Page 4 of Toxic Salvation (Krayev Bratva #2)

VESPER

I expect to see Luka.

I’m prepared to see Luka.

Hell, I’m desperate to see Luka.

What I’m not prepared for is the wall of muscle blocking the school secretary’s desk—six feet four inches of radiating rage wrapped in an expensive black suit.

Kovan.

My breath catches in my throat like I’ve been sucker punched.

He’s standing with his back to me, those impossibly broad shoulders rigid with the kind of tension that makes smart people run in the opposite direction.

His voice carries across the reception area, low and dangerous and absolutely enraged.

“Why the fuck did you call her?”

The poor secretary, Janet—a woman in her fifties with thick spectacles and a cardigan covered in cat pins—looks like she might faint. Her hands shake as she shuffles through papers, clearly searching for an escape route that doesn’t exist.

“M-Mr. Krayev,” she stammers, “I apologize, but Ms. Fairfax’s name was listed as Luka’s secondary emergency contact. When you didn’t answer your phone?—”

“Her name should have been removed. Vesper Fairfax is no longer?—”

“Right here,” I interrupt before he can finish that sentence. Before he can say something that will reduce me to angry tears. “Vesper Fairfax is right here.”

Kovan turns around.

Those eyes. God, those eyes. Green with flecks of gold that used to make me feel like I was drowning in the best possible way. Now, they just make me feel like I’m drowning, period.

He looks terrible. Not terrible in the way that most people look terrible—Kovan could probably roll out of bed after a three-day bender and still make men jealous and women swoon.

But I know his face better than my own, and I can see the changes.

The harsher angles of his cheekbones. The shadows under his eyes that speak of too little sleep and too much whiskey.

His jaw is locked so tight I’m surprised his teeth haven’t cracked.

Good. I hope he’s been as miserable as I have.

“Vesper?”

The voice that saves me from gawking at Kovan comes from behind the secretary’s desk. Luka’s head pops out from what must be the principal’s office, and the sight of him nearly brings me to my knees.

“Luka!” I cry out.

He runs toward me, and for that moment, everything else disappears. I’m aware of nothing else. Not Kovan’s thunderous scowl. Not the secretary’s nervous throat-clearing. Not the fact that I’m standing in a school reception area trying not to cry.

Just Luka. My boy. The child I’ve missed so desperately that sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night reaching for him.

I catch him in my arms and spin him around, laughing when he giggles—that bright, musical sound I’ve been dreaming about.

But when I set him down, the laughter dies in my throat.

He’s lost weight. Too much weight. His school uniform hangs loose on his small frame, and those beautiful gray eyes that used to sparkle with curiosity now look dull. Tired. There are dark circles under them that make him look years older than nine.

“I knew you’d come,” he whispers, wrapping his thin arms around my waist and holding on like I might disappear.

The pain that hits me is so sharp and sudden that I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out.

Because this boy will never know his half-brother.

The baby growing inside me will never get to know what a perfect role model sibling Luka could have been.

They’ll never build pillow forts together or stargaze from Kovan’s backyard or share inside jokes that make them collapse into giggles.

All because their father is a coward and a bully.

“I can’t believe how much you’ve grown,” I murmur, smoothing down his dark hair. It’s longer than it used to be, like no one’s been keeping up with his haircuts. It’s only been a month, but he looks so much older.

“I haven’t really grown,” Luka protests, but he stands straighter anyway.

“Yes, you have. You’re practically a giant.”

It’s not entirely a lie. He has grown—just not in the way I meant. The innocence in his face has been carved away. It’s hardened into stone. I ache for him.

“This is not a reunion.” Kovan’s footsteps boom as he comes closer. “This is a mistake. The school should never have called you.”

I force myself to look at him. “But they did call me. And I’m here.”

“So now, you can leave.”

“No!” Luka’s shout reverberates through the reception area. “I don’t want Vesper to leave!”

“Luka, we’ve discussed this?—”

“NO!” This time, Luka’s scream is so loud that I instinctively step back. My hand moves toward my stomach before I catch myself, remembering where I am and who’s watching.

The boy I knew was quiet. Thoughtful. He asked questions instead of making demands, and he never, ever raised his voice.

