Twilight Sins (Kulikov Bratva Book 1)

“This is where they w-went,” Sergey stammers. He’s spinning in the damp alley like a drunken top. “I saw him. They went through the back door. He should be—They were supposed to be⁠—”

A few minutes ago, Sergey was the most terrifying thing I could imagine. Now, that title belongs fully and completely to Yakov. He looms over Sergey, power rippling off of him. He slams a hand into the center of Sergey’s chest and the man flies against the brick wall.

“Every second of my time you waste is another knuckle you lose.” Yakov pulls something out of his back pocket and flicks it open. A silver blade glints in the watery yellow streetlights. He presses it to the side of Sergey’s pointer finger. Before the man can even beg, it’s gone.

I watch in horror as a pale-colored nub hits the pavement and rolls into a puddle.

Sergey screams, but Yakov chokes off the sound with a forearm to his throat. “Screaming wastes seconds. When I’m done with fingers, I’ll move onto other body parts.”

“I d-don’t know,” he sobs, shaking under Yakov’s glare. “I barely know the g-guy. It was all his idea, anyway. I just wanted to talk and⁠—”

Yakov shifts the blade lower on the bloody stump of Sergey’s finger. My empty stomach lurches. I spin towards the wall in case I throw up.

Sergey screams again. The sound is followed by another sluicing cut and still more screaming.

My knees tremble. I press my forehead to the brick and take long, deep breaths.

Yakov is trying to save his sister.

Sergey is a violent asshole.

I understand what is going on here, but that doesn’t mean I like it.

After another round of screaming and cutting, I can’t take it anymore. I spin around. “Stop!”

Yakov is holding Sergey by the wrist. Blood pours down Sergey’s fingers and over Yakov’s hand. It’s soaking into the sleeve of his shirt. He doesn’t glance towards me as he grits his teeth. “This is all because of you, Luna. Don’t get timid now that I’m here to clean up your mess.”

“I didn’t do anything!” I cry out.

“You left the fucking mansion!” Yakov roars. When he looks at me, his green eyes are black. I barely recognize him.

“Because you—” I can’t force the words out. As soon as Mariya told me Yakov was letting us go dancing, I had doubts. It didn’t make sense. Why would he let us wander into the city after weeks of lockdown?

But I wanted to trust her.

I wanted to think Yakov trusted me.

My stomach twists again. This is all my fault.

Sergey uses the distraction to try to slip away, but Yakov presses the blade to his next finger.

“Wait!” Sergey screams. “Wait, I might know something. I might⁠—”

Yakov cuts through his finger anyway. More screaming. More blood.

“Don’t waste my time. Say it,” Yakov growls.

“His apartment,” Sergey sobs. “I know where he lives. He might have taken her there. They might be there.”

Yakov slides the blade further down his finger. “‘Might’?”

“They’re there!” Sergey rushes to say. “They’ll be there. It’s the only place he would’ve taken her.”

Between one blink and the next, Yakov shoves the blade under Sergey’s chin. “If she’s not there, you’re dead. If he touched her, you’re dead. If I simply get tired of looking at your fucking face, you’re dead.”

Tears and sweat pour down Sergey’s waxy forehead. He looks moments away from passing out.

He might be better off if he does.

Yakov drags Sergey down the alley and I move to follow them before Yakov snarls over his shoulder, “Get her out of here, Oleg.”

Oleg reaches for me, but I dodge him. “I want to come with you. I can help!”

“No,” he snaps. “Take her home, Oleg. Now.”

He doesn’t want me around. I know that. But I can’t stop myself from trying to stay close. When he first found me in the club, Yakov was gentle, concerned. He touched me like I was precious.

Now, he can’t even stand to look at me.

I need to fix this.

Oleg grabs my arm, but I jerk away. I lunge towards Yakov. “I care about Mariya, too. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

Yakov throws Sergey to the ground and towers over me. The familiar edges of him are trembling with barely contained rage. “If you cared about her, you wouldn’t have let her out of the house. I thought you would watch her. I trusted you to—” He bites off whatever he was saying, anger flashing over his face.

Tears blur my vision. Yakov is wrath itself in front of me before he spins around and yanks Sergey up from the ground. “Get up,” he barks.

I swipe at the tears pouring down my cheeks. “Yakov, please. I want to fix it.”

I want to get Mariya back. I want Yakov to look at me the way he did in the club upstairs. The way he did this morning before he left with Nikandr, and I started down the path that led us here.

“You’ve done enough.” He doesn’t turn around before he and Sergey round the corner.