Page 37 of Villain's Prey

“Was it worth it?” My father shakes out his fists and rubs the knuckles on his right hand. I suppose his age is making this sort of beating painful for him. Good.

I spit another wad of blood and glare at him.

“Was that pussy worth it? Was it so fucking good that you decided to throw your life away over it?” he barks.

If my hands weren’t tied behind my back, I’d have them around his throat, squeezing the life out of him for referring to her like that. As it is, I stare him down as a million pinpricks of pain radiate through me.

Sal scrubs a hand down his pale face. “Dad, maybe—”

Our father whirls on him. “Did I ask you something?” he snaps.

Sal shakes his head. “No, but Sergei—”

In a blur, my father backhands him. “You’ll speak when I say you can speak!” he bellows. “Not before. Not to whine for your brother’s life. Not to try to help him weasel his way out of this!”

Sal is unmoved, as if he barely felt the blow at all. But I know it hurts. That’s one thing my father excels at–making it hurt.

Our father turns back to me, a wry smile on his face. “Brothers stick together, don’t they?” He shrugs. “I was the youngest brother in my family. Did you know that? I don’t think anyone talks about it anymore, but I had an older brother, one who was supposed to take over the family when our father, bless his soul, died.” He shrugs. “He died, tragically, before he ever got to take the reins. And do you know why?” He moves to me again, his hands at his sides.

I glare all the hate and rage I feel right at him, hoping he can feel it all, hoping it fucking burns him and that he remembers it until the day he dies.

He clucks his tongue. “Of course you don’t know. Because you’re soft. You and your brother. I’ve gone too easy on you for far too long. You don’t have what it takes to kill him. He doesn’t have it either.” His eyes brighten. “But maybe he can prove himself worthy. Maybe he can show me that he deserves to inherit this empire, now that you’ve shown me you clearly don’t.”

Reaching behind him, he pulls out a switchblade and flicks it open. “Sal, get over here.”

My brother walks up, his posture stiff.

“Your brother has betrayed us. What do we do to anyone who does that?” Dad asks.

Sal glances at him, then me. “We kill them.”

“We do.” My father nods and holds out the blade. “Finish Sergei. He’s not worth it. You do this, son, and you will be head of this family one day. And if you don’t …” He chuckles. “Well, Sergei will die by my hand.” He wobbles the blade in front of Sal’s face. “Make your choice.”

Sal takes a deep breath, then grabs the knife.

My father crosses his arms over his chest and steps back, a smug grin taking over his lips.

I look at Sal and raise my chin.

He steps to me, his hand moving toward my throat. He pauses right as the blade touches my neck.

“I’ll make it quick,” he says.

“Don’t,” I say through gritted teeth. “Make it fucking hurt.”

He gives me a slight nod.

I hold my breath as the blade stings my skin, and then duck back as Sal turns and throws the knife right at our father.

Dad is already in motion, side-stepping the blade that then embeds in one of his soldiers.

Gunfire rings out, but somehow it isn’t coming from inside.

“What the fuck?” Sal rushes to me, and both of us take cover behind my SUV as more bullets lodge into the side of the warehouse. Men are yelling as Sal makes quick work of the rope on my wrists. “Who’s here?” He hands me a pistol and pulls his own from its holster.

I may not know for certain who our attackers are, but I have a gut feeling. One that fills me something akin to warmth. “You could’ve done it.” I check the pistol chamber and make sure it’s loaded. Men run all around us, some of them falling from the nonstop hail of bullets.

“Killed you?”

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