Sevyn

By Renee Dyer

Born into rival drug cartels, Kevyn Zozlov and his best friend Esperanza Torres defy the odds, finding laughter in a world full of pain. Ripped away from her at a young age, Kevyn has to learn the difference between family, loyalty, and obedience. Fear keeps him focused each day. Memories fill his dreams at night. Torn between the death he sees daily and what he believes is right, he struggles to decide the kind of man he wants to be—until a promise he makes to his mother, the person he loves more than anyone, changes everything.

"Get out of here and find Esperanza. Promise me."

Now, Kevyn has to figure out how to make his way to the only friend he ever had—the one person who understands his damaged world. Will she welcome him back with open arms, or turn him away, leaving him more lost than he already is?

With time against him, can he find Esperanza and his happiness, or will he be another casualty of the drug war, buried in an unmarked grave with no one to mourn his loss?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Renee Dyer
• Release date: Aug 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393315216

Book preview

Chapter 1

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When I was born, my parents named me Kevyn. Kevyn Mikhail Zozlov VII. I don’t go by that pansy-ass name anymore.

And it’s for a good reason.

Maybe my parents didn’t know being the seventh linked to that name would set off a chain of events forever altering the person I would become. Maybe they were going with family tradition. How could they know they were cursing me?

Not in the witches and hexes way—I don’t believe in that shit. But I do believe in fate and destiny. Some of us are born blessed, surrounded by love and all that is good. The rest are born in the trenches, wading through shit from the moment we take our first breath.

I’m in the latter category, and seven—it’s my fucking curse.

Someone upstairs zapped the one sperm that finished the treacherous trek and utterly fucked up my life. I never stood a chance in a normal society.

I know the truth, and it haunts me. Every goddamn day I live with it—with the memories screaming in my head. I would have the number stricken from record books if I thought it would help. I’d do anything to have it stop affecting my life. Too bad there’s no running, no hiding, from the inevitable up-the-ass-fuck I’ve been given from life.

It all started when my mom was pregnant. As a child, I remember her telling the tales of Kevyn Mikhail Zozlov VII. She would say my full name like it was something to be proud of, but I was named after a long line of thugs. How my mother fell in love with my father, I’ll never know. He dealt drugs. Used drugs. Devoted his life to Nikolay Volkof—the reason I earned the nickname Ghost, the name most everyone calls me now.

She would keep guests entranced as she told stories of my mishaps—and how they began at conception. Her green eyes would gleam as she held everyone captive with her tales. Women have morning sickness. That’s nothing new, but it was the damnedest thing. She would always pause there and give a smile, knowing she had the crowd on the hook. I would get sick seven times every day. Throughout the entire pregnancy. I should have known my son was going to be smart. He could count in the womb. Then she would laugh, and everyone would join in. It was always that way with her.

She made everything magical.

Mom would go on to say I was born early—at seven months. I was whisked away before she or my father got to hold me. They were told my heart stopped seven times, but when I was finally stabilized, I had no issues with my heart again, and the doctors couldn’t explain it.

My first seven weeks were spent in the hospital, mostly so I could learn to eat without a feeding tube, but there were a few minor mishaps. It didn’t keep me from developing, just gave my father things to bitch about later on. The hospital stay was only one of many reasons he had to hate me.

I broke seven bones before starting elementary school—not that I ever went to an actual school.

My father was controlling. He didn’t believe in schooling outside the home, especially after it became apparent, I was far more intelligent than other children my age. How a man like him could produce a child prodigy is beyond even my comprehension. I understand how it works, but I don’t want to comprehend how any part of him made me superior. And trust me, he drilled it into me every chance he got. It’s where the broken bones came from.

No one stepped in to help. Things were kept in the family. The outside world wasn’t allowed in, and we weren’t allowed to talk to anyone. Unfortunately, no one gave a shit.

No one, except my mother.

She pleaded for me, but he pushed her aside, shouting she knew nothing of being a man. He was teaching me to be a man, never understanding I would fight to my last breath to become nothing like him. I loathed him.

I was surprised he allowed me to have friends. A friend.

Esperanza Torres was from a Mexican family like my mother. She never picked on my weird name, and I never commented on the fact her father was crueler than mine. We were the best of friends. Born on the same day… July seventh.

Every day, after I did my schoolwork and chores, I was allowed to go play with Esperanza. It was all I ever looked forward to.

Knocking on the door, my stomach starts to ache, and my hands shake. I try to be brave, but Espee’s dad scares me. I hope he isn’t home.

The door creeks open, and my worst nightmare stands in front of me, making me feel smaller than I already am.

What do you want?

