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maksimkurylenko · 2 months ago

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FLASHBACK: TWO YEARS AGO. WHO: @viktoriya-kurylenko / The French. SUMMARY: Delve in, and take a look at the day Maksim retrieved Viktoriya from the French two years ago, and the Russians having to return a French hostage they'd also taken. This is something me and Meg have been working on, and the rest will be played out on the dash following on from the below writing.

“We need to talk about it.”

No they fucking did not. They hadn’t ever talked about it, not really. He’d been there for her, gave her support and time and space to deal with what had happened. Maksim would have given anything to her. But they had never talked about it.

Viktoriya stared at her brother over her glass of gin, sitting opposite him in their booth at The Basement. It was technically closed but Andrei let the pair of them in anyway, knowing it was better to just say yes than try to talk his way out of hosting them. Not that he was losing out on money. They always paid their tab unlike some other ruling families in the city. The Italians came to mind. She always assumed they simply expected those under them to offer up whatever they had for free. Scum.

“Viktoriya.”

God why did he have to look at her like that?

Say her name like that? It wasn’t pity but it was certainly something.

He does it because he cares about you.

Maksim was one of a very select group of people the blonde genuinely cared about and it wasn’t just because he was blood. The loss of her mother and her subsequent lack of any emotion about it made that point moot. No, they had always kept each other close. She respected him and him, her. At least she thought that’s what they did. This question though…

“What do you want me to say Maksim?” Her hand released the crystal glass, forming into a tight ball in its stead. “What they did…” Yes, what the French had done to her was something she wished she could forget. Her other hand reached up to massage her left shoulder. Under the fabric of her shirt lay the reminder of exactly what they’d done. Not that she truly remembered what had happened. Nothing was clear until she’d been in the warehouse to be handed over.

~ FLASHBACK ~

“Move.”

A hand landed on Viktoriya’s now damaged shoulder and shoved. Hard. The sound that escaped her mouth was halfway between a whimper and a gasp.

How they’d ended up in the warehouse was beyond her. The last thing she remembered was cold concrete on her face, the sound of water sizzling nearby, and pain. Indescribable, searing, agonizing pain. It had been enough to make her vomit and scream bloody murder when she’d tried to roll onto her back away from the mess. What had they done to her?

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice came out cracked and broken but it came out nonetheless. The laugh that sounded behind her was not humorous

“Just fucking walk. 20 yards straight. Pray you never come back.”

Had she been in her right mind, Viktoriya would have whipped around and clawed the Frenchman’s face off. She almost tried but someone in front of her caught her attention.

Maksim.

Not yet close enough to touch but he was there, watching, waiting, and something else. Her vision blurred but Viktoriya took a step forward. Then another. Twenty yards and it would all be over.

—

There was a loud roaring in his ears, sickness curdling in his gut, that morphed and transformed into this unyielding, fiery rage. The shadows of the warehouse, not fully touched by dull fluorescent lights, made the place darker than it needed to be, and he was on edge.

Ready to strike should the need arise.

Was this his punishment for his crimes? To watch that pain bestowed upon her?

His rage had been stored and reserved for one fucking reason. Teeth gritted as he stared ahead, un-moving, rigid, and imposing with the brute force just over his shoulder. If it came to it, Maksim was ready to burn this place to the ground—actually, fuck that.

He’d burn London to the ground. He wasn’t playing anymore, not with this. Not ever.

Maksim had known the horrors of this life, had known the pain he’d been gifted, like meant to accept it with honor, but nothing, not being imprisoned in a Russian Jail, or the death of his mother or his string of constant failures—nothing matched the soul-shattering horror that engulfed him when he learned of Vika's abduction.

Even knowing Vika was coming back, he couldn’t settle, and his mind wouldn’t allow him to shift away from the genuine threat surrounding him and his sister in their clutches. Until she was in that car and driving away, he wouldn’t simmer. Maksim would stay at boiling point, and everyone around him better pray it didn’t leak over the edge. He might’ve had a reputation, but when it came to her, there was nothing he wouldn’t do. There was no place he wouldn’t go, and certainly, without a doubt, no one he wouldn’t kill if he had to.

When she came into view…it was enough to knock the breath right from him and to have him shift one step forward before he got a hold of himself. Maksim understood that any further movement might startle them and jeopardize her safety, and with her dangerously close, he quivered, grappling with that flimsy self-control.

That shove, though, had him growling, undiluted rage seeping. “Fucking careful – ” he growled, Russian curse words slipping from under his breath as a way to calm that betraying anger that was about ready to burst out of his chest. Letting the rigidness seep from his muscles, he forced himself to loosen up, in case he needed to spring into action and run for her.

If there was a fire, he'd walk through it to get her back.

Not too far now, Vika, his mind chants, Keep walking, you got this. His eyes snapped at every person in attendance. Memorizing, committing them to memory. The fucking French filth. Because one day they’d pay for what they did to her, for every hair harmed, and every reaction they’d stolen from her. The Russians may have been sadistic, but they took care of their own and would do anything for each other.

Maksim’s eyes again found Vika, unable to look away as he took in her face and his stomach lurched. “Those fucking..” he seethed under his breath. What they’d done was worth watching them scream for weeks in a fucking hell hole. “Send them back, do it quickly.” He said to the other Russian that had come as backup, another situated elsewhere, in eyesight of them but unable to be spotted from here.

