27. Sasha

CHAPTER 27

SASHA

Sweat drips down my temples and neck as I strain against the cold metal of the barbell, muscles trembling with exertion. My teeth clench, jaw tight. Breathe in, push up. Exhale, lower down. I'm going to get stronger even if it bloody kills me.

Logan looms over me, eyes keen as a hawk watching its prey. "That's enough, Sasha. Don't overdo it."

"Piss off," I grunt, hefting the weight again. "I can do five more." The burn sears through my biceps and my pecs. Ah, that glorious pain. Push through it, I tell myself. Be a man, not some weak ponce your brother thinks you are. Can’t even trust you to learn how to handle a gun. Wanker.

After what Logan and I did the other night, I know I've got it in me. Feel like I could take on the whole damn world. I’m a fucking real man. I know how it feels, how it smells and tastes–this freedom of simply being who you're supposed to be.

"I mean it." Logan's voice is firm, but with an edge of concern. "Your form's slipping. Rack the bar before you hurt yourself."

I want to tell him to fuck off, but I know he's right on my next attempt—number three—when my arms literally beg me to stop this torture. With a frustrated sigh, I start guiding the barbell back onto the rack. Logan grabs it with both hands to help me. Always a bloody gentleman. The weights zing and rattle in my ears before going silent.

I sit up, grabbing my towel to wipe my face and neck. My muscles quiver with exhaustion, chest heaving as I catch my breath.

Logan's hand rests on my shoulder, a casual touch that sends electricity racing down my spine. I glance up at him, meeting his intense gaze. In that shared look, memories of our night flood my mind—sweat-slicked skin, desperate gasps, the euphoria of finally feeling so fucking alive that you’re breaking down into a thousand little pieces on a molecular level.

But reality comes crashing back in. Vlad barely trusts me to leave the house, let alone go to the shooting range. Treats me like a child, not a grown-up. Not his brother. Just a fucking asset in this game of his.

All I have left to protect myself is to reshape my body. To make it stronger.

When my breaths even out, I stand up. There’s frustration simmering beneath my skin. I’m tired of being in the lock-up. Tired of hiding my true face in front of everyone. It’s like forcing each and every muscle in my body to keep that second skin intact and it’s exhausting. I thought, just for a moment, after I found out Yuri was dead, that this was going to end soon. But Vlad swooped in, taking over family business and family legacy on both continents. His long bloody hands stretched across the Atlantic, yanking me out of the only circle of people who accepted me and brought me here. To this dry, rainless hell on earth.

"You shouldn't push yourself so hard, Sasha," Logan’s voice says beside me. "Your body needs time to get used to this type of exercise. Start slowly."

Logan's eyes track my every move when I catch his reflection in the wall mirror.

"What, you reckon I can't handle it?" I snap. "I'm not some delicate flower, mate. I can take a bit of pain." Our eyes lock and we both know there’s a double meaning behind those words.

Logan’s head cocks to the side slightly. For a second I believe he’s going to bite and respond with something sexy, something a lover would say, but he’s all business when he speaks. "It's not about pain. It's about being smart, strategic." He sighs, running a hand over his short hair. "You'll make better progress if you pace yourself."

I scoff, tossing my towel aside. "Right, 'cause you're the expert. Big strong wanker, here to teach me all his secrets."

"I’m not here to teach you," he half-whispers. "I’m here to take care of you."

And that one sentence undoes me entirely. All the stress, all the anger inside, evaporates, giving way to something else. Desire. White-hot skin-singeing desire.

My gaze darts around the empty gym, ensuring we’re truly alone. In a flash, I shove Logan against the mirrored wall, our bodies colliding with a dull thud. He either doesn’t expect it or simply allows me to manhandle him. He doesn't resist as I lean in, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.

It's a desperate, hungry thing, all teeth and tongue. And since there’s no safe space to make out with him in this house, I try to get as much of him as I can. My hand drifts lower, cupping the growing bulge in Logan's trousers. I can feel Logan's heart pounding, matching the frantic rhythm of my own as I press up to him.