His voice booms into my skull, making me jump. He scowls, and I know I made him angry. Never show fear—it’s something he always yells at his sons. And I’m so afraid, I may pee my pants.

Answer me, boy.

I-Is Espe-peranza allowed to co-come out to pla-play?

He scowls again, and I want to run back home to the safety of my mom’s hugs.

Esperanza, the mongrel’s here. He laughs at the nickname he gave me. He always does.

Espee runs down the stairs, her black hair flying behind her like a cape. She smiles, and I smile back. I wonder what Espee will want to play today. For a little while, I can forget my dad will be home soon. That I need to make myself smaller than I am—invisible—so I can try to avoid his fists. For a little while, I can laugh, and dream of what life would be like if he never came back.

You know the rules, Miguel barks, grabbing Espee’s arm so hard, a red ring forms. Tears shine in her eyes. I’m so mad, I want to throw up. I wish I were bigger. I would protect her. I’d take us both far away from here.

Yes, Papí, she whispers. She always whispers. No one speaks loudly to Miguel. You get hurt if you do.

He pushes her toward me, and we run to the back of the house where our yards connect. Espee jumps on the swing like she always does, and I stay quiet. She needs a few minutes to forget about her dad.

I wish I could forget the mark on her arm.

Want to play superheroes? she asks.

That’s my favorite.

I love pretending Espee and I can save ourselves—save everyone—from people like our dads. In our made-up world, we defeat all the bad guys, and everyone lives happily ever after.

What about a kissing game?

I wrinkle my nose. Kissing? Girls have cooties. Even Espee.

Jumping off the swing, she lands in front of me. Come on, Kev. I heard Antonio talk about how fun kissing is. I think he’s lying. Help me prove the big turd wrong.

I laugh at her, with her hands on her hips, and head swaying. She tells me all the time she wishes she could be like me and have no brothers or sisters. Her four siblings are always driving her nuts. As much as she complains about it, I would give anything to be like her, but it will never happen. My father told me I’m enough work for any parent.

He makes me sadder with his words than his fists. The bruises on my skin heal, but the ones on my heart don’t. I don’t know why he can’t love me.

Please, Kev. Hands twined together in front of her, and the smile that always gets us in trouble—I can’t say no. I don’t want to kiss her. I don’t want to kiss anyone. Girls are so weird.

Alright, Espee, but just once.

You’re the bestest friend anyone could ever have in the whole wide world.

Looking around, we make sure no one is watching as we climb under the slide. My heart races knowing I’m breaking Miguel’s biggest rule: always stay where we can be seen. I’ve never broken the rules before. For a second, I feel like Superman, taking on the bad guy.

I’ll count to three, then we’ll close our eyes and kiss. Okay? I nod. I don’t know what to say. This isn’t how we usually play. This is different. One…two…three…

Closing my eyes, I lean forward. Espee’s lips touch mine. They’re soft and warm. We sit there, unmoving—our lips pressed together. It’s like we’re statues. Definitely weird.

Hmmm, Espee says. Maybe we did something wrong. Should we try again?

I don’t know if tha—

Large hands rip me out from under the slide and dangle me in the air. You ungrateful little shit. My head flies back as Miguel’s hand slaps across my cheek. Espee screams for him to stop, and Miguel turns with me still firmly in his grasp, striking her. She cries as she falls to the ground. Get in the house, you fucking whore! he hollers, and I wiggle, trying to break free. I need to make sure Espee is all right. My heads jerks back again as he hits me a second time.

Miguel storms to my house, never letting me go. He knocks so loudly, I’m afraid the door will break. My mom answers, and he throws me to the floor.

Miguel, what on ear—

You keep your fucking mongrel away from my daughter! If he ever thinks of touching her again, I’ll kill him!

Touching her? What are you accusing him of?

I want to scream for her to stop. He’ll kill her for questioning him. But I’m so scared, I pee my pants. If Miguel notices, he’ll hurt me again.

I don’t accuse people. He pokes his finger into her chest. That little bastard had his lips on my daughter.

Oh, Jesus Christ, my mother says, throwing her hands in the air. They’re six. Do you think they know what that means? She stares at Miguel, and I wait for him to scream at her, but he doesn’t. He turns and walks to the door.

Before he leaves, he turns back to my mother. Keep him the fuck away from my daughter. Don’t make me have to come back here!

There was no way to hide the bruises when my father got home. He was angrier than Miguel, and his beating more severe. He accused me of trying to get our family killed—told me I was a miserable excuse for a son. I think his words were meant to toughen me up, and in some ways, they did. Toward him. But really, I think what happened that day made the plan my father had in place easier to carry out.

