Page 21 of Brutal Unionn
I dump the kit onto the marble countertop with my good hand, my palm sticky with blood, my patience hanging on by a thread. Thread. Needle. Wipes. Gauze. Sho’s probably stitched himself up here multiple times, and now I am sitting on the cold marble counter, knees up, prepared to fucking stitch back my own hand. Next time I see Sho, I am going tohurthim.
I wash my hand in the sink, watching the blood dilute and spiral down the drain. The cut stings under the water, sharp and immediate, but manageable. I’ve had worse.
With one steadying breath, I grab the alcohol and sterilize theneedle, fingers shaking more from exhaustion than anything else. The smell burns my nose, and for a second, I just breathe.
Then I brace my injured hand on the edge of the sink. The porcelain is slick with blood, streaked in uneven lines that smear when I shift. I bite down on a rolled towel and get to work.
The first stitch bites. So does the second.
I pull the thread through slowly, carefully. Clean edges. Even spacing. It’s not pretty, but it’s enough. Each tug sends a jolt up my arm, makes my eyes blur a little—but I keep going. The pain is blinding. My vision pulses at the edges. I feel sweat bead on my temple, breath ragged through my nose. But I don’t stop. I don’t cry. And I don’t fucking wince.
Right when I make the final knot with my teeth I hear the familiar ring of my phone from the living room. My feet pad against the heated floors as I rush back to the coffee table. Practically falling on the floor as I answer the phone.
“Yes?” I huff.
“We have a meeting at nine a.m. with the Yakuza and a flight back to New York at three p.m. It is approximately four in the morning and you have been unresponsive for five hours.” Aleksandr, my only full brother, his disappointed voice rings through the phone.
I roll my eyes and lean against the couch, looking at my stitched hand leaning against my knee. “You are not supposed to be keeping tabs on your superior.”
“Correct,” he grumbles. “But you are my sister and the Bratva Queen, meaning your disappearance after an hour should have required a slew of soldiers to hunt you and Sho down.”
“Sho is mine,” I snap, immediately regretting it when Aleksandr chuckles. “To hunt and kill. He is mine to kill.”
“Of course yours tokill,” Aleksandr mocks in the chill monotone I have come to realize was his humor. “You know you have a habit of beating up the men you have crushes on.”
“I do not have a crush,” I hiss, rolling onto my feet and searching for his bedroom, because there is no way I am walking the streets of Tokyo at five in the morning in my dress and heels.
“Right, you have a searing need for vengeance for releasing our father, that just so happens to end in making out,” Aleksandr mocks, and I roll my eyes. He is a blunt bastard that doesn’t truly hide anything he is thinking or feeling.
“You’re just saying that because I took you away from Lily,” I counter as I roam into a bedroom that looks so pristine I doubt Sho has ever slept in there.
“She is fine, spending the weekend in the Hamptons with her friends.”
I scoff. “Are you having the girl watched?”
“She has been watched since high school.”
I walk into the closet and look at an array of jeans, button ups, t-shirts and hoodies hanging up like an all I can wear buffet of fuck Sho.
I run my hands over the expensive fabrics and pinch my phone between my ear and shoulder. “That was a protection detail by her father, not her weird stalker-ishfriend.”
“I am not a stalker,” Alek snarls and I chuckle because his anger could scare armies, but to me it’s like a tickle.
“You’re not her friend either,” I remind him, pulling out a black hoodie that looks two sizes too big and heading to the dresser in search of joggers and a tank top.
He huffs, and I smile to myself. See, Aleksandr has had a crush on Lily for years. Lily, whose father was once one of our father’s closest confidants—until he died on our father’s orders, of course. Classic.
Does Lily know about Aleksandr’s crush? No. Will Aleksandr ever admit it like a normal human being instead of grunting and brooding around her like a caveman? Also no.
But who am I to judge? I’m locked in a violent, codependent maybe-something with a man who just left me tied up and naked in a Tokyo penthouse. So no judgment here—just envy. Some people get a cute will-they-won’t-they. I get this: deranged, dysfunctional, and completely unhinged.
And the worst part? I want this again. The adrenaline. The anticipation. The heat. It’s fucking immaculate. And I can’t get enough. But if Sho ever asks? He’s a dead man and I fucking despise him.
“No more Lily talk. People could be listening,” Alek grunts, and I hear the distinct clink of a lock snapping shut on his end.
“Meet me in Marunouchi. Two hours.” I yank a pair of black joggers from the drawer.
“Of course,Vor.” Aleksandr mocks, using the official moniker of the Bratva leader.
