Guns, Roses, and Snakes

[Snow Fox]

A baaaaaaaad bad bad fanfic of Shiloh and Mikhail. There will be incoming comical fluffy cuteness in the disguise of secret agent films. 

[Snow Fox]

Mikhail looked over to Shiloh as she stepped from the back of the car. He leaned against the passenger door and gave a soft sigh as he watched her from behind his sky blue sun glasses. Blonde hair rustled in the wind and he looked as though he should have been more in a magazine rather than escorting the Latina girl to the airport. They wouldn’t be flying together. She’d return home and Mikhail would miss her. He didn’t think there’d be a moment where he wouldn’t miss her. She was fiery and she knew exactly who she was. Quickly, Shiloh had become a constant in his life and, really, as she was leaving, he felt as though a part of him was going with her. He forced a smile and pulled her guitar from the back seat.

“Ready?” He said with a velvety Russian accent that was fluid and gravelly all at the same time.

With a nod, she turned and gave him a similar smile, “Ready.” Her Spaniard side always lightly washed over her words. At first it made Mikhail have to truly focus to understand anything, but, just as his life had become entwined with hers, her voice became enchantingly foreign. “You don’t have to come, you know.” She grabbed her bags, but didn’t make motion for her guitar in his hands.

“I know,” Mikhail answered, getting the door for her anyway. He wanted to until the last moment they would be forced to part. A plane roared overhead and Mikhail was quickly reminded why they were not travelling in the same ways. He hated those damn things.

The next few moment were no more than a blur for Mikhail. He remembered bidding her a farewell until he saw a familiar face in the crowd. It was a face that caused his heart to sink and freeze over in the pit of his stomach. His feet had cement gripping at his ankles and his knees both felt like buckling and as though metal poles were lashed to them. His blood ran cold. The face was his own-- older, but his own. Storm grey eyes reflected his own electric blue ones. A smile with malice countered Mikhail’s parted mouth. Realization hit. Mikhail’s lips moved to call Shiloh’s name as darkness flooded his vision and pain resonated over his vision.

[Snow Fox]

He woke to cold. It was dark, but there was something awfully familiar about this cold. It was both bitter and welcoming to him. “Chto vy delayesh?...” Mikhail groaned through the cover. His hands were bound behind his back. “Blin…” He swore in a grumble. He felt over next to him on both sides of the car and found it surprisingly empty. “Where is she?” He spoke to anyone who would hear.

“Blin, Otets!” He raged at last, his teeth gritting together at the lack of reply. “Gde oda!?” He snarled and rammed his head into the back of the chair in front of him. If anything had happened to Shiloh, he would -- The car stopped. Two doors opened and shut, letting in a biting chill and silence. Mikhail could hear the blood in his ears until the back door opened and he was pulled carelessly to the ground by his shoulder.

His own voice answered back in a lower register that was far less emotionless than Mikhail’s, “She’s already waiting for you. We had to make a detour to prove to vy mikhailov, the namesake you pissed off. Wanted to make sure you were alive.” The voice sounded as though it were less than thrilled by the fact that Mikhail was still breathing.

He had to wonder if he would be for much longer. “So, Mikhas wanted me back? Not you, Otets?” He didn’t have to have the bag off for him to know exactly who was speaking to him. He’d had that voice shriek at him for the first 15 years of his life. The bag was ripped from his head and with it came the heel of a hand to his temple. Mikhail lost the weary balance he had on his knees and the ground suddenly became his new best friend.

The strong grip of his father’s hand grabbed his hair and pulled Mikhail’s face up to meet his own, “I don’t take runners back. Especially when a runner abandons his own blood.” He threw his face back into the gravel again.

Mikhail groaned before biting his tongue. He would not give that man the satisfaction of his pain. The other man, certainly one of the younger lackies of Swarov wrenched Mikhail to his feet. The blonde ripped his shoulder away from the grip and shot the kid a glare. Christ. He was as young as Mikhail was when he’d left. He felt bad for the kid, but, that was the kid’s decision to follow this creep. With his piercing eyes forward, he followed far too proud for the way his hands were bound into the compound he knew quite well.

“What kind of leverage did he want over you that he would drag me back here?” Mikhail asked, taking in the surroundings. Nothing seemed to have changed though it was more than half of his lifetime ago that he’d set foot in these walls. It was a bunker of sorts meant to hold a plane. It was built in the time of wars and left unoccupied ever since. Unoccupied to all that didn’t serve in the Russian mob, that is. “The Bratva hardly care what I do.”

“They care more than I do.” The other blonde said with a severe lack of emotion. He waved his hand to another lackie, even younger than the first, who sat behind the gate. “Etot ne ostavit.” He commanded. He pulled back one of Mikhail’s sleeves to reveal the scarring hidden by the tattoos. “Know which is which.” His father said to the youthful guard. “He doesn’t leave.” He reiterated as the guard nodded quickly before pulling up the gate.

Mikhail glared at the man who shoved him through, “Andrei Swarov, you do remember why they call me the snake, don’t you?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed viciously, “You don’t have your weapon. I do. No poison for this snake.” He gave another shove, stronger than the kid had. Mikhail turned and faced him, taking a few steps back.



A grin passed over Mikhail’s lips that seemed completely out of character and his teeth showed, “I’ll always slither out of your grasp, Otets. Gun or no.”



