Page 85 of Deviant Knight

That’s how I ended up on the phone with my mother while hugging a bottle of whiskey. I ran out of vodka days ago and haven’t replenished my supply.

Anytime I’m in doubt over business, I go to my dad. Whenever it was something heavier, like matters of the heart and my tarnished soul, I’ve always turned to my mom. Only I tend to forget she isn’t like other moms. She doesn’t coddle or pat me on the back and reassure me that everything will be okay.

Mine smacks you in the back of the head and calls you a dumbass.

“Love isn’t something you can run from or toss to the side like it’s unimportant. It’s not something you lie about, either. Who the hell am I even speaking to?MyKrishna isn’t afraid of anything or anyone. He certainly doesn’t give one single fuck how others see him.”

“That’s not what it’s about, Mom.”

Maybe that’s part of it if I’m honest. They’re married to each other, not to me. Regardless, I’d always be the third wheel, and I refuse to be the side dish, or worse, their dessert.

I want her to be as much mine as she is his. I want him to belong to me like he does her. I don’t see how that’s achievable. Not to mention I have Moscow breathing down my neck through the Canadian fucker they asked me to groom. I don’t know how my father kept them out of his shit. They want me to take a wife and produce an heir even though that isn’t typically how it works in the Bratva.

They wouldn’t care if I had ten women in my bed or even ten men, but having one of each out in public is another story. Ciera already went through enough shit that I don’t want to drag her into mine as I find my way as the Pakhan of the US.

A lot of people were scared of my father, which gave him freedoms I haven’t earned. They could decide to take me out as easily as my father took out one of theirs. In fact, I’m surprised they let it go; that there hasn’t been any backlash other than the Russian brotherhood being too friendly toward me—too buddy buddy for my liking—as though we’re all old friends.

“Son, when you figure out you still have balls between your legs and start to use them again, call me back. Until then, call your father for the ‘poor me’ bullshit you caused yourself.”

The call ends before I can call her a bitch like the petulant child she and I know I’m acting like. I also know it won’t get the reaction I want, either. It would take more than calling her by that derogatory term for her to hop on a plane just to beat my ass.

After everyone moved out of my parents’ house and I returned to my apartment in Brooklyn, I brought Rellik with me. Sasha took the girls with her. Pretty sure Kill’s continued low growls are directed at me for taking him away from his females, but if I have to suffer from abstaining from mine, then he can be my partner in that shit whether he likes it or not.

Besides, he’s my dog and should choose me over bitches anyway.

I mean, I wouldn’t, but I’m not the one considered to be man’s best friend. He’s failing on the one job he was trained to do.

I’m lifting the crystal glass to my lips when a pinging noise sounds around the room, telling me that a code to unlock my door was just entered. If it’s my sister here to steal my dog, she can eat shit. His sorry ass is stuck in this hell with me.

I swallow and glance up at the same time. When I see Ciera, I almost spew what hasn’t finished flowing down my throat.

Dom enters behind her, but he doesn’t spare me a glance as he deviates, going toward the kitchen. I don’t even see the blade leave his hand and fly through the air until it punctures the leather seat back to my left, where I’m sitting in the middle of the couch.

I flick my eyes to my dog, who doesn’t even attempt to move when he’s staring me in the face like he wants to chow down on the motherfucker.

What the fuck?!

When I peer back in front of me, Ciera stands on the other side of the coffee table, her arms raised and outstretched, a nine-millimeter in her small hands.

“Kitten, why are you brandishing a gun in my direction?”

“Don’t worry about this little thing. It’ll only be used depending on how you answer.”

“That’s a bit psychotic,” I say.And way hotter sounding than it should be, but I keep that admission to myself. “Answer what?”

“Why you’re a gobdaw?”

“I don’t know what the fuck that means.”

She purses her lips, but she’s so damn cute when she says Irish words that no one else understands but her.

“It means you’re a bit of a twit. Don’t have your shit together. A bit dumb,” she informs me, matter-of-factly.

Rellik barks. I turn my head to where he’s sitting in the corner.

“You shady motherfucker. You just agreed with her, didn’t you?” I stare dumbfounded at my dog.

“That’s because he’s an intelligent creature.” Dom walks back into the living room, a crystal glass filled with amber liquid clutched in his right hand.

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