Mike

I wake up and silence whips me. Then my headache attempts to kill me—it’s like a warm iron is pressed against my forehead, and my temples pulsate.

“Daisy,” I growl, my throat dry like a desert. “Daisy, where the fuck are you?” I sit up and lean against the cupboard. “Daisy.”

An eerie, cold silence answers me.

“Daisy, baby, where are you?”

There’s even more of this cold silence. Uneasiness sits on my chest.

Fuck. I hope she’s alright. I have no brain. I brought her here, threw her into the caravan and left her in this hostile environment on her own.

The smell of spring settles in my nostrils—freshness, grass, flowers. Cleanliness shines around me. My wifey must have been busy cleaning the mess I left.

A sense of guilt wafts through me.

“Daisy,” I rasp and cough.

Nothingness answers me.

I rise to my feet as the uneasiness presses against my chest harder with every second that passes and something strangles my throat. I check every room in the caravan, but she’s not here. I walk out and see her emerge from behind a pine tree.

“Where have you been?” I growl.

“None of your business.”

I grip her arm and she winces in disgust.

“Mike, no offence, but you stink. Have a shower.” Daisy pinches her nose.

I know this gesture so well. She did it when she was a kid and I had never-ending hangovers. Nostalgia and sadness squeeze my heart then pain and warmth mix in my chest.

I’ve experienced only love from her—a child’s love, a teen’s love, a woman’s love.

I could learn love from her. I love her, but I lack skills to show her my love for her. It’s fucking difficult. I have love inside me, but I can’t use it, share it.

“Daisy, I’m sorry. I’m behaving like a Neanderthal.”

“Have a shower, Mike. And eat something.” Her voice is as cold as a glacier.

It’s fucking scary. I feel like I’m losing my heart.

I obey her. Maybe if I behave myself, she’ll decide to be my little rat back again.

I have a shower, shave my face, and eat the food she’s cooked for me.

We sit in the living room, and I pull her onto my lap. “Are we good, Daisy?”

“No.”

I kiss her cheek. “Why the fuck not?”

She turns her face to me and I see the fallen angel seeking revenge. “You brought Dimitri’s maid here. You were supposed to off her, Mike.”

Ice fills my veins. “How did you know about this?”

“I’m Alekseev Bratva, remember? My grandpas taught me to know things. My childhood wasn’t normal, remember? I had to learn to be observant so as to stay alive. I had to learn to hear whispers. I had to learn to draw conclusions.”

“This is club business, Daisy. You shouldn’t have poked your nose into club business.”

“I am who I am. I know what I know. You can’t blame me for being the product of our club’s strategy for survival.” She pulls away from me and moves back, stopping in the doorway. “I’m going to Star’s place for a sleepover. There’s food in the fridge. Have fun.”

“Daisy, baby—“

“Bye.”

“Daisy, stay.”

“There’re whores in the clubhouse.” She tilts her head. “But you already know this. Go back to them and have fun.”

Her accusation wakes a furious animal inside me. I am her husband, and I’m damn serious about it. The club whores know they should keep their distance unless I ask them to entertain me. I’m a husband now. I’m not gonna ask them until I am a widower. Since Daisy is only eighteen, she’ll become a widow first so the club whores have no access to my life. Ever.

“I’m not gonna explain myself,” I say.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

The door slams shut. My brain hurts then it feels like it’s cracking and falling apart.

I wonder how much the Shadow Wolves’ old ladies and daughters really know. The boys attend church, but Daisy’s knowledge both amazes and disturbs me. Then I just feel sad.

Our kids are in the deep shit with us. They had to adapt. They had to learn to know things.

I don’t want to think about my marriage because I don’t know what to think.

Daisy

There’s food on the desk and drinks on the floor. A romance movie is playing on the flat screen.

Star sniffles. “I’ve seen this movie a hundred times and…” Her voice falters as tears trickle down her cheeks. “He loves her so much…”

I start sniffling too. This is such a romantic movie. We hug each other as the final credits appear on the screen.

