Fractured Ties by Bethany-Kris Page 0,23

her face. As bright as it was, she chose not to move.

It was nice.

Pretty, too.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up like this—peaceful, calm, and relaxed. Her life had been in some constant state of disarray for longer than she cared to remember. Someone was usually pissed at her or she had to do something she didn’t want to. Her father had never been a quiet man, and rarely spoke to her with anything less than contempt or bitterness.

She’d dreaded mornings.

She was accustomed to waking up feeling that dread, too. Of what was to come, and what mood she might find her father in by the time she made it to the kitchen. Worse, too, was when she would find her brother waiting there—Alexei liked to treat Maya as though she were wasted space in his atmosphere.

And that was just her family.

People who were supposed to care for her.

Funny how that worked.

Even as the events of the night before began to filter into Maya’s consciousness—every strange and terrifying second that lead up to this morning with all the unknowns ahead of her—she couldn’t manage to feel even an ounce of that same dread she had once woken up with.

She didn’t even know why.

The townhouse seemed quiet—at least, from her spot under thick, warm blankets. She stayed like that for another ten minutes before pushing up out of the bed. Until her bladder and hungry stomach both decided to make themselves known at the same time.

Maya was stuck with the same clothes she had worn the night before, but they weren’t a total mess. Pulling on the jeans and blouse, she padded to the doorway and peered out into the hall. At first she didn’t see anything, and the place was still quiet.

She almost wondered if Kolya was even there.

She had heard Sumerki whimpering on and off throughout the night. Probably not all that unusual for a puppy that was still young and had just been taken from his home. Pups were a lot like babies—needy, messy, and loud.

Although, that was about as far as the similarities went.

Maya headed down the hall—for the bathroom she knew was just two doors down. She’d passed it the night before, but had been too tired to even consider the shower she likely would have greatly benefitted from.

Not even paying attention, she swung fast to enter the bathroom and stopped just short of a figure sitting beyond the doorway. She almost tripped over him, for fuck’s sake.

It was hard to miss a man like Kolya—considering his size and disposition—but Maya had somehow managed to do just that in her haste to use the bathroom.

Tucked just beyond the opened door, Kolya sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, and his arm resting over his bent legs as a pillow for his head. He still had his bloodstained slacks on from the night before, but he’d lost the ruined shirt and jacket.

Maya found herself distracted by the hard lines of his body that melted into smooth ridges of firm muscle. He was built like a heavyweight boxer, and she had seen the proof to know he could throw a punch like one, too. His arms looked strong enough to crush anything if he held it too long—her included, likely.

She got a peek at one eight-pointed star tattooed just below his clavicle bone, and the epaulette with a shadowed skull design on the background of the piece on his shoulder. She bet he had matching ink on his other side where she couldn’t see. He had some kind of phrase tattooed beneath his stars, but she couldn’t read it.

She could only see a small peek of the large thieves’ cross tattooed across his chest, given his position. She could see that it had no crown—only bosses had a crown on their cross—but from their conversation the night before, she knew … This was the tattoo he’d meant when he’d made a cross over his chest to suggest one had been forced on him to signify his bloodline and the position his father expected him to take in the future.

Still, the sight of him was enough to make her hesitate.

For her breath to catch.

In his sleep, Kolya had lost the perpetual scowl and unhappy disposition that seemed to constantly accompany him. She wouldn’t say he looked boyish—a man of his size, with the tattoos he’d earned and a body like his could not be considered in any way a boy.

Definitely a man.

Too many parts