Outtake: What Next #TheRussianGuns #Demyan
We are back this week for another outtake! YEP. This week, I asked in my READER GROUP what/who they would like to see from because I didn't want to pull from the outtake form or write one of the many ideas I have set aside. Anyway, the first couple of comments to pop up were for some of my reader's favorite Russians. Or rather, a desire to revisit one of my favorite Russian worlds/families.
Ie, The Russian Guns.
So, that's what we're going to do. And I am laying down some hints in this outtake about what to expect when I do revisit this world/family. Because yep, they are next on my list.
Okay, onto the outtake.
A Demyan Outtake
Even if everything was constantly in one state of change or another in Demyan Avdonin's life, the one thing that was never different was his brain's ability to not shut off. If that fucker had something to think about or focus on, then sleep was a joke. It didn't matter if he was in bed with his wife listening to her steady breaths while she dreamed, or if he was exhausted because he hadn't slept in days.
His brain didn't shut down.
Lately, it seemed like he was awake at night more often than he slept. And the entire reason revolved around one person who--
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Demyan reached for the phone on the bedside table with a low curse falling from his scowling lips. Shutting the text notification off so that it wouldn't continue to make noise, he shot a quick look over his shoulder to check on his wife at the same time.
Claire slept away.
He liked that better. God knew his wife worried about enough regarding him, their kids ... this life they had chosen to live together. If he could help it, then Demyan tried not to overload his wife with extra things.
Even if she would want to know.
Even if she might be pissed ...
He did what he had to.
Despite the fact that the alarm on the nightstand blinked 2 AM in red, he should just stay in bed and let the lesson be learned--that needed to be so clearly learned--Demyan pushed up from the warm blankets and away from his wife's sleeping form. Claire didn't even twitch; she heard nothing as his bare feet padded across the room to where he'd left his sweats hanging off the side of the bucket chair in the corner of their bedroom earlier. Giving her one last look over his shoulder, a mixture of guilt and something else--worry, maybe--raced over his skin before poking at the back of his mind.
It didn't leave lately.
She couldn't worry, though.
He was handling it.
Like he always did.
“Are you just ... waiting?” Demyan's father asked.
Chuckling, he lifted the mug of hot tea to his lips, taking a careful sip. It tasted like shit but it was supposed to be healthy. Or that's what his wife liked to tell him whenever she tried to justify why he had to keep putting this crap in his body. Ever since his father's heart attack many years ago, he had tried to adopt a healthier lifestyle.
Little to no drinking.
Herbal teas that made him want to puke. Demyan ended up dumping the entire mug of tea into the sink, finally going back to the question Anton had asked.
“Something like that, Papa,” he replied. “Or maybe I'm teaching him a lesson.”
“What lesson? That it's late September and it gets cold on the back deck?”
“Could be snow on the ground.”
“Was I ever this bad?” he interjected.
Anton took a moment to answer, his exhale heavy when he finally replied, “No, you weren't. All I needed to do really was use the threat of your mother being disappointed and you were far better about hiding your activities ... or whatever you were doing. Heaven forbid Viviana worry about you, yes?”
Demyan laughed under his breath knowing none of that was a lie. “And yet, my son couldn't care less. So yes, he's learning a lesson.”
“Give Roman time ... he's just sowing his oats.”
“Is that what you call this?”
Running with people he shouldn't.
Chasing pussy for the challenge.
Drugs and parties and bad shit all around.
Roman Avdonin was a lot of things. Seventeen going on thirty. His father's twin in appearance with just a touch of his Irish mother to color him up. Russian through and through in every way that counted. Actively seeking out the Bratva life because he felt it was his right.
That was the thing, Demyan knew.
His son was bored.
The problem was ... his boredom led him to more problems than they could handle a lot of the time. Roman didn't seem to mind but Demyan sure as fuck did. Especially if it might mean--
“What happens when he does something I can't fix?” he asked his father.
Anton grunted under his breath. “Well, it's not happened yet. Give him the benefit of the doubt, at least. It's all you can do.”
But was it?
Demyan didn't know.
Deciding he had made his truant, seventeen-year-old son wait long enough to be let in the house well past a time that was acceptable for him to be getting home in the middle of the week, Demyan pulled open the back door. He expected to find Roman waiting on the back steps as he usually did when he texted his father to ask to be let in when Demyan locked the doors on him.
Instead, he found Roman sitting on one of the chairs.
Lit blunt in hand.
The air stunk like weed.
Good weed, sure but still.
“Really?” he asked his son.
Blue eyes met his.
Roman grinned, pointing with a blunt in hand at the dark sky. “Can really see the stars tonight, Papa.”
So much for that lesson.
“Roman,” Demyan started, ready to explain to his son all the things he had already explained a million times over.
His son just sighed, pushing out of the chair. “Yeah, yeah. Fucking Avdonin, act right, stop scaring Ma ... hey, you want some?”
He offered Demyan the blunt.
And right then, he kind of did.
But not because he wanted to get high.
“Get in the fucking house,” Demyan snapped, deciding if he couldn't do this kindly then he would have to be the asshole. “Swear to God I'm gonna put a bull on your ass to keep you in line if you keep this shit up.”
Roman nodded, obviously not believing his father for a second when he passed him by to step into the house, saying, “Right, okay.”
This kid ...
He would kill Demyan.
That was, if Roman didn't kill himself first.
Because if this was what he did now ... what could possibly be next?