long minutes of labored breathing, I reach for the rope again. Because I feel the lust rearing its ugly head once more. I want to go back down and do again what I shouldn’t have done even once. I want to fuck her again. I want to feel alive again, the way I did when she pressed the knife against my neck with murder in her eyes.

What does it mean that she couldn’t kill me? I feel bound to her by that, like an invisible chain links her heart to mine. I couldn’t kill her; she couldn’t kill me. Does that mean something? Does anything mean anything anymore?

I don’t fucking know.

To be truthful, I haven’t known anything for a long time. Maybe ever.

Mateo thinks I was born unhinged. He is not entirely wrong. But he cannot possibly know how it feels to live in the grips of emotions so powerful that there is nothing to do but submit to them or be crushed, like tumbling in the throes of a wave at the beach. If I try to resist the things I feel, I would be broken by them. So I have to let them run over me. Around me. Through me. That’s the only way.

Sergio was the only one who ever understood. He knew me implicitly. My twin, my other. He saw what I saw, felt what I felt. But he knew better than me how to handle it. He found a way to tame his demons, to saddle them and make them work for him instead of the other way around. I have never been so fortunate.

He knew how to put the reins in my hands though. When it truly mattered, he could speak to me in a way that cut through the chaos and helped me find my center.

But he is gone now, and so I am a victim once again.

I let the rope fall from my hand.

Whipping myself won’t undo the sex. It won’t bring back my dead twin. All I have is sins compounding sins. I’m the one who has to live with it. Trying to beat them back with this blood-clotted rope or with self-loathing or with alcohol is like punching waves. I will only die tired.

I struggle to my feet and pull my shirt back over my head. The drunkenness is fading from me now. I want to sleep for days, for weeks, for years. First, I must shower and rinse the smell of Milaya from my hands and face. It is haunting me already.

Before I go, I walk over to the window and peer through. It looks out into the rear courtyard. I scan the darkness. Perhaps there are answers to my torment hidden between the boughs of the trees. But the night is still and quiet.

Until I see a dark figure meandering along the edge of the pool. It stops and drops something into the water, then watches the ripples spread. I smile, a tight, thin-lipped smile of like recognizing like. The man down there is suffering the same way I am.

And I think I know the reason why.

* * *

“Leo.”

My brother turns and looks at me. He is wary, surprised, fists clenched and ready to strike if I prove to be an enemy, as we were taught. When he sees it is me, he eases but scowls.

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