Andrei gestured across the expanse of the hangar, “With her? I don’t think you’ll be doing much slithering, Zmeyv.”



Mikhail turned and his heart dropped. He hissed and stepped forward, careful not to run for fear of falling with the way his hands were behind his back. He slid before the other bagged figure who was seated in the middle. His knees scraped on the floor and he leaned forward, biting the edge of the hood and pulling it from her face. “Shiloh…” He breathed, protectively hovering beside her. The strike across her brow wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t fatal either. Regardless, Mikhail twisted to the face of his father with one far more dangerous than anything the elder could muster. “Ubit tebya ya.” His voice was level, resolved, and chilling with the promise. He would kill him this time.



“You’ll kill me? Really Mikhail.” Andrei said, striding forward on sure feet. “When have you ever done anything you’d say you would do?” He lashed out quicker than Mikhail could pull away and forced the mans face to look at his. “I invite you to try. Mikhas wouldn’t be too upset if I killed you trying to protect myself. Then we’d be rid of your pain in the ass.” He cast Mikhail back, letting the man’s skull crack against the cement of the floor.



His vision flooded again and he was certain he’d eventually have permanent damage if this continued.

[Snow Fox]

Something shook him awake. It was a jarring pain shooting up the side of his leg and Mikhail finally stirred. It hit again and he looked up. “Shi…” He murmured, still having a roaring headache. God, how was he going to explain this. One moment they were in France and next? Well, they were in the middle of a frigid spring in Russia surrounded by roaming kids who were carrying better weapons than most soldiers did. “Are you okay…?” He was hesitant to ask, but as he eyed that bloody gash on her brow, he couldn’t help it. He didn’t meet her eyes again, instead focusing on sitting up.

“Dios,” Shiloh rolled her eyes at the lack of response from him, “Where are we?” She whispered, eyeing the robot-like movements of the kids.

“Russia.” Mikhail answered, shifting a leg under him so he could pull up. His world swam and he clenched his teeth for a moment as he slumped forward. His eyes closed, attempting to keep the dizziness from them. It wasn’t Mikhail anymore in Mikhail’s body. It was the kid from 19 years ago who had managed to escape this place. His eyes were dejected and pained, nearly soulless like the ones who roamed as their jailers. “My home.” Where did he begin?

The Latina stared. Was he serious? Who was this guy who sat next to her? And the most serious question of all, how did they even get here? The pain in his eyes and the welt on the back of his head didn’t cause her to voice it anymore. He was working through something, Shiloh knew that face well. It was the human side of him that seemed… well, far less human right now. She eyed the blood that matted the back of his mane and the cut in the side of the buzz. There were plenty of other scratches on the side of his face, but those two seemed to be the worst.

“My father,” He said after a long moment of silence, “And I too… We’re not good people, Shiloh.” His mouth opened as though he wanted to continue, but he only stared at the floor with those blue eyes. “My… my past caught up with me…” He surged forward, his teeth clenching as though he wanted to punch the spot he was staring at. “Blin…” The Russian slumped almost helplessly, kneeling now. When had they tied their legs too?

She gaped. The guy she’d just spent a week with in Paris, the guy who, though ridiculous at times, took her against his own fears up a tower and brought breakfast to her in the morning was a bad guy just seemed like a bad joke. The way he said it though… the way his swore even though she didn’t understand it as a swear. “You’re not a bad--”

“I am.” He cut her off. Mikhail looked up as he tried to steady his breath. “I tried not to be. But I’m about to again.” Their legs may have been tied, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t stand. He shifted one first, then the other, and carefully rose. “Swarov,” He called out to the hangar, his voice echoing as if to attract the attention of all the younger guards, “Otets. Bring him.” His voice had changed. It wasn’t how Mikhail normally spoke in his native tongue. Sure, he swore often, and muttered in frustration when thinking of the English version was too much trouble, but it was never filled with the kind of threatening authority he used here.

Shiloh wanted to reach forward, “What are you talking about, you’re not--” Then he called out his own name in a way that he’d given deadly glares for being called. What had he said? His father? When the door slid open, Shiloh could easily see the resemblances. The two men looked nearly the same. Their tattoos, age, and the fact that the older man had a buzz cut all over while Mikhail still had some length were the only differences between them. Mikhail had a lot more piercings in, but there were signs that the older Swarov had likely had similar ones at one point.

“You’re ready then?” The other man spoke in a deeper tone, “Given up that you can’t snake away?”

Mikhail shrugged. If his hands hadn’t been bound, he would have spread his arms to gesture about where he looked. “You’ve not given us much choice, have you Andrei?”

The older man narrowed his eyes and gave Mikhail a smile that was forced and no more than a curl of his lip. “Purposefully.” He nodded his head to one of the two kids near the door to scamper forward. “I’m disappointed. I was hoping you’d fight more.”

Mikhail turned to face Shiloh, giving her an imperceptible shake of his head, “For her safety, I wouldn’t.” Not yet. He hoped he had communicated. His legs were cut free and he stepped out of the bindings. “I don’t trust what you would do with her.”

Andrei looked over his son’s shoulder at the Latina whose restraints around her ankles were being worked away like Mikhail’s were. “Torture wouldn’t be necessary. I’d simply let Mikhas have her.”

Shiloh looked up, “I’m not a thing.” She snarked as she rose to her feet, refusing the assistance of the kid who let her legs go. “I can speak English.” She approached Mikhail who was severely grateful she hadn’t kicked the kid in the head.

