Pain was something I was very familiar with. We were old friends, pain and I. Physical pain. Emotional turmoil. The sting of betrayal. It didn’t matter what kind of pain it was. I was so accustomed to it, so used to it, had experienced enough of it within my lifetime that I was almost numb to it.
That was why, despite the cigarettes being burnt into my skin by my twin brother, it didn’t hurt. Not really.
Because I wasn’t there.
I was with her.
Yekatarina Volkova.
She was the woman who owned my entire heart and soul. The love of my life. My forever. I was lying in our bed with the woman who haunted not only my dreams but every waking moment of my life. Holding her. Kissing her. Smiling as she chastised me for being too hard on the children.
I wasn’t there, getting cut into, burnt and beaten like a personal punching bag. I wasn’t there, watching Dominik smile every time he put the lit cigarette against my flesh.
Thinking of her brought forth a whole different kind of pain. A harsher, more crippling kind that overrode the physical torment I was being made to endure. Because there was nothing more agonising, more soul-crushing than losing the person who was your everything. Your entire reason for being. The only person who knew exactly who you were and loved you anyway.
That pain blocked out everything else happening to me to the point where I barely felt what Dominik was doing anymore.
Which, of course, angered him further.
He breathed out a frustrated sigh. “You know, this isn’t any fun if you don’t play your part, baby brother.”
He wanted my pain. My cries. Wanted me to beg him to stop, beg for mercy, but I refused to give him any such satisfaction. Refused to give him any indication that what he was doing was hurting.
I’d rather fucking die.
Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was stupidity. I didn’t know. Either way, I refused to give in.
My wrists burnt with unrelenting pressure, the cuffs digging painfully into my skin. The tips of my toes scraped across the cold cement floor as my body swayed back and forth. The air stank of piss and blood, a nauseating mixture of that strong metallic scent and ammonia.
Soft whimpers echoed around the room from the other prisoners. I wasn’t sure how many were in there. Who they were. What they were doing there. All I did know was that they’d no doubt be feeling some sense of relief because the longer Dominik spent on me, the longer they were all left in peace.
He flicked his lighter open and let the flame burn, holding it in the air between us. I didn’t look at it. Didn’t acknowledge him. I just kept my eyes forward and head held high. He moved the open flame closer and closer, waiting for me to react, anticipation shining in his eyes.
My heart rate sped up. I controlled my breathing so it wouldn’t show. So he couldn’t see how much I was dreading what was about to happen.
There were a lot of things I could ignore, but having a hot, open flame pressed against me?
No. Not even I could ignore that.
Heat flared across my skin as the flame neared the sensitive area of my lower abdomen. I closed my eyes and squeezed my hands into tight fists, breathing through the pain.
In and out. In and out. One, two.
It was scalding hot. Unbearable. That horrid stench of burning flesh wafted up my nose. I growled low in my throat, half out of frustration, half out of anger and pain. He was keeping the flame on the same spot, allowing it to just burn and burn and burn through me, straight through the layers of skin, fat and sinew. It would be a third-degree burn, at least.
A sadistic smile curled on Dominik’s lips. “Finally. A reaction. Let’s keep that momentum going, shall we?” He moved the open flame around to my side, and I hissed, my body involuntarily twisting to try to get away from the pain.
You fucking son of a bitch.
Dominik released a giddy laugh. “Yes! Yes! Now the fun really begins!”
I hated that fucking look on his face. Hated that I’d inadvertently given him what he’d been searching for.
That hatred fuelled my determination. My willpower to never let that bastard win. Never let him see me weak.
Yekaterina. Yekaterina.
My mind focused on her, not on what was happening to my body.
Yekaterina. Yekaterina.
Numbness drifted into my limbs.
Yekaterina. Yekaterina.
The pain morphed from a roaring agony to a dull ache, humming in the background. My mind conjured up her image—a way to deal and cope with the stress my body was under.
She looked exactly as I remembered. Long, beautiful dark hair. Smooth, pale skin. The softest lips in the world. Eyes the colour of the ocean on a bright, sunny morning in the Maldives.
A big, beaming smile broke out across my face.
My beloved.
“I think you broke him, Boss,” one of the men under Dominik’s thumb said, stepping into the light. He walked right through the ghostly image of my Yekaterina, and she swirled away.