On my seventh birthday, my father came home and announced we were moving. It was a birthday present for me. Mom and I begged him to change his mind. We told him we loved our house and neighborhood. He beat us both until we started packing. It was the first time he ever did more than push Mom in front of me. My cake went uneaten. The presents Mom wrapped left unopened.

They were all but forgotten as I screamed, saying I wanted to say goodbye to Esperanza. My father laughed and told me to be happy I’d never see that trash again. As advanced as I was, I didn’t understand why he would talk that way. Miguel Torres, Esperanza’s father, was his best friend.

Did they have a fight? I knew Miguel was mean. He beat his kids. Did more to his daughters. You could hear them screaming from their house. Mom would hold me in place when I would try to run to Esperanza’s rescue. She told me sometimes you had to stay away to keep yourself from the pain. I hated it when she said that. I hated more Miguel was a big deal in our community. No one said a thing to him. He walked around like a god, hurt who he wanted, and no one dared to cross him. No one tried to help his family. It killed me knowing my best friend was being hurt.

And it hurt like hell as we drove away in the dark, knowing she would wonder where I was, and why I didn’t tell her I was leaving.

I was her happiness too.

My father drove us to the next town over and pulled into a warehouse. He walked up to the door and started talking, but nobody was there. I was more confused than ever. After a minute, he walked back to the car and told us to grab our suitcases. I was shocked and couldn't believe this was where he meant for us to stay.

My mother didn’t look at me as she uncurled from the car. She kept her head down, walked to the trunk, and grabbed her couple bags. I didn’t know what else to do, so I did the same. He didn’t allow us to bring much. Mainly clothes and toiletries. I was allowed a few personal items. Small ones. That was part of his gift to me. Instead of toys, I grabbed notebooks and pencils.

I needed to figure things out.

I also grabbed the picture of Esperanza I had kept hidden. It was the most precious thing I owned, and the only reminder I once had something good in my life.

When we walked through the door, my mother cringed. Everyone spoke in Russian. I could understand, but she only knew a few words. There was a lot of talk about a drop. I heard Dad use the term many times.

We were escorted to rooms on the second floor and told to bring our things with us. After putting our bags down, my father demanded we follow him. I kept trying to get my mother’s attention, but she would only look at her feet. Ascending the stairs, my eyes widened as I took in the crowd that had amassed in the few minutes we were gone. In the middle was a tall, black-haired man in a fancy suit. The others walked by, making a circle around him and nodding as they passed. He looked down at them and grunted. I’d never seen this behavior before. Six stayed by him, three on each side. They had to be his children. A couple didn’t look much older than me. Two were identical. And the other two were as different as could be. One was obviously a teenager. He was skinny but dressed in nice clothes. The other was older, an adult, and wore jeans with a t-shirt. He had big muscles and looked scary, like the bad men in all my favorite shows. I instantly didn’t like him.

Bring her. The man in the fancy suit spoke, his voice booming into the air. I wondered if he had a microphone hidden in his jacket.

My father grabbed my mother by the shoulder and pushed her forward. Her whimpers reached back to me, and I ran toward her, yelling, Stop!

Grab the boy, my father commanded, and arms went around me, holding me in place as my mother was shoved in front of the tall man.

Do you know who I am? he asked her.

My mother stood there, saying nothing, and my confusion grew. How would she know him?

Her head flew back as the back of his hand connected with her face. My cries were ignored. When I ask a question, I expect an answer, whore! Do. You. Know. Who. I. Am?

Nikolay Volkof, she spat out, and I had never heard my mother speak with such anger. I understood then. I’d heard his name many times in our house. Mom had begged my father to stop working for this man. Seeing him, I could understand why.

You did well, Konstantin, Nikolay said, patting my father on the back.

Konstantin? My mother questioned. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked rapidly, holding them in. She looked from me to my father. I looked at him too. Why would this man call him Konstantin? It wasn’t his name.

Don’t look so surprised, cousin of Miguel Torres.

Her head reeled back, and she pierced my father with an icy gaze before turning her glare to the tall man. How do you—

The slap sounded off the walls as his palm connected with my mother’s cheek. Her head flew back so fiercely, I worried he’d snapped her neck. I don’t know what I expected, but the lack of tears wasn’t it. There was no sadness in her features—only fight. Back straight, fists clenched, and fire burning in her green eyes—eyes the same shade as mine, I felt her anger. I understood it. We had been betrayed.

Kicking as hard as I could, I struggled against the man holding me. I bit and screamed, but nothing I did set me free. Once again. I was too small to help.

The tall man clucked his tongue as he smirked at us. His scary son started stalking our way, but he waved him off and gave his attention back to my mother. I make it my business to know the family of all my enemies. How do you think Konstantin came into your life?