The elder Swarov narrowed his eyes, “You always did go for the rebellious ones, Mikla.”

Mikhail gave a hiss. “It’s Zmey, Otets.”

He laughed coldly, “Worm, more like it.” He grabbed his son’s shoulder and shoved him forward. “Get on.” He then turned to Shiloh, his free hand holding Mikhail’s gun in his palm. “You too, miss.” He gestured with his head, the same gesture Mikhail often used when locating something as well.

Mikhail turned and implored Shiloh, “Come on. We’ll be okay.” He hoped. Severely had Mikhail hoped they would be okay until they got to the Businessman.

[Snow Fox]

Their method’s hadn’t changed, much to the Russian’s dread. It was the back of an armored truck which appeared to have once belonged to the police rather than to the mob. There were times where the two were so intermingled, it was hard to tell that there was ever a separation. Mikhail hoped that kind of bond hadn’t reformed, but he wasn’t keen on asking either.

After being shoved into the back, Shiloh receiving a kinder hand from the kid, Mikhail gestured for her to sit first, putting himself closer to the door on the opposite side. The moment the truck went into gear, Mikhail glanced up to her, “I’m sorry about this..” He started, though sorry didn’t really cut getting abducted by the Bratva and taken to one of the bosses.

“He’s your dad, but he’s not…” Shiloh was looking at her hands, her brow pushed together in thought, “He’s not like you at all.”

Mikhail gave an incredulous laugh. After all of this, that was what she chose to focus on? “We’re more alike than I’d like to admit. They call him Kaban. It means war pig. He pushes his power.”

“And they call you Zmey, because?” Shiloh caught on to the nicknames, offering a side smile that seemed out of place in this situation.

He smiled back, though his was more wily, “I get out of impossible situations.” He looked up through the front grating as the truck rocked out of the hangar. “They also called me zmey cause my bullets were laced with conium...” He glanced back, wondering if the connection would be made. “Also known as hemlock…” He admitted after a moment. He took a long breath, “When I shot… I’d kill no matter where my bullet would bite.” His icy blue eyes glanced to her. “He has my gun. Don’t get shot by that one.”

Shiloh swallowed back. Mikhail had… killed someone? People? How many? She’d seen pain before. She knew there was a lot of it in that man, more demons than she could count, but to have blood on his hands? She looked to the way they were wringing over themselves. He was nervous for a snake.

“We’re meeting with Mikhailov. God knows what he wanted me for that he’d take you too…” He knew exactly what that man wanted. He would never, ever give it again.

“Mikhail… ov?” Shiloh’s head tilted, these Russians and their odd names.

Mikhail gave a tight smile and a raised eyebrow, “Spoiler, I was named after him. He’s kind of like my godfather. Kind of.” He guessed that was what they called men who decided at birth whether or not the kid was going to be powerful someday. “That’s where they’re taking us now.” And where they were escaping before they got in. If they went in, Mikhail was certain they would never likely get out of those doors without one of them dead or being marked for death in the future.

“And that’s bad.” She confirmed. “Alright, I got this.” She turned her head towards the door and gave a kick to the back of the truck.

“Shiloh!” Mikhail hissed. What on Earth was that girl doing? Trying to get them killed?

“Hey,” She said through the grating halfway rising out of her seat, “I’m hungry. Can we stop for food? What is there to eat in Russia, anyway? I heard all you guys have are vodka and snow.”

Mikhail would have buried his face in his hands, “Shiloh, sit down.” He implored, staring at this unbelievable exchange she was trying to pull off. “Sit.” He tried to say, getting to his own feet. What was he going to do? He couldn’t grab her and force her to sit or anything.

“C’mon, can’t we stop somewhere?” She spoke in that tone of voice that made Mikhail want to groan and give in to whatever she said.

Andrei was not Mikhail.

[Snow Fox]

The next moment was a blur. He heard the pop, saw the flash, but still couldn’t believe what was happening. His vision flooded and everything moved in slow motion. His ears rung from how close it was. Shiloh fell back.

“ Blinvy Ublyudok!” Mikhail snarled and surged forward, catching Shiloh’s body with his own. “Which was that?” He stared up into his father’s face through the grating that now had a smoldering hole through it. When the man’s cold gaze just moved back to the front window of the truck, Mikhail kicked the back, “Blin Otets! Which gun did you use?” He shifted, certain he’d gain no answer. This was not how that was supposed to happen. Not at all.

His eyes burned and in pushing Shiloh’s form off of him, he located the spot that was quickly turning deep red from blood. It was a straight downward shot into her ribs. Mikhail’s heart sank. “Niet… niet niet niet…” He shoved his legs under him and pushed himself downward. His lips touched the wound and he pulled what he could from the gaping hole. He twisted and spat the blood from the hole, “You fucking used the viper; you’ve condemned her.” His lips immediately went back to the wound. All he could hope to do was pull all he could out.

“You’ll be next.” Andrei said, not even turning to look at the scene he’d created.


Mikhail had shot a death glare through the screen, but couldn’t waste his energy to that. Any second not siphoning out the hemlock would be another second of it getting into her system. He had wished it was him. If the bullet would have passed through his body the way it had Shiloh and from the other side, Mikhail wouldn’t have died. He’d been shot before, once with the Viper in a struggle. He had built an intolerance to the hemlock after those many many years that such a slight amount wouldn’t do much to him. Who was he kidding? That kind of close distance? He was grateful enough for the fact that when he looked up to the shocked expression on Shiloh’s face that he could still see her chest gently moving. Pained as they were, she was taking breaths.