This child is someone else.

“I won’t let you chase her away!” Luka plants himself between Kovan and me like a tiny bodyguard, his whole body trembling with rage. “She’s my friend! You leave her alone!”

I stare at him, open-mouthed. The transformation is so complete, so shocking, that for a moment, I can’t process what I’m seeing. Where is the shy little boy who used to hide behind my legs when strangers talked to him?

“Luka,” I whisper, “sweetheart, you need to calm down?—”

“I won’t calm down!” He spins around to face Kovan, and the fury in his small face is terrifying. “Because he doesn’t listen when I’m calm!”

“That’s enough.”

But Luka doesn’t flinch at Kovan’s tone, and he doesn’t back down. He just raises his chin and glares at his uncle with nine years’ worth of accumulated defiance. “You can’t tell me who to be friends with. I get to choose, and I choose Vesper. I don’t care what you do to me.”

Jesus Christ. If I weren’t so heartbroken, I might be impressed. This kid has more balls than most of the men I know.

But it also tells me everything I need to know about how this past month has gone. Luka has been fighting a war, and he’s losing. Badly.

“Is there a problem here?”

Dean Thomas looks between Kovan and me with a veneer of calm layered on top of panic. He knows enough about us—well, about Kovan mostly, though my last encounter with him wasn’t the friendliest—to be afraid.

“Dean Thomas,” Kovan says through gritted teeth. “We need to discuss why Ms. Fairfax was contacted about my nephew’s situation.”

“Actually, I think we need to discuss Luka’s situation first.” Dean Thomas looks down at Luka. “Luka, why don’t you go collect your things from your locker? I need to speak with your guardians.”

“I’m not leaving.” Luka crosses his arms over his chest. “Vesper just got here.”

Dean Thomas doesn’t even blink. “I wasn’t asking, young man.”

For a moment, Luka’s defiance wavers. I catch a glimpse of the uncertain little boy underneath all that anger, and my heart clenches.

“It’s okay,” I tell him softly. “I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

Luka studies my face like he’s trying to determine if I’m lying. Whatever he sees there must satisfy him because he nods once and heads toward the hallway.

But not before shooting Kovan a nasty look.

Once he’s gone, Dean Thomas gestures toward his office. “Mr. Krayev, Dr. Fairfax, if you could join me?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Kovan says immediately. “Dr. Fairfax isn’t family. She has no business being involved in this discussion.”

Maybe it’s the hormones. Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve spent so many days missing both of them so desperately that I’ve barely been able to function. Maybe it’s the realization that Kovan is still trying to erase me from their lives like I never mattered at all.

Whatever it is, the fuse of my anger gets lit.

“Do you think you can just insult me away?” I demand, taking a step closer to him.

Close enough to see the gold flecks in his eyes, to smell that familiar cologne that still makes my knees weak.

“Because it’s not going to work. The school called me.

Luka wants me here. Dean Thomas wants to speak to both of us.

So I’m staying, whether you like it or not. ”

Kovan’s jaw works from side to side. “You’re not needed here, Vesper.”

“Actually,” Dean Thomas interjects smoothly, “I think it’s important that Dr. Fairfax join us for this conversation. Please—” He steps aside and gestures toward his office. “I’d like to get started.”

Kovan looks like he wants to argue, but in the end, he just growls and pushes past me without another word, his shoulder brushing mine as he enters the office. The contact is brief—less than a second—but it’s enough to send electricity racing through my nervous system.

I follow him inside, expecting to find an empty office. Instead, there’s a woman sitting on the small sofa against the far wall. She’s middle-aged, with glossy brown hair and a polka-dotted sweater that somehow manages to look both professional and approachable.

“Who’s this?” I ask before Dean Thomas can make introductions.

“This is Dr. Christina Paige,” Dean Thomas explains. “She’s our school counselor and a licensed child psychologist. She’s been working with Luka.”

“‘Working with him’?” Kovan snarls. “What the hell does that mean?”

Dr. Paige doesn’t flinch. She meets Kovan’s intimidating stare with calm professionalism, completely unbothered and unmoved by his display of anger.

I like her immediately.