A light knocking on the window makes me shudder. Star chuckles and strokes my arm. She rises to her feet from the red Persian rug and moves to the window. She opens it and Rebel tumbles inside. He straightens up, smoothes his hand over the front of his t-shirt and corrects his cut.

“I didn’t know she’d be here,” he rasps.

“Dad is at Ace’s place and I’m always a bit scared on my own,” Star says.

“I’m here,” Rebel growls. “You should have told me. I’d stay with you.”

Electricity sparks between them. My God, they’re so sweet together like spring and a hurricane personified.

“We’re watching movies,” Star says. “You want to join us?”

“I’m not gonna watch any girly bullshit,” Rebel says, but sits on the floor beside me. “Move away from me, bitch.”

“Hey, I’m your stepmom. Respect me.” It just pours out of me.

He’s really getting on my nerves. I’m nice to him. I’m not responsible for the shit in his life. Well, I belong to the family responsible for the shit in his life, but I didn’t make any decisions.

Rebel’s fist rises as his eyes shoot lightning towards me. I can see a killer inside him through his eyes. I know this glance because I’ve seen killers in life—my dad, my uncles, my grandpas, my enemies.

My heart hammers in my chest.

“Rebel,” Star squeaks and clings to him. “She is nice to us.”

“You have no right, bitch,” Rebel says to me.

“Don’t call me a bitch,” I say.

“Fucking bitch.” He grins at me.

“Boy, you don’t know who I am,” I say.

“You’re funny, you know Daisy?” He grins even wider, but rage pervades his gaze.

We rise to our feet, the atmosphere around us thickening, simmering.

“I can smash, you little boy,” I say.

Yep, my warrior genes awake. I’m a calm person and it’s not easy to piss me off, but I have my limits.

“You’re fucked up,” Rebel says. “You need help, bitch.”

“You fucking little coward,” I say. “I’ve had a good training in martial arts. You want to try me?”

“I don’t hit little girls.”

“Your mommy was my maid,” I say. “My servant, little boy.”

Now, I’m the winner.

“Outside, bitch.” He growls as an urge of murder darkens his eyes.

“Rebel,” Star shrieks. “Don’t do this, please. You’re not like this.”

We go outside of the house and stand on the grassy ground.

“You want to have your nose broken, bitch?” Rebel brings his fists up to his chest. “I’ll give you a broken nose. And then you’re gonna apologise for that shit you said about my mom.”

“If I win, you’ll come over for dinner to my caravan and you’ll sort the shit between you and Mike out, you dick.” I bring my fists up to my chest.

“I can smash you with one punch,” Rebel says.

He’s haughty. He underestimates me. This is my advantage.

I’m small, but I’m fast. I had to listen to Dimitri’s monologues about using my speed for hours. He expected me to exercise every day. He showed me how to perfect every tiny movement. I was covered in sweat and blood during out training sessions.

“Malenkaya,” Dimitri used to say, “I love you, but I have to make a tough suka out of you. Understood? For your own good.”

“Da, grandpa,” I used to answer.

When we lived in the desert, Kolya trained me as well. Uncle Kolya. He died. Sadness killed him.

I watch Rebel. He’s fast too, but he’s never been trained by a professional. Life taught him to fight.

And I don’t think he’s ever hit a woman. This is my advantage.

“You first,” he says.

“You first, you clumsy little coward,” I say.

He leaps towards me and I swerve. Adrenaline fills my veins. Dimitri’s voice rings in my head. My survival instinct is all that guides me.

Rebel bounces on his knees and watches me. “If I win, you’ll leave the compound and never come back.”

“We’ve got a deal,” I say.

It’s dark. The light filtering from the house encloses us in a timeless bubble.

Rebel spurts towards me as his fist slams into the side of my chest. My breath sticks in my throat, but I know what to do. I rotate my body, lower myself and deliver a punch into his abdomen. He moves back.

“Not bad, bitch.” Seriousness tinges his voice.

Fuck. We’re going to spill blood.