Once he was certain he couldn’t taste any left and in noticing how her complexion had paled from the loss, Mikhail sat back wearily. He took a few calming breaths and moved to her side, pushing his bound hands down to suppress the wound further, “Just a bit longer, Shi.” He muttered more to himself than to her. His head tipped back and he looked to the light in the center of the truck. There was no way they’d escape before they met Mikhas, but this was a new bartering chip that Andrei had over him. Luckily for Mikhail, he also had a way to wiggle out of the entire interaction as well. With his short temper, his father had given the snake a hole in the wall.

The truck stopped at long last and the backdoor opened with a glaring light. Mikhail winced at the cold, keeping himself between the blast and Shiloh. “She’ll die if you don’t do something.” Mikhail stated with a dark inflection in his voice. When the vision cleared, his father didn’t stand in the light as Mikhail had thought he would be.

No, instead of Andrei, Mikhas’ face came into view. “Znayuya. I heard. I got the report, Mikhail.”

“Mikhailov,” the younger man breathed, relieved to find the businessman instead of the boar. “Please, you’re a reasonable man. Pomogite yey.” Help her. His tongue switched to native flawlessly, especially in the presence of his godfather.

Mikhas hopped into the back of the truck, waving Mikhail aside with a brush of his hand. Without even touching him, the man had power. Mikhail moved back. Noticing the movements of his godson, Mikhas raised an eyebrow. “This is no way to treat kin… idiote invalidi.” Mikhas reached into his boot and pulled a knife, placing it into Mikhail’s bound hands. “Get yourself out of those.” For an older gentleman, Mikhas was strong. He’d been in the Bratva since Mikhail was even born and for far beyond that. Scooping up the body of Shiloh, the older man rose with ease and stepped from the back of the raid truck.

Mikhail followed. He had cut his hands free and was now rubbing at the wearing over the scars that already existed. “Predatelon!” He heard his father shouting at someone else who was above him in rank. Mikhail wanted to spit at him. How dare his own blood try to convince the Bratva that him making his own way in life was “traitorous.”

“Zmey,” Mikhas said gently, pulling his godson’s attention from the scene, “Chtoto iz nuzhno vas, vam zvonit domoy u nas yest.” He looked over his shoulder as he strode with Shiloh in his arms.

Mikhail wasn’t threatened by the action, but he would have much rather been carrying her instead. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Mikhas, it was that he didn’t trust himself if anything happened to her. She was the victim of his father’s idea of a bargaining chip. If she was further harmed in this transaction… Mikhail’s fists shook.

“Mikhail.” Mikhas said gently, noticing the familiar expression, “Proiskhodit myagkaya vy?”

“Mne ne vse ravno…” The blonde man answered as he strode along side. His eyes were cast to the pavement, looking down the front of him, there were streaks of red. He forced himself to look away from the stains on his shirt. He couldn’t ignore it, but he could certainly try.

The businessman gave a low toned laugh, “Vy lyubite yeye?” He was far too amused by the realization.

Mikhail remained silent for a long moment, “I told you. I care.”

[Snow Fox]

Thankfully, being a part of the Bratva meant you had intelligence enough to have someone medically intelligent always on hand. Gunshots and knife wounds were a common occurrence among a bunch of egotistical power-pushers. Three were set to work straight away on the gaping hole in her side. Mikhail looked away, unable to stomach the idea that she was going to have a mark similar to the ones he’d taken in his own chest long ago.

Mikhas sat next to him and Mikhail felt an icy chill down his neck. His eyes stayed focused on his hands which were still stained a light red, “Chtomissiya?” A word Mikhail had hoped he’d never have to say to The Businessman ever again.

“Raket.” The older man said, his eyes not leaving the skilled hands of his own surgeons stitching together the insides. “Rabotat v Amerika eto ploshli plokho. Ispravit eto vy.” He didn’t ever ask, Mikhas only ever told.

“Kto?” Mikhail asked quietly, not believing his lips were forming the words as calmly as he was, “Gde oni seychas?”

Mikhas gave an annoyed sigh, as though this entire issue were just a bad dog needing to be put down in the back fields after too many bites. “Glavanaya. Pano dve nedeli. Prinesi mne otchety ikh raspolozheniye i deystviya.”

“Vy mozhete poluchit shestyorka chtoby zavershit yego. Pochemu ya?” Mikhail asked, giving a weary look to his elder.

“Khochuya chtoby ty ubil ikh, Zmey.” And the man set a very, very familiar gun on the space between them.

The muzzle faced Shiloh. Mikhail got the symbolism. He grasped the hilt of Viper, feeling the weight of a familiar gun in his hands. “You trust me too much, Mikhas.”

“Znayuya.” He then leaned over, his breath hitting Mikhail’s ear, “But I had the same poison you did. You shoot me, she’ll die and I’ll still live. Brothers come first.”

Mikhail stood, “She’ll live.” He turned and left with gun in hand.

[Snow Fox]

It was strange to say the least, getting back into dealing with the brotherhood. Mikhail felt like he hit more things in the next three hours than he had that entire winter on tour. His knuckles felt rough and a bit cut in places, but nothing he hadn’t felt before. It came back naturally. Perhaps that was what scared Mikhail the most; just how easily his worst terror was ingrained in his being. There was blood on his hands that night, but he left all living.

