Page 75 of Twisted Prince
“Not just that, the family with close connections to the bastard that calls himself my father.”
My pakhan remains silent for a long moment as his head tilts thoughtfully. “I know you don’t like to talk about it,” he says finally. “But with your brother coming into the picture now, too, I need to know. There’s clearly a bigger story behind your upbringing.”
I shake my head. “It’s not much of a story. You know my brother Kostya—the one you met in Chicago? You remember what he told you at dinner that night we met?”
Pyotr chuckles. “That your father was ‘spawning an army of mindless drones’ that you and he were lucky enough to escape before you lost your souls.”
I stare at him flatly, my lack of a smile telling him just how close to reality that is.
The smile falls from Pyotr’s face, his eyes turning sharp as he seems to read my unspoken confession. “Wait, like literally spawning…?”
“To my knowledge, I have well over thirty siblings at this point, most from different mothers. We’re taken from our mothers at birth—some contract he makes with the women that give him sole custody for a price. We’re raised by wet nurses, and begin training at age five,” I state, giving a quick, emotionless synopsis.
“Training?” Pyotr presses.
“Weapons and combat, how to read body language and assess people’s motivations, weaknesses. At age twelve, endurance of torture—both physical and psychological—becomes a part of the grueling regiment. We eat, sleep, and breathe the life of soldiers, killers, weapons honed into intelligent, emotionless tools. And at age eighteen, he sells us off as mercenaries, serving as bodyguards, bouncers, bruisers—spies. Whatever area we excel at.”
The stricken look on my pakhan’s face tells me he hadn’t realized just how dark my past was. I never told him before, and when he asked, I simply shrugged it off. But thinking of Mel in that world now, I’m consumed by the filthy blackness of my background and the family so closely tied to my own.
“To my father, we aren’t human but rather commodities, and the Kellys are my father’s best, most reliable customers. I likely would have ended up working for the Kellys myself if I hadn’t followed Kostya out of that cesspool we called home.”
Pyotr’s scowl returns in full force as my story draws to a close. “And that’s the family who Mel’s not just working for but marrying into?”
I nod, my gut twisting painfully.
“Wouldn’t it be better to get her out of there?” he presses gently, his own concern rising.
Scrubbing my face with my palms, I rise from my chair to pace, my emotions boiling to the surface. “Don’t you think I tried?” I demand.
Clenching my jaw, I bring my temper quickly back under wraps. “I did my best to bring her home. But short of throwing her over my shoulder and physically removing her, I couldn’t get her to leave, and I’m done trying.”
I take a deep, steadying breath and force myself to stop and talk to Pyotr like a reasonable person—not a love-plagued soul, tortured by the rejection of the only girl I’ve ever wanted.
She has to pick her own path in life, and she clearly doesn’t want my help. I would do anything for Mel, but I won’t force her. That’s what men have been doing all her life, and I can see now that the harder I push, the more she wants to run away—even if I have her best interests at heart.
32
MEL
“Are you alright?” Lindsey asks, cocking her head to the side as she pushes the remains of her dinner around her bowl. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”
Tugging my silk robe more firmly around my costume, I nod.
“Kitty mentioned something about an engagement?” she presses, letting her spoon clink against the rim as she drops it. And she clearly must have no clue what she’s talking about because I detect a hint of envy in her tone. “So, you’ll be moving out of the house, then?” she teases to mask the emotion.
“I suppose. Eventually,” I state, anxiety gripping my stomach as I recall Kieri’s words from last night. What I would prefer is to find a way out of the mess I got myself into. But as of right now, I’ve had no luck deciding my best path.
“Well, congratulations. That’s very exciting for you.”
Again, with the edge of bitterness. I wonder if she would feel the same way if she knew who I got engaged to. I take a big bite of my burger to avoid continuing the conversation. Because, in truth, I’m about the farthest thing from okay right now. I didn’t sleep a wink last night, thinking about what happened—that terrifying fight, how thoroughly I ran Gleb off this time, the promise I made to Mr. Kelly’s crazy cousin.
The whole thing puts my stomach in knots.
Lindsey’s eyes cast up toward the break room door as it groans open behind me.
“Out,” a cold voice commands, and a shiver races down my spine.
Lindsey looks quickly back at me, and her surprised expression shifts to somewhere between nervous and apologetic as I stiffen. But she does as she’s told, scooping up her bowl and slipping from the room a moment later.
