Brother
Thane felt a tremendous flood of emotion when Durov walked through the door of his hospital room. The man looked terrible, beat up and battered, a skeleton of the burly Russian he knew—but he was alive.
The first thing Durov did was to walk up to Brie and put his hand on her stomach. “Oh, radost moya, you have grown…”
The heartfelt gesture moved Thane, and it seemed only natural when Durov leaned down to kiss her. But Durov immediately looked over at Thane and apologized. “I am sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
Thane only smiled, trying to rein in the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Answering in a gruff voice, he said, “Ah hell, I’d kiss you, too, if that were my thing. Get over here.”
Pulling himself into an upright position, Thane embraced his blood brother. He refused to let go, shocked that this day had truly come.
It was literally minutes before the two of them finally let each other go.
Looking at the number of wounds covering his body, Thane exclaimed, “Damn it, man, you look terrible. Seriously terrible.”
Brie rushed to embrace Durov, burying her face in his chest. She, too, was in shock and cried, “I can’t believe it…”
Durov looked at Thane with a half-grin.
The look of contentment on that broken face seared itself into Thane’s mind. No matter his condition, Durov was back, and all was right with the world again.
Thane had experienced this once before with Durov, many years ago, when the Russian had returned to his motherland. Thane had grown worried after losing contact with him days after he’d left the States.
Concerned for Durov’s life after the violent confrontation with Samantha, he’d dropped everything and had headed to Russia to find his friend…
“Where is he?” Thane demanded, pounding on Andrev’s door.
Durov’s brother answered it, looking at Thane in disgust. “No one has seen the bastard, and I don’t care if I ever do again. Anton is bad news for this family. Mother is dead, and he spouts crazy talk?”
A deadly chill went through Thane.
After suffering the loss of Tatianna, Thane knew Durov would not be able to handle the death of his beloved mother.
“What happened to her?”
Andrev’s mouth curled into a snarl. “She is dead, psikh. That is all you need to know.”
“Where’s Anton?” Thane insisted, not willing to leave until he got the answers he needed.
“I told you—my brother is bad news. We are all better off without him.”
Without hesitating or thinking of the consequences, Thane punched the asshole in the jaw and welcomed the pain that shot through his hand as he watched Andrev stagger from the impact.
The man sneered. “Apparently, you are as crazy as Anton.” He spat at Thane’s feet and turned his back on him.
Thane growled angrily, “He needs our help.”
Andrev turned his head, a sarcastic smile on his face. “Da, he is in need of help. The kind you get in a mental institution for the criminally insane.”
Thane wound up for another swing, but Andrev skirted to the side, yelling, “Go back to America, psikh. You are not wanted here.”
“I’m not here for you.”
“If fate is just, Anton is already dead.”
Thane saw only red as he rushed Andrev, knocking him to the ground before pummeling his face. If it hadn’t been for a couple of beefy neighbors nearby pulling Thane off of him, Andrev would have ended up in the hospital and Thane would have been headed for a Russian prison.
Instead, Andrev brushed himself off as he glared at Thane. “I hope you both get what you deserve.” He spat at Thane before walking away.
The encounter with his brother left Thane exactly where he’d started.
He still had no idea where Durov was. Panic began to set in, knowing he might be facing another suicide.
Thane looked at the scar on his wrist. Even though Durov had made a solemn vow to him, Thane was afraid that the shock of his mother’s murder would prove too much after all he’d been through.
After visiting the popular drinking establishments of Moscow without any success, Thane began walking through the seedier parts of the city, checking the backstreets and alleys along the way.
That’s where he finally ran across Durov, sprawled out on the ground, unconscious, his face covered in blood.
Thane asked one of the panhandlers nearby if he knew what had happened to him.
The man shook his head. “You don’t want to be around when he wakes up. That one is a berserker. Completely mad.”
Thane immediately started slapping Durov’s face, “Wake up, Durov! It’s Thane. I’m going to get you out of here, but I need you to wake up!”
The panhandler let out a low whistle. “You must have a death wish,” he stated as he slowly backed away. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you…”
Thane shook Durov, relieved to hear a groan escape his lips. That was just before his jaw exploded in pain from a right jab. He grabbed both of Durov’s wrists and pinned him to the ground. “It’s me, Thane…”
When he saw there was no recognition, he added, “Your brother.”
Pain flashed in Durov’s eyes as his vision began to clear and he finally recognized who was holding him down. “Moy droog…” he croaked.
Durov turned his head away in shame. “Go,” he grunted, before he passed out again.
“Like hell I will,” Thane growled, pulling Durov up and hoisting him over his shoulder. “I did not come all this way just to be dismissed, you ass.”
Several of the panhandlers hissed and spat in Durov’s direction as Thane passed them.
“I see you’ve made friends,” Thane joked as he headed to the main street, hoping to hail a cab and hightail it out of there.