Before he’d left The Businessman’s establishment, he returned to his previous dwellings, startling a newer recruit who swore at him until Mikhail leveled the Viper to the man’s brow. Once it was obvious who the superior was, the blonde moved to the floorboards beneath the bed. He kicked it open and pulled a small cashbox from beneath. Tucking the box beneath his arm, he gave the new owner of the room a small wave and vanished as though nothing had ever happened.

Mikhail now wore the items he acquired. Two platinum rings that both wrapped around the middle and ring fingers. In the middle, a spike jutted out as though it were an elegantly smaller brass knuckle on each hand. Hanging from his neck was a similar shaped item that looked more like a hound’s tooth than anything else. The inside appeared to be hollow with a cap on the top. It was the perfect size for the spiked rings or a single bullet. It was the source of his conium.

Viper was in his hands now, fully loaded and 100% deadly. Not 100% Deadly. His mind forced out, Shiloh will live. I have lived. It won’t kill if it’s treated right. He didn’t have time to think on such trivial things either. He was straight into the den of the booker who ditched America to likely skimp the Bratva out of their earnings while living in the lap of luxury.

Surprisingly, the house in question was hardly luxurious and barely guarded. For a moment, Mikhail wondered if someone had given him false information. He remembered the bludgeoned brow of the last person who he’d squeezed intel out of. This was not the wrong place. So? He strode up to the front door and beat on it. When a severe lack of sound came, he sighed and took a step back, studying it for a moment before kicking straight at the spot next to the handle. The door’s hinge broke free and it swung open, startling a group of three clustered around a folder of messy papers. Both of Mikhail’s hands were on his gun and his eyes were as emotionless as his father’s, “Kassir?” He questioned, “Kakoy iz vas on?”

The two closest to the door slowly rose and Mikhail tsked his tongue once. “Niet. No move.” His voice was deep and low, dangerous as if threatening them to try and make another move. The one on his left did. A quick pop came and the man crumpled, clutching at his leg. Mikhail immediately trained the weapon on the other. “Kassirva?” He wasn’t phased.

The standing one slowly put his hands up, seeming more dejected than frightened and shook his head slowly. The one behind the table rose slowly, “Look, we can talk about this. You’re a Swarov, right? We can work this out.”

Mikhail nodded towards the table with the scattered paperwork, “Are those the notes?”

The kassir looked between the papers and the snake. The man on the ground wailed as the hemlock began its movement through his leg and up into his side. The other eyed him wearily, uncertain of just how bad the wound was. “Look, we can talk.” The man sounded almost American.

“All I needed to know.” Straight through the heart came the second rang of Viper. He pushed the nose of the gun towards the door. “Rekomenduya vam ostavit.” The man obliged and Mikhail snatched up the notes, tossing a few from the floor into the folder and, stepping over the writhing man, kicked his head hard enough to snap the neck. At least there wouldn’t be as much pain as before, right?

Mikhail stepped back to the homebase, mission having been completed in four hours rather than four days. The snake always struck quickly.

[Snow Fox]

By the time he was back, Mikhas had left the room where Shiloh was being fixed up nicely and in his own office. Mikhail entered with a grim expression. Andrei looked up, raising an eyebrow that his son glared at. Holding out the file so that his father could see just how successful he was, he let it fall to Mikhas’ desk. “The notes. I’ll be with Shiloh.” And he turned and left without being dismissed.

The sound that followed behind Mikhail was… surprisingly invited. He knew his father wouldn’t simply accept the fact that Mikhail had gotten the job done as efficiently as he had never left and walk away again like the entire event never happened. His thumb flipped the clasp over the top of Viper and he pulled it, wheeling on one foot, keeping the gun close to his hip. “Osta.”

Andrei held up his hands, but didn’t seem to be all that impressed or intimidated by his son’s show of a weapon. “Chto?” He answered trying to seem innocent.

“I don’t trust you. In fact, I’d go to the point that I’ll find a way to get even with this.” His head nodded towards where he knew Shiloh was waiting. “Watch yourself, Otets.”

The older Swarov’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “Really? You threaten your own father?”
“You shot my…” What was Shiloh anyway? “Ya serdtse. Without it, you’ve got something worse than zmeya to worry about.” Mikhail’s head inclined towards Andrei, “You want to test what a man without his heart will do? Keep pushing it, Swarov.”

“Glupyy malchik.” Andrei laughed without any sort of feeling behind it. “That’d be the only way you turn to a man.” He stepped forward and Mikhail stepped back, “Try it, malchik. Prove it. Dokazhite eto!” He lunged forward.

Mikhail side stepped, slipping the gun back into his holster. This man was not worth one of his bullets. Now that there wasn’t a jump on him, he had every intention to out maneuver and down-right embarrass the fool.

Andrei recovered far too easily. He had expected it. “Dokazhite eto, trus.”

“A cowardly man only fights blindly,” Mikhail echoed, knowing exactly who was watching from the confines of that open door of the office they’d just left. No one fought directly in the presence of Mikhailov, but outside? Well, that was fair game. “You really want to advance?” His hand went into fists, the spired rings glinting dangerously. His stance widened and his head ducked low. He’d been in too many bar brawls to not know how to do some basic boxing.