Not looking at their prisoner, he ground out. “Be thankful you’re still breathing after what they did to my sister, but know this, wherever you go, I’m gonna’ find you. Walk.” mimicking exactly what the French had gone, he shoved the prisoner with equal force.

They’d signed their death warrant with this. Maksim wouldn’t forget, and neither would his father.

—

It took more effort than Vika wanted to admit to look up at the Frenchman passing her. Every part of her body seared with pain and her mind fractured a bit more with each step. She got enough of a glimpse, however, to know that they would need a significant amount of plastic surgery to fix what her people had done.

Good.

She wasn’t sure when she’d finally crossed the imaginary demarcation line but the shift was instant. Gruff murmurs behind her followed by the shuffling of feet, car doors opening and closing, and a car peeling away. If she never saw them again it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“Maks?” Her eyes on her feet again to make sure she didn’t fall face forward, Vika wasn’t sure how far her brother was from her. She reached out in front of her, grasping air once, twice. Then she stops. Pain radiates from her left shoulder. It dawned on her that when he reached her he would try to support her. The thought made her want to vomit. If the fresh brand hurt now, it was going to hurt a hell of a lot worse when pressure was applied. The most she could ask for was walking out of there with her pride somewhat intact. Breaking down into a mess would shatter that hope.

“My shoulder, don’t touch it…please.” It was a word Viktoriya never used and they both knew it. “Don’t ask, just…” Another wave of pain and nausea hit her and her knees hit the concrete. Yet another bruise to add to her already battered body. “Maks, please.” The words came out as a soft, strangled cry. Those who were watching had better get a good look because they would never see such a thing again.

All she needed was to get home.

—

Every step, every heaving fucking breath, slashed at his resolve.

Maksim understood pain, and had welcomed it in the past: but not this. It coiled around him like a noose, stealing the air from his lungs, suffocating him as it threatened to squeeze out every inch of oxygen. They hadn’t just taken a Russian, they’d taken his fucking sister.

Each step she took, pooling orbs never left her face, inside them fire burned like a pyre, threatening to incinerate anyone who moved too quickly. Hold out, he told himself, itching to move. He could make out her mouth moving, but no one was there: that sickness threatened to spill over. Was she disorientated? What had they done to her psychologically, as well as physically? Fists curled, fury only growing inside a man who had never been that rational. The second her feet crossed that line, his legs couldn’t hold him back any longer. Faster than he’d ever moved before.

It still wasn’t fast enough in his eyes. Five steps felt like twenty.

Maksim’s heart constricted at the sight of her, broken beyond comprehensible words, dark purple, red splotches over once perfect skin. He choked back the scream that was lodged at the back of his throat: he couldn’t show weakness in front of these people. Even if he heard them driving away, he didn’t know who was watching from afar. “Vika…” His hands raised as if he was going to touch her, but he froze. Staring, completely shocked. Since the beginning of fucking time, he’d never heard her say those words, not even to her own family.

And here she was, alive, but so vastly different from the woman he knew. “I won’t touch you there,” he tried to smooth the gruff of his voice, the way he only did for those he cared about.

Every fucking person who’d been involved would die at his hands.

Maksim didn’t care how he accomplished it or what he had to sacrifice. He liked to think he could control his emotions, but his feelings regarding this were spiraling. He’d loved and lost, and so had Vika but it’d only made that bond stronger—there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her.

The scurry of feet behind him had him huffing a sigh, as the sound of tires crawling along gravel alerting him to the arriving car. “You haven’t gotta walk anywhere, we’ll drive right up and you can get in where and how you're most comfortable.” He wasn’t sure there was any part of her that didn’t hurt, and the worst part was there was nothing he could do. Not right now. Then offer words of comfort, because there was no advice he could give her that would make this better.

Once the door was open, they'd managed to get Vika into the car, unfortunately, with little success from the winces. And then the car was moving, and the silence was all-consuming. A riot among nothingness.

Maksim stared at Vika, unable to look away for fear it might all be a dream. Alive, he repeated to himself. She was really a-fuckin-live. There was a part of him that wanted to reach forward and touch her, just to make sure. But one look at her told him he best not, especially because he didn’t know the extent of the damage.

“I spoke to Dad,” swallowing heavily. “There’s a doc waiting for you at home.” eyes pleading that she didn’t fight it. “We need to check you over, can’t…leave it, this.” and he hated every word that came out of his goddamn mouth. He didn’t want to feel like he was forcing this upon her. But there were some things that had to be done, for better rather than worse.

“After that, we’ll figure it out.” Brows furrowing again with complete unforgiving disdain. “Vika…” There was so much he wanted to say, but there weren’t words. He wouldn’t ask her about it, not until she was ready. There would come a time when this didn’t feel like her world was ending, it couldn’t be this forever. She was far too strong of a person to let this stain the life she’d built. “You’ll get through this.” It was more his father’s voice at that moment, than his own. Demanding, still cautious.

It didn’t take long for the car to pull up outside of their father’s home, grand in such a ridiculous way it would have almost been laughable. “Home sweet home.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

#queue #viktoriya kurylenko #maksim kurylenko #joint para : vika #tbc #vika & maksim #viktoriya & maksim #ft. the french #self para #char dev #flash back

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