The Search For Shattered Pieces *Complete*

Chapter Twenty-Three: Sticking to the Salchow

Lyra:

    The hand that grabs me, digs into the soft flesh of my upper arm. I know I'll have bruises later from the fingers that continue to press into my skin.

"YA ochen' nedovolen toboy, moya milaya ptichka. Ty obeshchal mne predannost' delu, kontsentratsiyu, stoprotsentnuyu prinadlezhnost' k sebe. Vy menya obmanyvayete. Vy obmanyvayete sebya. Tvoyego razuma net zdes', ne so mnoy. I snova menya eto ne ustraivayet." (I am most displeased with you, my sweet little bird. You promised me dedication, concentration, one hundred percent of yourself. You are cheating me. You are cheating yourself. Your mind is not here, not with me. And again, it displeases me).

I crack my neck and implore him. "Mne ochen' zhal', ser. Obeshchayu, ya ochen' starayus'. YA propustil etot shag, ya znayu, chto propustil. YA ne imeyu v vidu, chtoby. YA sdelayu eto snova, na etot raz ideal'no. Obeshchayu." (I am very sorry, sir. I promise, I am trying very hard. I missed that step, I know I did. I did not mean to. I will do it again, perfect this time. I promise).

The grip is punishing, and I wince. Maksim leans down and whispers into my ear. "Dayu tebe yeshche odin shans, moya milaya ptichka. Yesli ty snova menya razocharuyesh' ... pozzhe budut posledstviya, gorazdo boleye ser'yeznyye, kogda oni ne budut lyubopytnymi glazami. Ponimayesh'? (I give you one more chance, my sweet little bird. If you disappoint me again...there will be consequences much more severe consequences later, when they're no prying eyes. Do you understand?).

"Da, da, trener..." I gasp as the fingers dig in harder before releasing me.

"Now, my little bird, I wish to see the cross work again...perfectly executed this time."

"Of course, trener...I mean, Maksim, of course." I take a deep breath and take off.

                                                                                                                  *****

Zachariah:

"No! Get it done! Seconds cost us, Bradford. Get it fucking done!" Xav snaps into his phone before disconnecting with a disgusted growl emanating from deep in his throat.

"The Greyson deal?" I ask, already knowing the answer to my question.

"Yes, the Greyson-fucking-with-my-life-deal. Listen, Zach, I don't have time for this—"

"—Don't tell me you don't have time for this. You can yell at Bradley Bradford just as well from the rink, as you can from the office. And by the way, who names their fucking kid Bradley Bradford. What sort of shit name is that?" I ask.

This causes Xav to laugh a little. And I'm glad I was able to get my brother to laugh a bit. "It's awful, right?"

"Horrible, absolutely horrible."

"Okay, so tell me again what the fuck we're doing? Because I'm losing money as we speak."

"We're losing nothing, Xav. We're losing nothing. We've already got more money than we could spend in one hundred lifetimes, what more do you want?"

"That is not the point, Zach," Xav growls, still scowling at his phone.

    And he was right, it wasn't the point. The point was the chase, the catch and the win. Xav LOVED winning. Winning was everything to him. He made money. He was fucking good at making money. But he made money because he was the best. And he knew it. He would doggedly pursue whatever he was after until he came out the victor. It was the only way for Xav, nothing else would suffice.