Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris

1.

IF HIS father sent someone to drag his ass out of bed—even if it was a night when he drank half of his body weight in vodka—Kolya couldn’t refuse. Especially not when his father was the Pakhan.

The stars tattooed on Kolya Boykov’s chest meant that regardless if he was drunk or not, Vadim owned his fucking ass for life. Or at least until death.

“Move your ass, Kolya,” the man outside his bathroom barked. “You know the boss won’t appreciate being made to wait on you again.”

Fuck.

Like Kolya needed a reminder, or something.

“I’m trying to take a piss, yeah? Shut that goddamn hole in your face.”

“Surly today, no?”

Kolya spat out a laugh that tasted like hatred, bitterness, and vodka on his tongue. Today, right. That was a goddamn joke when it was … Kolya glanced down at the Rolex watch adorning his large wrist. Four in the fucking morning!

Who called someone at four in the morning?

Jesus.

Tipping his head back to let out another frustrated growl, Kolya finished up his business, and took his sweet time washing his hands, too. The less time he had to spend in his father’s presence, the better. He swore Vadim pulled shit like this just because he could—because the bastard got a good rise out of pestering the living hell out of his sons—and nothing else.

The fist banging against the bathroom door all but sent Kolya’s blood pressure skyrocketing. “Working on getting my foot shoved up your ass, Anatoly.”

The fact the bull had been one of Vadim’s best men for longer than Kolya cared to remember didn’t really make much of a fucking difference to him at the end of the day. He would still make sure the man knew the taste of pain before Kolya ended his life.

With a smile.

Kolya took that whole kill them with kindness thing to another level.

“It’s not Anatoly, brat,” came a new voice.

Kolya’s posture softened a bit at Konstantin’s—his younger brother by two years—voice. But not very much. Konstantin, depending on the time, day, or his mood, could be just as irritating as anyone else in Kolya’s path.

Or shit, maybe it was just Kolya.

“When did you get here?”

“Two minutes ago,” Konstantin said through the door. “How long are you going to wash your hands?”

Kolya grumbled unintelligibly under his breath—until I’m decently sober. At the moment, he was pretty sure if he walked too fast, he would tumble over. Nobody needed to see all six-foot-four, and two-hundred-fifty pounds of him topple over because he wasn’t willing to admit he’d drank too much vodka.

That looked good on no man.

But especially not a vor.

And definitely not a Russian.

Fuck it.

Kolya shut off the water and ignored the stinging in his hands. The water had been hotter than the devil’s ass and turned his hands bright red in the process. Damn—like he needed more proof that he wasn’t the least bit up to par for a meeting this early in the goddamn morning with his father.

Vadim Boykov didn’t miss a thing.

He ate shit like misdeeds and missteps for breakfast.

Saw them as weaknesses.

And when it came to his sons?

Vadim was far worse.

It was as though the man expected ten times from Kolya and Konstantin what he demanded from other men. Anyone else might have to jump when told to, but the Boykov brothers better damn well fly when Vadim even suggested it.

Twenty-six years under his father’s thumb had taught Kolya one important lesson about life, family, and vory: as long as you were a thief, none of the rest meant shit, and the less he expected from his father, the better off he would be.

That was, unless Kolya was expecting something like a slap to the back of his head, or some other form of punishment meant to cut him down a step or two or degrade him enough to humiliate him. Vadim liked to think of that as teachable moments for his boys.

Dragging himself from his thoughts, Kolya yanked open the bathroom door and found Konstantin leaning against the wall. Konstantin was peering at the glowing screen of his phone. He didn’t even glance up at his brother’s entrance.

“Got the call, too, I see,” Kolya muttered.

“Yes.”

Konstantin’s confirmative reply followed Kolya into the bedroom across the hall.

“Where did Anatoly disappear to?”

Konstantin tipped his head to the side with one of those looks of his, saying, “Said he wasn’t waiting on you anymore, and since I was here …”

Kolya chuckled dryly. “Fucking useless.”

“Funny.”

“Izvinee,” Kolya mumbled, “because nothing about this seems fucking funny to me. You like getting your