Shaking her head side to side, my mother finally broke. Tears streaked her cheeks. Her eyes found my father. The bastard smiled as she called out, He wouldn’t. He loves me. Kevyn! She fell to her knees, her cries turning to wails, as the man who raised me laughed and accepted shoulder slaps from the men around him.

Nikolay laughed at her too. All of his men did. Even his children. The young ones, who I knew didn’t understand what was going on, joined in. They laughed because it was expected. Because you did whatever Nikolay wanted. They were all afraid, and I realized this man owned my father. I was never leaving this place. Never seeing Esperanza again.

Chapter 2

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For seventy-seven days, I watched Nikolay send his men in to break my mother down. He believed she knew about the Torres empire, but she held tight to the words she had no part of his business. Every denial from her lips infuriated Nikolay more. My young mind broke over and over as I saw my mother tortured.

It should have been enough Nikolay had a cage built in the middle of the common area. My mother was on display, able to be taunted at all hours of the morning and night. Things like, Mexican whore were yelled at her continuously. She didn’t flinch at their slurs, but when they would tell her they couldn’t wait to get in the cage and rip her apart from the inside out, she would lift her head and glare.

I tried not to cry because she would hear me and try to comfort me. Her melodic voice would carry through the warehouse. Men would run into the cage, throwing their fists into her face, and jamming their feet into her stomach and ribs. She tried to block their blows, but her arms were never enough to protect her. Those bastards wouldn’t leave until she was bloody, bruised, and broken.

She lay there for hours, too hurt to move. I wanted to go to her—hold her hand, whisper it would all be over soon, but deep down, I knew it wouldn’t. So, I sat where I could see her, and waited until she mustered up enough energy to crawl to the cot—barely big enough for me, in the corner of the cage. Every day, they found reasons to beat her, and every day, she found the strength to drag herself back.

The worst may have been Igor. He destroyed my mother in ways the other men couldn’t.

Whistling sounds from down the hall and my body starts to shake. Igor is coming. I sit at the top of the stairs, staring down at Mama’s cage, praying he’ll keep walking. It’s Tuesday. He always shows up on Tuesday, but maybe he’ll forget what day it is.

My heart sinks when the hose comes into sight along with him. Mama crouches into the back corner of the cage, her eyes shooting side to side. She wants to run, but there’s nowhere to go. She raises one hand, and quietly says, Please no.

Bruises cover every inch of her body. Nikolay commanded she be stripped of her clothes almost two weeks ago. He took all her blankets away as well, saying she could earn things back when she started giving him information.

She hasn’t told him anything.

A whooshing fills my ears, and I look to my mother. I don’t want to, but I’m afraid she’ll die one of these times. I need to see her as much as I can.

Igor laughs, and I want to punch him. Mama yelps and tries to limp away from the spray. Everywhere she goes, Igor follows with the hose. She never stops moving, always looking for a reprieve. Why can’t he see the water hurts her? Her bruises and cuts. Why can’t he leave her alone?

Anger flows through me so hot, I think I’ll explode. I want to. I want to beat up all the bad guys who have hurt her.

Look at the whore run. Looks like she doesn’t want to be cleansed.

I want to yell, Shut your big fat mouth, Igor, but Konstantin is watching me. He watches me every Tuesday, waiting for me to speak out or cry. I won’t do it. Not in front of him. His fists have hit me enough times.

Staring at the cage, the red flowing to the drains in the floor, I watch it turn from dark to light, but never run clear. My mind focuses on the color instead of my mother’s cries.

There’s always so much red slithering along the floor.

And fear slithering up my spine.

I fear the red will stop. One day there will be no more blood to drain from my mother. I don’t want to live without her.

That’s right, whore. Get me off. Igor has his hands down his pants again. I don’t know why he feels the need to rub at his private area. I wish he would stop that and turn the water away from Mama’s face. I don’t think she can breathe.

Show her who’s boss, Igor.

His hand moves faster, and his head falls back as he grunts. With one hand, he turns the water off, and Mama falls to the floor, gasping for air. Igor throws white liquid into the cage. Lick it up, whore. Laughter erupts through the warehouse. An audience has formed, watching Igor taunt my mother.

No! She’s wobbly as she gets to her feet, needing the fence of the cage to help her stand.

I said lick it up.

Please, Mama, don’t fight him. I can’t yell to her, but I send prayers. I need her to live.

Letting go of the cage, she stands straight and stares at Igor. No.

Water shoots from the hose, and Mama screams for him to stop, but he doesn’t. The water presses her back against the fence.

I stand, hoping she can see me.

The crowd has gotten closer to her cage. They clap and cheer as the water pelts her body. How did they become such monsters? How did Konstantin