“You never grow any other way.” His father hissed back, his face turning dark. “The only time you ever got respect was in those damn camps.”

Mikhail’s vision turned red on the edges. He stepped forward, acting as though he were going to punch, instead taking a second step in as Andrei moved back. The motion was nearly simultaneous, but Mikhail got in the circle. Andrei’s hand dropped too late. Mikhail swung. It was a clean cut across the face and the older Swarov fell back with a gash severed through his entire top lip.

Such a hit wouldn’t have normally effected Kaban, but when laced with Zmey’s venom? It was obvious as to why he clutched at the wound, giving a groaning growl of pain. He swiped out, his hand grabbing the nearest knife from his boot. Chucking it towards Mikhail, Andrei rolled forward, holding the side of his face that was bleeding rather profusely from the mouth and glared. His other hand went to his hip and flipped the holster. Mikhail had moved first. Viper was in his grasp and the trigger was pulled before the flint could be pulled on Andrei’s pistol. The pistol went flying and Andrei gave another groan which turned into a vocalized cry. Mikhail had shot his hand. Straight through the middle. Mikhail couldn’t likely do that again even if he aimed.

Mikhail’s eyes narrowed, “Trus chelovik.” And he cracked him on the back of the skull with the butt of his gun.

Andrei crumpled.

[Snow Fox]

Being shot? Not pleasant. Not pleasant at all. Being shot then having it be poisoned? Even worse. There were vague memories of landing against someone soft and having a really, really angry Mikhail snarling in Russian above her, but who could really pay attention when that weird warmth was coming over her middle while a chill washed through the rest. And it hurt, dios, did it hurt. Taking back every grumble she made at any time she slammed her thumb in a door or any time her back ached after scrubbing down a floor, Shiloh vowed to never make another complaint at any other trivial pain. That wasn’t pain. This was agony. The warmth turned into burning and… what the heck was Mikhail doing? What had he said? Poison? She vaguely remembered him saying something as to why he was called a snake. Had she just been shot with his gun? Oh, well, didn’t that mean she was going to die? Well that sucked. It felt like her life was beginning, truly, finally beginning. Karma’s a bitch.

Waking up in a completely foreign place filled with people who couldn’t speak neither Spanish nor English was just as unpleasant as the ache in her stomach. Oh right. She’d been freaking shot. “Pendejo…” She muttered groggily. Several dark-haired Russian guys flew to her the moment she made a noise, saying something ridiculously fast in that Snowbunny language and giving the settle hand motions. Shiloh did not want to “settle.” She had to find Mikhail since he was likely the only nice person in here who could even speak English or actually gave two cares about her.

Then someone brought her food. She wasn’t kidding earlier when she had said she was hungry. There was a dark soup of some sort with a layer of shredded meat and potatoes with carrots floating like little islands, something that looked like jello with pieces of marshmallow, and a juice box that had a really happy orange faced kid holding a thumbs up. She couldn’t read any of it with all those weird backwards Rs and frontwards Es. It could have said “RAT POISON! YAY!” and she’d have no clue.

She let the two guys help her up, for once, grateful Mikhail wasn’t here to see it. If he asked, she totally got here herself. Splitting the top of the juicebox, she downed the whole thing instantly. Thank goodness it was orange juice and not rat killer. She’d never been conflicted about something that smelled so good either. The soup had a savory scent and the jello was sweet like a desert. For some reason, her stomach did not have much interest in accepting food. Who knew a bullet would cause a lack of appetite. The doctors urged her, gently nudging the soup closer on the tray and uttered something along the lines of “try it, try it.”

She tried it. It was delicious. Ignoring the stomach’s protest, she wolfed it down. For some reason, the more she ate, the less pain she felt. If they’d drugged it, it was likely with painkillers. Half way through the jello, her eyes fell closed and Shiloh was immediately asleep again. Yup. They’d drugged that one for sure.

[Snow Fox]

He wished he had the guts to kill him. He wished he didn’t have some semblance of a heart that would keep him from aiming and shooting. He wished that there wasn’t a nagging Latina’s voice in the back of his mind freaking out about how he was so close to just shooting that corpse in the head. He knew he should. This decision would come back to bite him just as it had a dozen times before. The hopeful were often stupid too, it seemed.

Flicking the safety on, Mikhail hunted Shiloh down. Though he kept his weapon drawn, no one seemed to look twice. Andrei's son[/a], they seemed to think as he passed, That's no surprise.[/a] and went back to business. Only once did he demand her location after the clinic room was empty. A stuttered answer and a shaky finger pointed Mikhail in the right direction.

Once he found her, those tending her bedside made themselves scarce without a single word passed beyond the Swarov's lips. He had murder in his eyes. There were no words needed to say, "Move or be removed." They chose the first one.

He knelt beside her. One hand came up and took hers gently, two fingers sliding down her wrist as if to check her heart rate. The other, with Viper still in hand, rested over his knee, pointed towards the door under the shadow of his person. His finger remained against the outside guard ring where it could move to fire in a millisecond. His eyes weren't on the door. They were on Shiloh. Lines of worry creased his forehead as he saw just how deeply she slept, just how gently she was breathing, and how calm her heart rate was. She was, overall, fine. Fever hadn't set in which meant maybe she didn't have too much of the Viper's deadliness in her system. Was it sacrilege to have the very gun that shot her in his hands at her bedside? Probably. It wasn't about to leave his hands any time soon, though.

