Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Everything else came later.
“Come on,” Demyan said, pushing away from the counter. He wrapped an arm around Vera’s shoulders, and directed her out of the kitchen. Once they were upstairs in the bedroom that once used to be hers when she stayed here more often than not, she finally stepped away from him just to sit on her bed. Demyan didn’t follow, and instead, hung back near the door where he could fold his arms over his chest and lean against the wall. “So, what do you want to say, hmm?”
“I’m sorry for being a brat, Daddy.”
“All right.”
Vera glanced up, all big eyes that threw him back years and made him wish she would stay little for just a little while longer. “All right? That’s it?”
Demyan didn’t even have to think about it.
He shrugged.
“Yeah, all right. Sometimes, just an apology is all you need, Vera. As for Detroit ... we’ll figure something out for you to get there. How about that?”
What Next
Demyan
Even if everything was constantly in one state of change or another in Demyan Avdonin’s life, the one thing that was never different was his brain’s ability to not shut off. If that fucker had something to think about or focus on, then sleep was a joke. It didn’t matter if he was in bed with his wife listening to her steady breaths while she dreamed, or if he was exhausted because he hadn’t slept in days.
His brain didn’t shut down.
At all.
Lately, it seemed like he was awake at night more often than he slept. And the entire reason revolved around one person who—
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Demyan reached for the phone on the bedside table with a low curse falling from his scowling lips. Shutting the text notification off so that it wouldn’t continue to make noise, he shot a quick look over his shoulder to check on his wife at the same time.
Claire slept away.
Happily.
Unbothered.
Unknowing.
He liked that better. God knew his wife worried about enough regarding him, their kids ... this life they had chosen to live together. If he could help it, then Demyan tried not to overload his wife with extra things.
Even if she would want to know.
Even if she might be pissed ...
He did what he had to.
Like now.
Despite the fact that the alarm on the nightstand blinked 2 AM in red, he should just stay in bed and let the lesson be learned—that needed to be so clearly learned—Demyan pushed up from the warm blankets and away from his wife’s sleeping form. Claire didn’t even twitch; she heard nothing as his bare feet padded across the room to where he’d left his sweats hanging off the side of the bucket chair in the corner of their bedroom earlier. Giving her one last look over his shoulder, a mixture of guilt and something else—worry, maybe—raced over his skin before poking at the back of his mind.
It didn’t leave lately.
She couldn’t worry, though.
He was handling it.
Like he always did.
*
“Are you just ... waiting?” Demyan’s father asked.
Chuckling, he lifted the mug of hot tea to his lips, taking a careful sip. It tasted like shit but it was supposed to be healthy. Or that’s what his wife liked to tell him whenever she tried to justify why he had to keep putting this crap in his body. Ever since his father’s heart attack many years ago, he had tried to adopt a healthier lifestyle.
No smoking.
Little to no drinking.
Exercise.
Water.
Herbal teas that made him want to puke. Demyan ended up dumping the entire mug of tea into the sink, finally going back to the question Anton had asked.
“Something like that, Papa,” he replied. “Or maybe I’m teaching him a lesson.”
“What lesson? That it’s late September and it gets cold on the back deck?”
“Could be snow on the ground.”
“Dem—”
“Was I ever this bad?” he interjected.
Anton took a moment to answer, his exhale heavy when he finally replied, “No, you weren’t. All I needed to do really was use the threat of your mother being disappointed and you were far better about hiding your activities ... or whatever you were doing. Heaven forbid Viviana worry about you, yes?”
Demyan laughed under his breath knowing none of that was a lie. “And yet, my son couldn’t care less. So yes, he’s learning a lesson.”
“Give Roman time ... he’s just sowing his oats.”
“Is that what you call this?”
Running with people he shouldn’t.
Chasing pussy for the challenge.
Drugs and parties and bad shit all around.
Roman Avdonin was a lot of things. Seventeen going on thirty. His father’s twin in appearance with just a touch of his Irish mother to color him up. Russian through and through in every way that counted. Actively seeking out the Bratva life because he felt it was his right.
Troubled.Difficult.
Bored.
That was the thing, Demyan knew. His son was bored.
The problem was ... his boredom led him to more problems than they could handle a lot of the time. Roman didn’t seem to mind but Demyan sure as fuck did. Especially if it might mean—