It seemed none of the cabbies were willing to pick up an American holding a bloodied Russian over his shoulder.
“Fuck,” Thane grumbled when he saw a pair of intimidating men watching him. They were too well kept to belong in this area, which could mean they were part of the bratva, an underground organization Durov refused to be involved in.
“What are you doing with this man?” one of them demanded in Russian as they approached Thane.
“I’m taking my friend to my hotel to clean him up.”
“You know him?” the man asked in a tone that made it clear he did not believe Thane.
“We’re good friends.”
“Hah!” The other man snorted. “Tell us his full name, then.”
Thane was unsure if it was a trap. But as he watched the two men tensing, ready to take him down, he felt an honest answer was his only option.
“Rytsar Anton Durov.”
The man who’d asked raised an eyebrow, but neither of the men stood down.
Thane knew he had either given away Durov’s identity to his enemies or these two men were Durov’s allies. He was still uncertain which was the case, when one of the men raised his hand, snapped his fingers, and a black car drove up beside them.
The man opened the door and snarled at Thane. “Tell him he’d better keep his promise to Nikolay.”
Thane had no idea who Nikolay was or what Durov had promised him, but Thane understood that fortune had smiled on them, so he quickly pushed Durov inside. He rattled off the address of the hotel to the driver, knowing it would be shared with the two men, but he had no choice.
Thane needed to see how bad Durov’s injuries were but, first, he had to clean him up.
To Thane’s surprise, the driver got out of the car and helped him get Durov into the hotel room. He even lifted Durov into the bathtub while Thane hastily gathered needed supplies.
Before he left, the man informed Thane, “Nikolay has a vested interest in Durov.”
“So I keep hearing,” Thane mumbled after the man shut the door.
Thane carefully undressed his friend, assessing each wound as he did so. Once he was convinced the wounds were not life threatening, he turned on the water to let the tub fill up.
When the warm water finally covered his chest, Durov opened his eyes.
The pain in those blue eyes was too intense for Thane to bear, and he had to turn away. Echoes of the pain he’d felt when his father died fought their way to the surface. But he forced them back—Durov needed him.
Letting in the deep-seated fear that he was about to witness another suicide would not benefit either of them. Instead, Thane put his focus on facing one obstacle at a time, refusing to let himself think beyond that.
First order of business was to get Durov cleaned up. Thane carefully washed all the dirt, blood, and sweat from his body. Durov silently accepted his ministrations, neither helping nor hindering him. It was as if he’d already given up, lacking the energy to protest.
That terrified Thane. He knew the passionate Russian too well not to be concerned by his silence.
Once he had Durov dried and wrapped in a hotel robe, Thane ushered him to the bed and told him to lie down.
The next order of business was to get some warm food into him.
Then, and only then, would he ask about what had happened.
Thane called room service. Durov wouldn’t even look at him as they waited for the food to arrive.
Don’t you dare give up on me, Thane thought.
Aloud he said, “We’re in this life together, no matter how bad it gets.”
Durov turned his head away.
Once Thane had the bowl of warm soup in his hand, he tried to spoon it into Durov’s mouth, but he refused to cooperate and let it dribble down his chin to his chest.
When the familiar aroma of the lemony tanginess of sorrel mixed with the vegetable broth reached the Russian’s nose, his nostrils flared slightly.
After a few failed spoonfuls, Durov finally shifted his gaze toward Thane. “What is this? A form of Chinese water torture, but with soup?”
“I need you to eat. So you can either let me continue treating you like a spoiled aristocrat or you can pick up the damn spoon and feed yourself. It’s totally up to you but, either way, this soup is going down your throat.”
“You always have been a pain in my ass, peasant,” Durov growled, taking the spoon from him.
It was a small, but significant, victory.
Thane tired not to stare as Durov slowly consumed the soup. Schav had been a favorite dish of Durov’s that his mother made when he was a child. Thane hoped it would provide his friend some level of comfort, no matter how slight.
Once the bowl of soup was consumed, Durov set it on the bed stand and threw the spoon across the room.
Thane went to pick it up and walked back to him, holding the spoon out to him. “Did that make you feel better? If so, feel free to chuck it again.”
Durov glared at Thane.
Finally, he spoke, but his voice held such agony and despair it gutted Thane.
“I failed her. I shouldn’t be here.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I went to kill my father. I know he killed Mamulya…” Durov hesitated for a moment. It seemed like he was about to say something else, but changed his mind. He looked at Thane, howling in heart-wrenching pain.
Tears of anger filled his eyes as he shared, “The bastard had racked up enough debt to require a sacrifice as payment. And that coward…” his voice grew cold, “he selected my mother to pay.”
Thane looked at him in horror and disbelief. “But he loves her.”
Fire flashed in Durov’s eyes. “He did, which makes his crime more heinous. You sacrifice for those you love—you don’t sacrifice them.”