"Sasha," Logan gasps, breaking the kiss. "We can't. Not here."

"Why not? No one's around to see."

Logan's head falls back against the mirror, his eyes fluttering closed as my touch grows bolder. "Fuck, Sasha. You're playing with fire."

I rub him through the fabric. "Maybe I like the burn." I nip at Logan's cleanly shaved jaw.

The thrill of it all sends my blood singing and down to my cock. The risk, the danger, the sheer reckless abandon of this moment. Here, in Vlad’s home, I can shed the weight of fear and shame, become someone new. Someone brave enough to take what he wants.

"But I don’t like to see you as ashes," Logan counters my comment.

God, I would give anything to be able to just ride him here and now, to feel that ache of stretch and the pull in my belly, the release gathering there beneath it. That’s how it should be between people who like each other.

The thought that I’m not only putting my life on the line but Logan’s too has me sobering up a little and I yank my hand away from his dick.

Just as I take a step back, the gym door swings open with a creaking groan.

Logan and I spring apart as Ivan's stern, massive figure fills the doorway. His gaze sweeps over the room, not missing anything but not saying anything either. He takes in my flushed face and then moves to Logan's too-casual stance by the weight rack.

"Ivan, mate! What's up?" I force a grin, praying my voice doesn't betray the panic thrumming through my veins. Beside me, Logan clears his throat, busying himself with rearranging the weights.

Ivan's eyes narrow slightly. Still, he doesn't comment on the strange tension in the air. "Vlad comes back tonight," he says in his broken English. "Make time for dinner with your brother."

My stomach twists. The mention of my brother douses my desire like a bucket of ice water. "Yeah, 'course. I'll find time." I can't quite keep the sarcasm from my tone as I add, "Not like I'm bloody preoccupied, being bored off my arse in this place."

Ivan's jaw tightens, but he simply nods. "I made a reservation at Primavera. V sem’ chasov. "

"Cheers, I'll be there with bells on." I give a mock salute, waiting until Ivan's retreating footsteps fade before flipping a finger at the closed door.

Logan exhales heavily. "Sasha, we need to talk about this," he rasps out, approaching me. "About us."

My heart sinks. I lean against the wall, suddenly feeling drained. My hand lands on my cheek, the scratches there from the bar brawl almost healed. I can always blame them on a gym accident if Vlad asks. "What's there to talk about? We both know it's fucking mental."

"Exactly." Logan's voice is gentle but firm. "We can't keep doing this, sneaking around under your brother's nose. Sooner or later, we're going to get caught."

My throat tightens, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "And then what? Vlad finds out his little brother's a fucking faggot and all hell breaks loose?"

"Don’t you ever fucking use that word." Logan shakes his head. His face is all contorted like he’d been slapped.

"Why? My own father called me a faggot. A pussy. And maybe I deserve that."

"I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear what you just said."

I want to scream at him but I know it won’t help, won’t make me feel any better, any less suffocated.

Logan sighs, stepping closer, so close I can smell him all over me. "Sasha, I care about you. But this... it's not sustainable. We either need to come clean to Vlad, or..." He trails off, the unspoken alternative hanging heavy in the air.

My mind reels, torn between the raw need to cling to this newfound connection and the bone-deep terror of my secret being exposed. I remember the disgust in my father's eyes, the cruel words hurled like knives. The fists that followed next, splitting my lip and almost breaking my nose. The thought of seeing that same revulsion on Vlad's face makes me want to vomit.

But the other option—letting Logan go, returning to the claustrophobic loneliness of before—feels just as unbearable. My eyes sting, voice cracking as I whisper, "I don't know what to do."

Logan's hands come to rest on my shoulders, a comforting weight. "I know it's not easy. But we have to make a decision. Before it's made for us."

I nod, blinking back the hot press of tears. The future stretches out before me, a yawning hole of uncertainty and fear. No matter what path I choose, I can't shake the sinking feeling that it will only lead to more hurt.

In the end, perhaps my father was right. Pain is all I deserve for not living up to the Solovey name.

