“Worthless,” my father roared. “Kostya, get your fucking ass up and fight him. Use your training. Take him down.” His Russian was slurred, not just from him drinking all night, but from the buzzing in my head.
I had a cut on my temple, blood trailing down my forehead and obscuring my vision. And then he was charging toward me again, his anger and size making his movements sloppy, slower. I breathed out slowly, put all my energy into focusing, and knew I needed to finish this.
I only had one priority in mind, one vision that played through my brain. I wanted to be with Ana. I wanted to hold her, to feel her in my arms because that was the only time I ever felt like anything was okay.
In the background, I could hear my father shouting harsh, crude words in Russian, ones you didn’t speak to your son. But then again that was not how he saw me. I was a commodity, a tool, a weapon he could use.
I moved left, right, did rapid-fire hits to my opponent’s solar plexus until he stumbled back and landed on his ass. And then I was on him, brought my knee up and connected right under his jaw, hearing a sickening crack as his head jerked back and he fell to the floor.
Despite tonight being more about training than an actual competition, the men who were watching started making sounds of approval and exchanging money. I stumbled back until the wall stopped my retreat, my hands flat on the cold cinder block. The only thing I smelled was thick, coppery blood.
My father came up to me, a lumbering beast with a pronounced brow and dark eyes as he stared at me.
“What the fuck was that?” he said in Russian. Or maybe it was English.
I couldn’t think or hear clearly enough to decipher what language he spoke.
His words jumbled together and I blinked rapidly. I’d, been hit numerous times in the head. Maybe my brain had finally given out as his visage wavered, doubled.
“You should’ve been able to take him down right away.” His nostrils flared as he looked to the side when one of his associates came to speak to him. With a brisk nod, he looked back at me, tipped his chin toward the back hall, and said, “Go home. We do this all over again in two days’ time. And you better fucking work on your moves before then.”
I didn’t speak. I knew better. If I ran my mouth, all that would do was anger my father even more and cause blows to rain down on me. He stared at me for long seconds, his eyes bloodshot, red-rimmed, and the stench of sweat and booze spilling from him.
“This training isn’t working.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s time we go to phase two. Things need to be more extensive. You need to be immersed. It’s time.”
My heart raced before plummeting. I knew this day was coming. But, God, this soon? I opened my mouth but promptly shut it when my father’s nostrils flared again. He wanted me to step out of line. He wanted to have a reason right now to hurt me.
My father turned away and made his way back into the crowd. I rested the back of my head on the wall, closed my eyes, and gave myself just a moment before pushing off and stalking away from the gore and violence and back to the only gentle, soft thing in my fucked-up world.
Anastasia.
Getting past the security guards of Anastasia’s home had gotten easier for me over the years. It also helped that I knew the inner workings, was friendly with the men who patrolled, persuaded some to look the other way, or just outright bought them off.
I climbed the side of the house, gripping the lattice that led up to her window, the wisteria that wound its way through the framework causing bursts of flowery scents all around me.
It was an aroma I’d forever associate with my girl.
Once on her balcony, I opened the French doors and slipped into her bedroom. I’d made a quick stop home to change, shower, and bandage up the worst of my wounds, because the last thing I wanted Anastasia to see was me all fucked up.
I stood there a moment and exhaled. The feeling that always surrounded me when I was with her, one I couldn’t ever describe, filled me inexplicably.
It was as if I were breathing for the first time, feeling my heart beat for the first time. It was as if until this moment I hadn’t been living.
Strong words, powerful ones. But the truth nonetheless.
I shut the doors softly behind me, and she stirred slightly but didn’t wake. I toed off my shoes and made my way to the bed, pulling the blanket aside so that I could slip in behind her.