Be brave. Don’t cower.
All of their stares bore into me, but no one else snickered or mocked me for my face. Maybe they were all still in shock and unable to react to my frightening features just yet.
“What’s your name?” Sacha asked.
This was the part I feared. When they learned my name, they’d either run me off or kill me.
Unless they were as open-minded as I chose to believe.
I bravely held Sacha’s stare. “Adrik Volkov.”
His expression revealed nothing. “Hmm. You’re Russian.” His gaze swept over me, taking in my worn and tattered clothes, my holey shoes, my dirt-smudged hands, before settling once again on my hideous face. “The wolf.”
“Yeah.” My last name meant “wolf” in Russian, though no one had ever called me a wolf before. That name generally belonged to my father. The names people called me were always derogatory. Beast. Monster. Ogre. Savage. Any second now, Sacha was going to ask what had happened to my face. They always did.
Except, he didn’t.
“Any relation to Kirill?”
And there it was. The connection.
I tensed. Thought about lying. Then decided to be truthful. Lying to the mob would be a bad idea.
I blew out a breath. “He’s my father.”
Silence.
“Did Kirill send you?”
“No.” I shook my head back and forth adamantly. “I don’t associate with him. Ihatethat bastard. I haven’t seen him since I was seventeen. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I hope to fuck he’s dead, cause if he’s not, the next time I see him, I’m killing him.”
Another silence.
Sacha’s gaze bore into mine, searching…
Did he think I was lying? I wasn’t. After what Papa did to me, he’d better hope I never saw him again.
“Oh, he’s still alive. From the looks of you, you haven’t done any better being away from him.”
Heat washed up my neck and into my face again. Was Sacha referring to my attire or my ugly face?
I straightened my spine, jutted out my chin, and held Sacha’s stare. “Anything’sbetter than being with him.” Even starvation, constant ridicule, and sleeping on the streets.
The others remained silent, watching me, the weight of their stares boring into me, sizing me up. Cataloguing my scars. Analyzing me for weaknesses.
Something flickered in Sacha’s eyes. Pity?
I bowed my head, shame washing over me. I didn’t want his damn pity.
“Well, we can’t control where we come from, but we can always strive to be better. There’s a sincerity about you that intrigues me, wolf. You want to be a part of the Bratva?”
Did I just hear him correctly?
I whipped my head up, nodding eagerly. “Yes, sir.”
He snorted, waving away my respect. “I’m not yoursir. Don’t call me that. This isn’t the fucking military. If you end up working for me, then you can call me ‘boss,’ but never ‘sir’.”
“Yes, boss.”