The words cling to my lips, unuttered but heavy like the rock in my throat. I can’t risk Logan’s life. I’m about to voice them aloud when Logan speaks first.

" Mylash ," he says as if he just read my mind, his voice kind, "you deserve better than this. You deserve to live your life without fear. I... I just want you to know that."

Logan's hands tighten on my shoulders, and for a second, I allow myself to believe in a world where we could be together, free from the restraints of darkness we both inhabit.

But the moment passes as quickly as it came, leaving me standing in the cold basement gym, with the ghosts of my past and bullets aimed at my back while the weight of my future is bearing down on me.

"Vlad doesn’t strike me as someone who has no heart. He’s not your father. Far from it. Telling him the truth could be the only way out to something better," Logan supplies quietly.

With a deep breath, I straighten my spine. "I'll... I'll think about it."

Logan nods, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and disappointment. "Don't think on it too long, though," he cautions. "Secrets have a way of coming out, and when they do... they don't usually go down quietly."

I swallow, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. "I know," I whisper. "Believe me, I know."

Later in the day, as I stand before the mirror in my room, my fingers fumble with the buttons of my crisp white shirt, my mind a vortex of conflicting emotions. The memory of my father's rage-contorted face flashes before my eyes, his words echoing in my ears like a twisted mantra: "No son of mine will be a fucking faggot."

I swallow hard against the rising bile in my throat, the phantom ache of long-healed bruises throbbing beneath my skin. The very thought of Vlad discovering the truth about me, about Logan, sends a shudder of horror down my back.

Would he react with the same disgust, the same violence?

Would I see the love in his eyes wither and die, replaced by cold contempt?

I’ve never witnessed the kind of savagery from my brother as I witnessed from Yuri. But I’m not a fool. No matter how many legit businesses Vlad has, he’s still deep in shit. He’s still doing shady things, making deals with the same people who are probably trying to kill me.

"Pull yourself together, mate," I mutter, straightening my tie with trembling hands. I can't let Vlad see me like this, can't let him sense the turmoil raging inside me. I need to be strong, to put on a brave face and pretend everything's fine. Just like I've been doing my whole bloody life.

Because if I can’t, because if I let it slip, he’ll know. He’ll know my secret before I can take control of the narrative.

With a deep breath, I make my way downstairs, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous foyer seem louder than usual. Almost deafening actually. As I round the corner into the living room, I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat. Vlad paces the space like a caged tiger, his phone pressed to his ear, his face a thundercloud of barely contained fury.

Not a good start to the dinner evening.

My brother typically doesn’t invite me anywhere with him and for some reason I thought today he was in a better mood since he did. A better mood means he may be more accepting to his little brother telling him he is queer.

But all my hope now has gone to shit.

"I don't give a fuck about the excuses," Vlad snarls into the phone, his free hand clenching and unclenching in the air. "You get it done, or I'll find someone who can. Understood?"

I hover in the doorway, torn between the desire to flee back to the safety of my room and the need to talk to Vlad, to finally unburden myself of the secret that's been eating away at me for so long. But as I watch him end the call with a vicious stab of his finger, I realize the moment is lost.

Ivan appears at Vlad's elbow, holding out another phone, his expression grim. There’s a quiet whispered exchange in Russian I can’t decipher from my spot.

Then Vlad snatches the phone from Ivan’s hand, barely sparing me a glance as he growls, "Not now, Sasha."

"I need to talk to you about something important," I blurt out, my voice sounding small and pathetic to my own ears.

Vlad sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of a fucking crisis here."

I open my mouth to protest, to insist that this can't wait, that I need him to hear me, to understand. But the words die on my tongue as Vlad turns away, already barking orders into the new phone.

"We'll have to reschedule dinner," he tosses over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at me. "I'll have Ivan make the arrangements."

And just like that, he's gone, striding out of the room with Ivan, his loyal dog, at his heels, leaving me alone with the bitter taste of disappointment in my mouth. Once again, my chance to be honest, to finally share my truth, has slipped through my fingers like sand.