That was what truly frightened Mikhail. How easily the weapon became his comrade again. How sweet the trigger was to his faint squeeze and how the recoil was perfect to his arm tension. How could sweet describe a weapon? Mikhail couldn't say. It simply was. As though Viper had waited for him, saying, "Yess, Zmey, welcome back to my grassp. You misssed thiss, didn't you?"

He denied answering that.

[Snow Fox]

“You remember,” He spoke gently in Russian at first, his hand still resting over hers, “How you had said I was a good person?” Bowing his head, he rested his brow against the railing of her bed. His voice switched over to English, his accent dark and thick, “You’re wrong about that.” His other hand holstered the gun and he clung to her limp hand with both of his, bringing it up to his lips as he whispered. “When I said I killed people… I was not kidding.” His eyes closed, his jaw clenching for a moment. “I didn’t find a solution, I didn’t… I didn’t really, honestly try. I was given a task and, honestly, before I gave it any thought, I went and performed it just as though I had never left.” His arms shook, trembling.

I didn’t find a solution. That was Mikhail’s voice, wasn’t it? It sounded like him. He had a nice voice. It was low and comforting, but not so low that it felt like she could tune it out to the background. I didn’t really, honestly try… Try what? Mikhail always seemed to try really hard at just about everything. As though I had never left. Left? He’d left some-- oh, right, they were in the custody of… was he?

Her eyes slitted open just barely, her head pounded and her vision was still bleary, but she had to see. He was clinging to her hand as though he were a sinner in church. Kneeling before her bed like the altar of some savior. Shiloh didn’t move. Her tongue felt like it weighed a ton and she didn’t dare try and speak.

“How swiftly I fell back into my old habits just to insure your safety…” His chest felt tight, his teeth ground, “And now I’ve got even more blood on my hands and…” What else could he say? There was so much guilt and all of which he was convicted of in his own eyes, “I pulled the trigger again and, really, I even let one suffer. Why?” He gasped back, his breathing thready, “Why, Shiloh? What did he do to deserve a moment longer of pain? What happened to me in that moment that I didn’t… I didn’t actually care about another man?” Mikhail shook his head and brought the back of her knuckles to his forehead. “I’ve only been pretending all this time, haven’t I? Fooled even myself.”

“You’re not…” Dios, her tongue really did feel like pudding or something foreign in her face, “Not bad.” She muttered, her head turning to the side.

Mikhail straightened suddenly, releasing the death grip he’d had on her fingers. How much had she exactly heard? “Shi,” He whispered gently, inching forward as one hand fell away, the other still faintly butterflied under her palm. He brushed over her forehead, his eyes both concerned and saddened. “How… is everything?” His eyes flickered to where he knew that gruesome bullet wound was hiding beneath her bandaging and clothing.

She moved to sit up, waving him off as his hands moved over to assist her. She wasn’t completely an invalid, just a bit dizzy from the grogginess of the medication, “Don’t eat anything here, it’ll knock you out.” She joked half heartedly. Maybe she should have taken his help. “Otherwise, hurts like hell.”

“Being shot does that to you.” Mikhail said back. Though he phrased it in a jovial manner, his expression was far from it. He almost had a fierce look glinting behind his eyes and a bit of regret at not shooting Andrei after he took him to the ground. Unfortunately, Mikhail knew all too well what the man would do… something to get back at him. Which meant he and Shiloh needed to get out of this place as quickly as possible. Sadly, with a gaping hole in her side, Shiloh would certainly not be doing much of anything “quickly.”

“What did you do?” She asked, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Dios, those lights… were they always this bright? Must have been-- she also didn’t recall the floor becoming the ceiling either before switching back quickly. What had those doctors given her? It seemed like it had some wicked side-effects.

Mikhail had frozen at the question, a tremble passing through his form. “I… followed a task. There were complications and… I fixed them.”

“You killed?” That was still a pill she couldn’t quite swallow. In fact, she couldn’t even believe the thing existed at all. Mikhail, her Mikhail, was a pain in the ass sometimes, yeah, but a killer? Hardly. The man was viciously loyal towards helping people.

His silence was the only answer. He couldn’t look to her, instead becoming particularly interested in the empty doorway. Was he hoping someone would come through and put him out of this torture.

“Yes?” She coaxed, her voice barely audible through the dryness of her throat.

“Yes.” He finally echoed, his mind a fair distance away.

Shiloh followed his line of sight. Yup. That door sure was interesting. In her heart, she whispered a quiet prayer for the fallen. Then she shot up another for Mikhail’s sake. “You had to?” She meant for it to come out a statement, but the way her voice came up at the end betrayed her.

Mikhail’s stoic expression faltered. His eyes half lidded and his eyebrows came together while he chewed hard on his bottom lip. It took a long time for him to answer, but when he did, his voice was stone cold. “I didn’t think about it.”

That glare into the distance… the very element of his eyes seemed to be slits settled in a haunting blue. He did appear almost… well, snake-like in expression. Shiloh took a breath she hadn’t realized she needed.

“I needed to keep the Bratva happy… keep them helping you… and yet? I went and just… to our own kin, but still… a life is a life.” Two of which he’d stolen in a matter of minutes without daring to offer any sort of solace or respite. “But, really, when I was there, actually there, I didn’t think at all. I only acted.” He’d been trained to do so, of course, but it still was shocking.

