Page 85 of Deviant Need

I spot an old-looking envelope in the back and pull it out with shaking fingers. Inside is a yellowed newspaper article about some kind of massacre. I pull out my phone to snap a quick picture so I can read it later without staying here too long.

A photo drops to the floor. My brows knit together, and I bend down to grab it, my breath catching in my throat. It’s a picture of me when I was young, maybe two years old. But I look messed up. Bruised, scared, frozen in a way that makes my stomach turn.

My hands shake as I turn it over. On the back, in Lina’s handwriting, it says:

Safe now – L

The shouting downstairs gets louder, and I force myself to focus.

I take pictures of both sides of the photo with trembling hands, then carefully put everything back exactly where I found it. My fingers shake as I close the safe, move the books back into place, and make sure everything looks untouched before I slip out of the room and head back downstairs.

Chapter 19

Mikhail

Standing at the stairs, I cross my arms and wait for Daniil to finish walking down. I hope he got what he was looking for. Riling up my brothers is fun, but not in front of Father. The old man has a mean right hook, and my jaw still aches from where he punched me earlier. Point five percent under projections, and he acts like I burned the whole place down.

Nothing’s ever enough for him. Never has been, never will be. I could hand him a perfect month, and he’d still find something wrong with the way I wrote the report.

Daniil comes into view with his hood pulled up, black messy hair curling slightly at the edges. I can’t believe this lunatic jerked me off under the table with everyone sitting right there. The psycho didn’t even hesitate, just unzipped my pants and made me fall apart while I had to sit there perfectly still and pretend everything was fine.

I grin at him. “We got kicked out. Come on, let’s go to that road diner on the way to the city.”

“You mean you got kicked out.”

Shrugging, I turn for the door. We walk out to the car, and as soon as he closes his door and sits down, I reach for his hand. “Got what you were looking for?”

His jaw clenches. “I don’t know. Let’s look at it once we get out of here.”

He starts the car, and we take off. He leans back into the seat and spreads his legs wide, one hand on the wheel, and I can’t stop staring at him. How the fuck did I never realize I could want him this way? I’m probably just Danyasexual at this point—I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Ever. Just him. Whatever. I’m not questioning it anymore.

We drive for thirty minutes in silence before pulling up to the diner.

I hop out while he’s still braking, and he curses me out, yelling something about getting myself killed. I’m already halfway to the entrance when I hear him sprinting behind me. I brace myself and catch him as he jumps onto my back, arms wrapping around my neck tight.

He’s been doing this since we were kids, and it’s still one of my favorite things he does. Some days he’d just hang on my back for hours while I walked around the house, refusing to let go until I physically pried him off. I jump up the steps to the diner and help him down carefully.

The place has that classic roadside vibe with red vinyl booths, black-and-white checkered floors, neon signs buzzing on the walls. Chrome fixtures catch the afternoon light streaming through the big windows. I love this place, have since we first found it years ago.

I’m starving, and neither of us ate anything at our parents’ house. Pretty hard to focus on food when someone’s hand is down your pants, and you’re trying not to let anyone notice what’s happening under the table.

We slide into a booth by the window and don’t bother looking at the menus. We’ve been coming here since we got our licenses, and we know the whole thing by heart.

“You going to get your usual?”

He hums. “Cheeseburger, no pickles, extra fries.”

“And you’re going to steal half my onion rings,” I say back with a grin.

“I don’t steal them. You offer them.”

“Because you give me those sad puppy eyes when I’m eating them.”

He rolls his eyes. “Just order extra onion rings.”

The waitress comes over, coffee pot in hand, and we order without looking at the menus. When she leaves, he pulls out his phone and sets it on the table between us.

His eyes go to my jaw, and guilt flashes across his face instantly.