Page 89 of Promised to the Killer

I wish I could cut open my brain and take that image from my skull. That and all the others. The nights we spent fucking. The days we spent laughing and reading together. The hate that turned to something so much more.

Now I’m a wreck, and I don’t think there’s a way back.

I sigh and finish my drink. I gesture for another. I hope some new guys come in soon. I have two thousand in cash and I want someone to punch me until I can’t think about anything but agony.

I’ll keep doing it until Siena is beaten from my skull or I’m dead.

A shape appears at my elbow. The bearded guy, ready to make some money? I turn and I’m about to offer him a thousand, but the words die on my tongue.

It’s my mother.

She’s wearing black slacks and a black sweater. Her hair’s tied back in a twist, and she’s scowling around the bar like she’s about to get rabies just sitting in this stinkhole. I don’t know how she found me, and I suddenly desperately wish I was anywhere else in the world. My mother doesn’t enter places like this, and I feel guilty for making her step foot through that door.

“What are you doing in here, Maxim?”

“Drinking,” I grunt at her. The bartender returns with my vodka. Mom frowns at my drink and asks for one of her own. The bartender shrugs, pours, and pushes it over.

She takes a sip and her nose crinkles. “Disgusting.”

“Does the job.” I toss half of mine back.

“Your sisters are worried sick. Jasha and Feliks are too. You look awful.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

“Come home.”

“No, thank you.” I sip my vodka. “Fewer memories here.”

“It’s been nine days, Maxim. You’re in pain and you’re mourning, but you’ll move on. Time truly does heal all wounds.”

“Not this one. Not this time. I’ve given up too much and I don’t think there’s any coming back.”

She sighs and sips her drink. I don’t know why she’s doing that. This vodka is awful. But she stays next to me and doesn’t move, even though she clearly hates it here.

“You really love her, don’t you?”

I grimace like she just poked hot iron into my eyes.

“Yes, I do really love her.” It’s the first time I’ve said the words out loud or really admitted it to myself, but I know it’s the truth. And that hurts even more.

“Your father isn’t happy about this.”

“He’s not my father.”

She gives me a sharp look. “Don’t be melodramatic. You’re not a teenager anymore, Maxim. You can’t go around whining about how he’s not your dad.”

“His words. Not mine.”

She rolls her eyes. “Grow up. You know who your father is. You understand our family.”

“You’re right.” I turn to her, seething. “My whole life has been spent understanding this family. I’ve worked twice as hard for half as much. Father made me heir because he couldn’t justify doing anything else. Feliks and Jasha are both strong and smart, but they’re his blood. They get to coast on that fact. I’m the adopted bastard cousin, and I have to kill, and fight, and steal, and destroy just to get an ounce of approval. My whole life’s been a test, and finally, finally, I got a taste of something good. Now she’s gone, and so am I.” I raise my glass, toss it back, gesture for another. The bartender pours. Good man.

Mother lets that sink in. She finishes her drink and motions for a refill. The bartender pours. Bastard.

“I understand how you feel,” she says slowly, looking at the vodka as it sloshes in her cloudy tumbler. “You’re right that your father’s been harder on you than your brothers. That’s only because he knew you are the strongest. He thought you could handle it.”

“Guess he was wrong.”

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