Page 10 of Bratva Bastard

Facing Misha, my hands flew up in defense. “It wasn’t what you think,” I said, turning to face Sorokin next. “Did you know your son was a drug peddler in St. Petersburg? Oh yeah. He killed my men and threatened mine and my mother’s business. What else was I supposed to do? You know as well as I do, that I have every right to protect myself and my business.”

“Liar!” Soyka growled, pointing the gun to my head. I could only hope that if he shot, he had shitty aim. “Semyon wasn’t a drug-peddler. You killed him to weaken the Sorokin name. And now you make allegations against my brother that I know are wrong.”

“You’re the liar,” I yelled out, not caring about the gun to my head. Dimitry already had his weapon drawn, and Misha stood in the center, trying to calm the chaos.

With his hands raised, Misha used a calm, steady voice. “Let’s all calm down and figure this out rationally. We’re all men here, so let’s act like it.”

“But Misha,” I said, my eyes unyielding for his support. “I’m telling you, he’s a liar. Semyonwasa dealer. I only killed him because I had to. Everything else he said was bullshit!”

“How dare you make such accusations about my son!” Sorokin snarled, anger building in his tone.

“Because I’m telling the truth.” I said with a shrug, over the bullshit accusations. Who the fuck did these people think they were? “Believe me if you want. I don’t really give a fuck either way.”

The conflict in Misha and Dimitry’s gazes left me feeling like I’d stumbled headfirst into a hornet’s nest, my only protection leaving me to fend for myself. But this sting would be worse than anything a hornet could do. This sting was a bullet to the brain.

“I welcome you into my home to make peace, only to find out that you killed one of my sons and make accusations about the other. What would you expect from a situation like this?”

Sokya shook the gun and screamed, “Kill him!”

Sorokin held up a hand to silence his son. “Shut up Sokya! Stand down and let me deal with this.”

That only enraged Soyka. His eyes were filled with a wild rage as he aimed the gun once again and pulled the trigger, hitting me in the shoulder.

The force of the bullet slammed me to the ground, blinding my eyes with pain. My blood’s warmth flowed out over my chest, pouring down my belly and back. Excruciating agony emanated from my shoulder and surged through my whole body.

“Maxim!” Misha shouted, running to my aid. “What the fuck, Soyka?”

Soyka stood by his father like a deranged lunatic. I knew there was nothing to stop him from shooting me again. He really was nothing but a pathetic, lying, piece of shit and no better than his dead brother, but the fool had his pistol leveled at my head once again. Maybe his aim would be a total shit show this time.

My side of the room was suddenly rocked by a booming explosion. Dmitiry had returned fire at the bastard, but Soyka managed to dodge out of the bullets path, hitting a portrait and its golden frame behind him instead.

Soyka fired back, the bullet missing Dimitry, but when he dodged it, he landed on the glass side table, shattering it. Broken glass slashed his arms and the side of his face, leaving freckles of blood on his skin.

Misha was too busy putting pressure on my wound to keep me from bleeding out, and couldn’t help Dimitry.

“That’s the problem with my family,” Soyka said from behind the safety of the chair—as if it could stop a bullet from plowing through him. He glared at his father. “You put business first. Semyon made that same mistake and look at where that got him! If only he hadn’t been involved in all of that pointless drug activity, he might be here right now telling you what a fool you are for putting your faith in a Koslov.

He cocked the gun, ready to shoot, but I wasn’t going down that easily. “Hey, asshole!” I shouted through gritted teeth from the floor, catching Soyka off-guard. “I’m a Chernoff, not a Koslov.”

Though my entire arm was numb, and I could barely use my hand, I gripped my gun in my non-dominant hand, hoping I wouldn’t miss as I aimed for his head. I pulled the trigger, shooting him dead just as he was about to fire his gun.

Sorokin rushed toward his son’s body, sobbing into his chest as he clutched Soyka close to him. “Guards!” he screamed.

* * *

My brothers rushedme out of Sorokin’s mansion, Misha’s hands covered with blood from holding my wounds. He’d ripped a piece of his shirt to staunch the wound, tightening his belt round my shoulder and upper arm to hold it in place.

“We have to get the fuck out of here,” Dimitry urged, throwing his arm around my waist to help me walk.

Misha snapped, “You think I don’t fucking know that, Dimitry? He’s going to bleed out if we don’t get him to our doctor.”

I could hear their words, but I was too focused on my own pain and survival to focus on what they were saying. Limping out the side door, Misha and Dimitry practically carried me to the vehicle.

“Take him home,” Dimitry said. “Dr. Slovak can help him.”

After the painful walk to the car—my body on fire and throbbing in pain—Misha and Dimitry hoisted me into the backseat, Dimitry staying in the back with me while Misha drove like a maniac back to his mansion.

“You need to get out of here,” Misha said from the driver’s seat. “Sorokin will have every one of his men in Moscow out for your blood. Get out of Russia. Hide. Keep a low profile until this blows over.”

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