“It means,” Dr. Paige says evenly, “that Luka has been struggling, Mr. Krayev. And after the conversations I’ve had with him over the past few weeks, I’d say this meeting is long overdue.”

“Nobody told me he was seeing a therapist,” he says with a scowl.

“It’s standard protocol when a student is consistently disruptive in class,” Dean Thomas explains. “Luka has been acting out for several weeks now.”

“Acting out how?” I can’t help asking.

Kovan shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him.

“Fighting, mostly,” Dr. Paige says. “Both verbal and physical altercations with other students. Defiance toward teachers. Refusal to participate in classroom activities.”

My stomach drops. This doesn’t sound like the Luka I know at all.

“He’s just adjusting,” Kovan says tightly. “It’s been a difficult transition, but?—”

“Is that what you call it?” Dr. Paige interrupts. “Because Luka describes it differently. He tells me he’s angry all the time. That he can’t sleep. He doesn’t understand why the people he loves keep disappearing from his life.”

I sink into the chair next to Kovan without thinking, my legs suddenly unable to support me. “I’m not disappearing,” I whisper. “I would never?—”

“But you did,” Dr. Paige says gently. “From Luka’s perspective, you were part of his family one day and gone the next. Just like his father.”

The parallel she’s drawing is unmistakable, and it makes me want to vomit. Or cry. Possibly both.

“That wasn’t my choice,” I say, hating how defensive I sound.

“I’m aware of that. Luka is aware of that, too, which is why he’s so angry with his uncle.” Dr. Paige’s gaze shifts to Kovan. “He blames you for her absence, Mr. Krayev. And that anger is affecting every aspect of his life.”

Kovan’s hands are clenched into fists on his thighs. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that you allow Luka to spend time with Dr. Fairfax. Supervised visits, perhaps, with clear boundaries about?—”

“Absolutely not.” Kovan stands abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. “We’re done here.”

“Mr. Krayev—” Dean Thomas starts.

“I appreciate your concern, but I know what’s best for my nephew.” Kovan’s voice is flat, final. “I expect Vesper’s name to be removed from Luka’s emergency contact information immediately.”

He’s already moving toward the door when Dr. Paige speaks again. “Mr. Krayev, you recently gained full legal custody of Luka, is that correct?”

Kovan freezes with his hand on the doorknob.

“If you want to keep that custody,” Dr. Paige continues, still calm but with an edge of steel beginning to show, “then I suggest you reconsider your position. Because right now, Luka is exhibiting signs of severe emotional distress. If that continues, Social Services might have to become involved.”

Kovan’s shoulders are so tense that I can see the muscles straining against his suit jacket. “Are you threatening me?”

“I’m informing you,” Dr. Paige replies. “As Luka’s advocate, it’s my responsibility to ensure his emotional wellbeing. And at this transitional stage in his life, he needs stability. He needs the people he loves to be consistent presences.”

“ I am a consistent presence.”

“You’re his guardian, yes. But according to Luka, you’ve been distant lately. Preoccupied. He feels like he’s lost you, too, in a way.”

Kovan flinches like she’s slapped him.

“The solution isn’t to cut more people out of his life,” Dr. Paige goes on. “It’s to rebuild the support system that made him feel safe.”

“His support system is his family. The Krayevs. That’s it.”

“With respect, Mr. Krayev, that hasn’t been working very well.”

Dr. Paige looks at Kovan without blinking. Kovan stares at Dr. Paige as if he’s considering whether to intimidate her into submission or simply walk away. Dean Thomas looks like he’s trying to disappear into his chair.

And I sit there all alone, feeling like my heart is being slowly torn in half.

“I need some air,” Kovan mutters at last, yanking the door open.

Both Dean Thomas and Dr. Paige look confused as Kovan strides away. But apparently, no one is prepared to physically restrain him or force him to see sense.

I doubt I’ll have much luck either, but I’m sure as hell going to try.

Problem is, I don’t get a chance to try anything—words or violence—because I walk out of the principal’s office just in time to see Kovan nearly collide with someone in the hallway.

Someone I recognize immediately.

Eliza Murphy, the social worker.

Oh, shit.

This can’t be good.