Raze & Reap by Tillie Cole Page B

him I feared most. The part of Alik that needed to take another person’s life for him to keep sane.
    Papa stood, as did Ivan and Abram. Papa turned to Alik. “You’re needed tonight again. We got business with the Chinese. Need to smooth some shit out after you gutted one of their soldiers for staring wrong at my girl.”
    All the blood drained from my face, and I turned to face Alik. “You killed someone for just looking at me?”
    Alik shrugged as if he’d done nothing wrong. “Caught him watching you from across the street when we went to dinner. Remembered his face. When I saw him at the deal last week, decided I wanted to see his intestines on the ground at his feet.”
    I closed my eyes and tried to breathe slowly through my nose, stopping the nausea climbing up my throat. When I opened them again, Alik was staring happily at his hand on the nape of my neck, not a care in the world.
    â€œI’m busy tonight,” Alik said to my father, but I couldn’t stop feeling sick.
    Alik had zero remorse.
    He had no sense of right and wrong, no moral compass or conscience. He terrified me at times.
    My father’s fist slammed down on the desk. “You will be there tonight. You do not disrespect the orders of your Pakhan! You may be a champion fighter, Alik, the most lethal one we’ve got, but cross me and I’ll fucking gut you.”
    Papa seldom showed anger. If he did, those at the receiving end didn’t live to regret it. Alik was in a unique position. He was the only surviving heir of the Bratva. He had to keep breathing.
    Alik tensed at my father’s wrath. “I need to see Kisa tonight. I need it!”
    My papa’s eyes narrowed. The room fell silent. “You’re coming, Alik. That’s final.”
    Alik’s hand suddenly gripped my neck, and I almost whimpered at the pain his hold brought. “Then she stays at my place tonight,” he demanded.
    I closed my eyes. Again, I tried to breathe slowly through my nose in a monumental effort to stay calm. Papa would not allow it, could not allow it. Alik would flip and I would end up beneath Alik on this desk—again—until he’d worked off his rage.
    Papa’s eyes flared and his mouth tightened into a thin line. “You’re not married yet , Alik. She stays at my home. You won’t make a whore out of a Volkov!”
    Alik began to shake with rage. I placed a hand on his thigh, trying to cool him down. But when he jumped from his seat, fists flexing and face reddening with anger, I knew he’d blown all his fuses.
    â€œI’m fucking through with it,” Alik yelled. “We’ve been engaged for two years and it’s about fucking time she lives with me! You’ve made us wait too long!”
    My father’s silent response told me how pissed he’d become at Alik’s display of disrespect. Abram lunged forward before my papa had a chance to, and with cupped hand, struck Alik on the lip, drawing blood.
    â€œEnough! Show some fucking respect, boy, or I’ll do more than cut your fucking lip,” Abram hissed, embarrassed by his son’s outburst.
    Alik gritted his teeth, saying nothing in response. He would never say anything back to his father. Alik was his father’s puppet.
    I stood, legs shaking, and cleared my throat. Alik glowered at me. Flashing Papa an appeasing glance, I stepped up to Alik and, taking a tissue from my desk, pressed it to his lips. He didn’t flinch when I pressed the tissue to his cut, but his crazy possessive eyes bored holes into mine.
    â€œGo with our fathers tonight, Alik. I’ll be fine alone.”
    Alik pushed away my hand and fisted my hair. “What will you do … alone ?”
    Lowering my eyes, ignoring his suspicion, I shrugged. “Go to church.”
    Alik’s hand twisted my hair, but I didn’t raise my eyes. He knew the reason I was going. After all these years, it was