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“You’re wrong,” I reply, somehow managing to keep my voice steady.
Dad draws a hand over his face and heaves a disappointed sigh as he slumps back in his chair. Shaking his head, he picks up his glass and drinks deeply from it.
“Fine,” he says. “If you don’t believe me, then I guess I’ll just have to show you instead.”
36
KADEN
Hands grab at me. I jerk awake, striking out and trying to roll away before I even know what’s happening. My fist hits something soft, and a grunt sounds. But in the darkness of my bedroom, I can barely see anything except for a mass of looming shadows around my bed.
I lunge for the knife on my bedside table. But before I can reach it, several hands grab my legs and yank me away. My stomach lurches as I slide right off the bed. Hitting the floor with a thud, I kick out hard with my legs while once more trying to roll to the side.
“JACE!” I bellow. “Attackers—”
A boot slams into my stomach.
Air escapes my lungs in a huff, cutting off the rest of my warning.
I try to scramble away from the mass of hands that reach towards me. Fucking hell, how many people are there? They surround me like a fucking wall. And I’m only wearing the soft black pants that I sleep in. No protection. And no knives.
“Your useless brother isn’t here,” a familiar voice suddenly says. A very familiar voice. “He’s at a party, drunk out of his mind, four streets away.”
While kicking out at the nearest pair of legs, I grind my teeth and try to glare up at the person who spoke even though I can’t tell which one of the dark figures is him. Mikhail Petrov. How the fuck did he and his stupid brother and cousins even get into our house without me hearing it?
A grunt sounds as my kick lands, and I twist up onto my knees. But right before I can push to my feet, a boot smacks into my jaw. My head snaps to the side from the force of the kick, and I topple sideways.
Hands immediately appear around my arms, wrenching them behind my back. I buck and fight with everything I have, but two people put their boots on my back while two more bend my arms up behind me. One person plants a boot on the back of my neck, forcing me to keep my head down on the ground, while another one fucking sits down on my legs.
Which means that there are six attackers.
But there are only four Petrovs on campus.
So who the fuck are the other two?
Cold metal presses against my skin as someone snaps a pair of handcuffs shut around my wrists. I growl, yanking against their hold on me. But with six against one, and with me unarmed and half-naked, there is no getting out from underneath this.
“Do it,” another voice says.
This one, I don’t immediately recognize. This voice sounds less angry. More in control. And also… older. I think I’ve heard it before, but for some reason, it doesn’t seem to belong at Blackwater.
Suspicion flares through me.
But before I can follow that thought all the way to the end, someone jabs a needle into the side of my neck.
And the world goes black.
There is a dull pounding at the back of my skull. And a throbbing pain somewhere behind my left eye. Nausea rolls through my stomach.
I blink, trying to fight through the fog in my head.
“Finally,” someone says.
After another few seconds, my brain registers the voice as belonging to Maksim Petrov.
Confusion floods my system. Why is he…?
Then the muddled soup in my brain clears, and memories crash back in.