It wasn’t the first time I’d hallucinated her before. In fact, it wasn’t even the third or fourth. I’d done it so many times that I was sure I was actually starting to lose my mind.
She never said anything. I mean, she was a figment of my imagination… What could she say? But I cherished those moments when my mind was so far gone, it showed me the only person in the world who could bring me peace.
I’d looked it up. Apparently, it was a condition quite common among people who’d lost a loved one. Bereavement hallucinations, they called it, where one subsequently experienced sensory perceptions of the deceased.
I never told anyone. It was for me and me alone. If going crazy meant that I got to see her, then I hoped I went fucking insane.
Dominik looked at the soldier who spoke. “I think you’re right. I have broken him,” he sighed, disappointment layering his voice. He tucked the lighter away into his pocket and patted the top of my head condescendingly. “We’ll try again tomorrow, baby brother, and the next, and the next. You and I are going to be spending a lot of time together. I can’t wait.”
I said nothing. Any outburst would show how much his words and actions affected me, and that was something I absolutely could not allow.
He gripped my chin roughly and forced me to look at him, amusement dancing in his eyes. “If only Father could see you now.”
“Why don’t you show him then, Dominika? Hmm?” His hateful glare could have burnt down the room. He hated it when I called him that. It was a teasing nickname from when we were children. I gave him an arrogant smile. “Because you know as well as I do that he wouldn’t be impressed by this. It would show him exactly what you’re so desperate to hide.” My smile widened. “How weak you really are.”
“I. Am. Not. Weak,” he growled. “Would a weak person have the Pakhan of the Bratva in his fucking basement? Huh? Huh?!”
Getting called weak was a pressure point for him—one I thoroughly enjoyed pushing. It was all he’d heard from our father growing up.
“Ty budesh’ slabym, malen’kim mal’chikom vsyu svoyu dolbanuyu zhizn’? Are you going to be a weak little boy all your fucking life?
“Pochemu ty ne mozhesh’ byt’ bol’she pokhozhim na svoyego brata?” Why can’t you be more like your brother?
“Ty slab! Slab, slab, slab!’ You’re weak! Weak, weak, weak!
Before our rivalry had reached this point, I used to actually feel sorry for him whenever Father would pick on him. But that was a long, long time ago.
“But that wasn’t you, was it?” The look on his face was worth all the pain and torture I’d just endured ten times over. “You didn’t even have the balls to join the raid yourself. You just sent your lackeys in to do it for you. Slabyy! Weak!” I spat, channelling Sergei Volkov, that terrifying aura he exuded when he was angry.
It worked.
Dominik flinched, an involuntary response from years of emotional trauma and physical abuse. It was exactly what I was hoping for. To that day, Dominik was still scared of Sergei. Was still trying to impress him. Earn his love and affection, even after all of those years, after everything he’d done. He refused to see what was right in front of him. What I had realised when I was only ten years old.
Our father didn’t give a fuck about us. He didn’t love us or care about us or want us to be happy.
The only thing that mattered to him was his legacy.
My smile turned downright feral. Psychotic. Once Dominik realised what he’d done, the fear he’d shown me, his jaw clenched in anger, hands squeezing into tight fists at his sides.
He struck hard. Fast. I didn’t even see the blow coming. His knuckles pounded into my jaw, and my head snapped to the side, pain exploding across my face. Blood pooled in my mouth, coating my teeth. Despite the throbbing pain, I couldn’t help but laugh as my body slowly swayed back and forth in the air.
The cuffs around my wrists had rubbed my skin raw. Nearly everything hurt, but still, I laughed and laughed and laughed.
I might have been the prisoner. I might have been the one chained up and being tortured for hours on end. But he was the one who was hurting. Dominik’s face turned bright red in embarrassment the longer I laughed at him. It wasn’t a good look for him, especially in the presence of his men. Or even the other prisoners, for that matter. It undermined his authority. Made him look bad. Not in control.
Weak.
With an angry huff, he spun on the balls of his feet and stormed out, his men following behind him.
The moment he was gone, it was like all of my strength just evaporated, making my whole body sag forward. Now that he wasn’t there, now that he couldn’t see me, I didn’t have to put on a front and act like I wasn’t hurting.
Exhaustion filled me, and I didn’t even try to fight it as I slowly slipped into unconsciousness.
