Hey, all! It’s outtake day again, everyone’s favorite day, I am sure, haha.
So, this was an outtake request that has been in the form for A LONG TIME. Like, a long time. I am sure the reader who put it in there for me has forgotten about it by now, or just thought I would never write to it or get around to it, whatever. But here I am with it, sometimes I just need the goddamn muse to cooperate with me, is all.
We’re going all the way back to The Russian Guns for this one, loves.
Enjoy.
Do you have an outtake request for me?
Cool.
Drop it into the form HERE.
*
An Apology
A Russian Guns Outtake
Demyan POV
“Oh, grab me those chips, please?”
Demyan grinned as he leaned across the counter to snag his wife’s favorite bag of baked chips. His mother didn’t even like them. Neither did his father. And yet, they kept a bag in the house, always fresh, too, just for Claire to have when they were over.
“Here, babe.”
“Thanks.”
The crinkle of the bag echoed as their family continued to mill between the kitchen and dining room, readying for dinner. It was rare that they all got together at the same time to do this now. What with Ana and her kids living in Jersey, sometimes travel came down to just when someone had the fucking time.
And God knew they didn’t get enough of it.
Unfortunately.
That was the life, though. This life they had all chosen in one way or another—be it like Demyan or Koldan, who decided to follow in their fathers’ footsteps and join the Bratva. Or in the cases of their wives, with children to raise, careers to chase, and husbands to keep in line. And yes, Claire most certainly kept Demyan in line.
She reminded him of good things.
Of the good life.
Even when he had those dark days.
They still came.
Just not as often.
Not as hard.
Not as dangerous.
And then they had these moments together, as few and far between as they were now, where his family came together, enjoyed a good meal, shared laughter, and reminded him why they were here in the first place. Because they loved each other—mostly.
He still wanted to kill Koldan.
Sometimes.
“Did you hear about the water guns the boys brought?” Koldan called through the doorway to the kitchen from his position at the table.
Demyan sucked air through his teeth, eyeing his brother-in-law and wondering if this was the game he wanted to play today with the man. Oh, sure, it was all in good fun. Nothing too serious. Just two men trying to best one another in whatever safe way they could, because God knew their wives wouldn’t let them do much else.
“Oh, you want to drown by water gun, huh?”
“Demyan,” Claire admonished, about to pop another chip in her mouth. “Stop it.”
“He started this.”
To his benefit, Koldan only grinned, and pointed a finger at Demyan in the shape of a gun before pulling the imaginary trigger. The bastard. Demyan wouldn’t soon forget about that, and he’d get him back for it, too. That much was a promise.
“Daddy?”
Demyan spun fast on his heel, surprised at the quiet voice of his girl. Vera stared up at him with a hesitant smile while her hands twisted together at the front of her dress. He recognized all that for exactly what it was. Her little nerves making a show.
Which was funny.
Mostly because it wasn’t like his kid to be nervous at all. Hell, she practically lived her whole life on a stage in front of people. Her dream was to do that exact thing for the rest of her life, so it wasn’t exactly like she could afford to be nervous.
It was only her nerves that let him know ahead of time why she was standing there looking thoroughly ashamed with her little self. His girl, still a couple years away from becoming a teenager, but still old enough to scare the hell out of him because she changed so fast … she went from being the girl who held his pinky when they crossed the road, to the young girl who liked skinny jeans and tried to get away with sneaking out of the house to go to school with a croptop on like he wouldn’t see that shit.
Well, I can wear them at dance, she said.
Like that was supposed to make a difference.
“Can we talk a minute?” Vera asked.
Demyan arched a brow, glancing over his shoulder at Claire who only shrugged and turned around with her chip bag in hand like she had nothing to say or add to the conversation. Thanks, he wanted to say. As if the last little while hadn’t been hell enough in his house with his daughter, and everything.
He turned back to his daughter. “That depends on what you have to say to me, Vera.”
She sighed, her gaze drifting away and almost rolling her eyes. Yeah, that was some new shit right there, too. That attitude. God, he was not made for teenagers. He could just imagine how this was going to go once Roman became a teen.
Vera was slightly easier to handle.
A girl, and all. Kind of typical, but with her passion for dance and tendency to remind him of her dead mother with all that attitude and sass, well … he knew he was in for a ride. That was a guarantee, and he could bet on it. So, he was somewhat ready for it.
Roman, though?
Oh, that boy was going to take his father on a ride.
A whole fucking ride.
And he wasn’t ready.
At all.
Demyan would swear on it, and he almost wanted to ask his mother and father how they handled it. Having a teen girl and a teen boy … how they got through the rough shit, and made it work. Problem was, he knew exactly what his father would say—you’ll be fine.
Like that was supposed to help!?
It didn’t.
Anton enjoyed that shit too much.
“Well, sorry, for starters,” Vera muttered.
“For?”
His kid sighed.
Again.
“Do we have to do this here, Daddy?”
No, not at all. He could have made his girl apologize for her shitty attitude and the horrible things she had said and done to him over the last while when he wouldn’t give her what she wanted in regards to her traveling with the dance company. It certainly would have taught her a lesson in being humbled, but he wasn’t that kind of parent.
Demyan learned the best way to parent his kids was with respect and dignity. The same respect and dignity he asked from them, he should give it back, no excuses. That was the only way these little humans of his would turn into decent human beings.
Behavior had to be modeled first.
Everything else came later.
“Come on,” Demyan said, pushing away from the counter. He wrapped an arm around Vera’s shoulders, and directed her out of the kitchen. Once they were upstairs in the bedroom that once used to be hers when she stayed here more often than not, she finally stepped away from him just to sit on her bed. Demyan didn’t follow, and instead, hung back near the door where he could fold his arms over his chest and lean against the wall. “So, what do you want to say, hmm?”
“I’m sorry for being a brat, Daddy.”
“All right.”
Vera glanced up, all big eyes that threw him back years and made him wish she would stay little for just a little while longer. “All right? That’s it?”
Demyan didn’t even have to think about it.
He shrugged.
“Yeah, all right. Sometimes, just an apology is all you need, Vera. As for Detroit … we’ll figure something out for you to get there. How about that?”
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