“What happened when you confronted your father?” Thane asked, seeing that he was losing Durov to the dark pull of despair.
When he didn’t respond, Thane shook him. “What happened?”
Durov spat in disgust, “I was never given the chance to avenge my mother. Nikolay spared his life, and mine.”
“I have heard that name mentioned several times today. Who is he?”
“The Pakhan of the Koslovs, a powerful clan in Russia.”
“Part of the bratva?”
“Da.”
“I was told you owe him something.”
A growl emanated from deep in Durov’s chest. “I did not expect to live after my father’s death but, because of Nikolay’s interference, both he and I are still alive. Life is a cruel joke, moy droog.”
“Does he expect you to work for him?” Thane demanded to know. “Is that why you were hiding?”
Durov huffed. “I was not hiding. I was looking for a fight that would end in my death. I no longer want to be here.”
“You can’t talk like that,” Thane warned him.
Durov glanced at Thane, the pain in his eyes now intensified.
“I watched her die, moy droog…but was helpless to prevent it. I needed that bastard to die, but I failed in that, too.”
“What about your brothers? Why can’t they help bring justice for your mother? By God, there are four of them!”
Durov shut his eyes, but could not stop the tears from falling. “That is the greatest cruelty of all. My brothers banned me from her funeral, but let my father attend.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
Durov turned his head slowly, meeting Thane’s gaze. “My brothers are cowards like my father. We should all be put out of our misery and rid the world of the Durov taint.”
“You are not allowed to talk like that.”
“I don’t want you here. Go home.” Durov waved him away dismissively.
Thane pulled up his sleeve and showed Durov the scar. “We are in this together, damn it. Remember, brother?”
Durov looked down at the scar, frowning sadly. “I didn’t know it would come to this when I made that vow.” He put his hand on Thane’s shoulder and said solemnly, “I’m sorry, comrade, but I want to die.”
Thane felt anger like white fire boiling up inside him. “No, damn it! We vowed that we would be there for each other—and I will not fail you.”
Thane got to his feet and demanded Durov stand with him. Putting his hand on the Russian’s shoulder, he told him, “You are not the coward your father is. You will not only survive this, but you will exact justice for your mother’s murder. Someday, the pain of this moment will become the catalyst for you to do great things. I know that both your mother and Tatianna expect you to be strong, to endure, and to live a life that would make them proud.”
“You are placing too much on my shoulders, comrade.”
“No. I am not, because you’re not doing this alone. As your brother, I stand beside you.”
He shook his head weakly. “I am tired and broken. I have nothing left.”
“Which is why I’m here.”
Durov looked deep into his eyes. “Just let me go.”
“Never.”
“It would be so much easier.”
“For you, but not for me.”
“You don’t understand, moy droog. You are doomed if you stay with me.”
“I don’t care.”
Durov’s tough exterior crumbled. “I could not handle losing anyone else.”
“We will survive this. The minute you give up, you condemn us both.”
“That is not fair,” Durov complained.
“What? You take a vow and expect me to survive your suicide? That, my friend, is not fair.”
“I hate you,” Durov growled, upset that Thane wasn’t leaving.
“You know, you are a selfish prick.”
“Have I ever stated any differently?”
Thane chuckled sadly. “No, but I match your level of selfishness with my stubbornness. I’m like the never-ending waves hitting rocks against the shore. I will wear you down to sand with my unyielding resolve.”
Durov snarled. “I already told you the Durov clan is not worth your time.”
“Your family is not but you, Anton Durov, are.”
“Did I express how much I thoroughly dislike you?”
“You mentioned it.”
Durov gritted his teeth. “You’re not only stubborn, but highly irritating.”
“Like a wave against the rock.”
“I’m already sick of your wave analogy.”
Thane smirked. “Never-ending…”
Durov roared in frustration, hitting the pillow beside him repeatedly with great force.
Thane was heartened to see his anger expressed. He knew as long as he could get a rise out of Durov, they both would be okay.
The two of them had been through so much together, but this latest ordeal had almost destroyed them both.
“Wallace told me you were in seriously bad shape when they found you.” Thane looked him over in distress. “But seeing how bad you look now, I can only imagine how serious it really was.”
Durov shrugged off his concern. “It could have been worse.”
“Yes, you could have died,” Thane responded somberly.
“Do not dwell on it, moy droog. I am here now.”
Thane shook his head, looking at them both. “We’re a hell of a mess, you and I.”
Durov gave him a crooked grin. “Wait until we are old men, comrade. What stories we will have by then.”
Thane shook his head. “No, let’s keep it simple. ‘They got old, didn’t get out much, and lived happily ever after.’”
Durov threw his head back and laughed, clutching his chest in pain.
The Russian’s hearty laughter filled the room, lifting Thane’s spirits. He looked over at Brie and found her laughing as well.
Yes, truly all was right with the world—once again.