“So quickly…” He muttered again, his puzzled expression aging him.

Shiloh dared to lift an arm and place it around him. The tugging in her side didn’t let her go too far, but he needed her. He needed something. He’d been in trouble before, but nothing nearly as serious as this. She’d seen that expression in him, the one where he’d grow distant and resentful of himself. It was a harsh repentance, but somehow, Mikhail always managed to justify the self-punishing action.

He stiffened at first, taking a short breath before bowing his head and letting it fall into her gentle half armed embrace. His eyes closed and his arm slid behind her. “This isn’t how any of this was supposed to go.”

“I doubt you could have planned any of it.” Sure, it was terrifying and all. The gentleness of her snake seemed… well, different when he was back in this hole of people more slippery and conniving than he ever let on to be. Sure, she could expect something awful judging by what he had told her before of his past, but could he truly explain everything? They’d coerced him into silence with fear. That was an emotion that Mikhail didn’t have. He may have been afraid of heights and flying, but that was able to be overcome. This was something that would sit heavy on his heart for the rest of his life, the fear of where the brotherhood would find him and rope him in no matter where he ran to. Perhaps it was the fear of just how simply he could return to it without another thought of the freedom he’d once had. Or was it those who gave him a new sense of loyalty and commitment suddenly becoming a target of the actions he’d once performed in the not so far future.

It wasn’t the sedatives that caused her head to spin anymore. Was this what he dealt with every day? Shiloh’s head came to rest against his shoulder and she dared to take another breath. She was going to kick that jerk. Hard. In the knee. Repeatedly. How was it that such a cruel person could be the father of her manager? Who could shoot their own kid and a complete stranger without caring twice about the consequence. She was going to aim a bit higher when she kicked. Drill her toe straight into—

Mikhail sat up, his eyes flicking to the door as though he heard something. In a few seconds, Shiloh could hear it too. Footsteps of a distinct pattern to Mikhail. His back straightened and he rose, gently easing Shiloh’s hand from around him. His hand went to his side, grasping around the hilt of the very gun that shot her. Instinct. He had called it before. His expression was stony, vicious, a glare that kept an eye on every detail all at once. The predatory serpent in him, glaring towards the approaching shadow. “Mikhas.” He answered before the man’s face was even visible.

[Snow Fox]

The Businessman approached. “You’ve got some marks to fill, Zmey.” His hands were in his pockets, his expression amused. Everything gave way that this man knew he was in charge and entirely proud of it.

His heart slammed. Which marks was Mikhailov speaking of? There were different meanings behind those words. “I didn’t kill Andrei.” Mikhail said, his voice without any sort of inflection.

“But you did put him in a place below you.” Why was The Businessman even speaking English? What was it that he wanted Shiloh to know? “Might as well have.” He eyed the Latina sitting beside Zmey. “To have his own son surpass him before he’s in his grave?”

“I suppose if I deny the marks, I’ll be the one in said grave?” Mikhail confirmed regretfully, his tone dark.

Mikhas laughed, his expression both further amused and a bit more vicious than Mikhail’s, “Niet, Zmeya. Zastavlona.“

The way Mikhail’s manner changed, you’d have thought him ready to blast The Businessman away then and there. His body shifted between he and Shiloh. Viper was drawn lightning fast, but even quicker, Mikhas had his own glinting black firearm in his own hand. For an older man, he seemed faster, stronger, and far more deadly than Mikhail could ever be.

“Osta.” The older man said, his head tilting slight to the side as he regarded Mikhail curiously.

At the command, Mikhail’s hand instinctively twitched, barely moving downward to a halted, stood down position. He had no desire to obey his previous master, but it was still engrained so deeply to his mind.

“Osta!” Mikhas said firmly, his own weapon lowering.

Mikhail obeyed.

“It doesn’t have to play out that way, of course. All you’ve got to do is get it filled and… well, prove the final challenge.” Mikhas spoke as though it were the most rational decision anyone could ever make in their entire lives. “You strove for it before. Strive for it now. I’ve given you free chances, my son.”

Mikhail gave a shudder at that. After everything, Mikhas still considered his godson as blood beyond the Brotherhood. “Chances are not what I want. I desire my freedom. Permanently.”

Mikhas reached up, pulling away the collar of his shirt, revealing three rams heads with interlocking horns, the skull’s faces seeming to bite through a circle filled with words in Cryllic writing.

Mikhail looked away, his own ram’s skull seeming to divert its gaze as well from the superior markings.

“Svoboda u vas niet.”

“Znayuya…”

[Snow Fox]

Shiloh wished she knew more Russian. Aside from the few random “I”s “You”s and “No”s, it was pretty spartan with what she could catch. However, the things she could read was Mikhail’s actions. Something pissed him off majorly. And if she thought he was intimidating before, nothing compared to the ferociousness that coated his face when Mikhas uttered… well, whatever it was he’d said in that Snowbunny language. The way they both pulled their weapons on each other sent her own heart into slamming. She froze. This was nothing compared to the bar brawls that she’d seen at home. It hit home that she was, quite truly, in a room with two people who were more than prepared to kill each other if the occasion called. Was Mikhail going to actually shoot his godfather right in front of her? Was Mikhas going to shoot his own godson?

The older man barked a command and Mikhail faltered. His hand shifted before refocusing. When it was repeated, they both fell. Shiloh felt as though she were watching a play more than actually witnessing an exchange between the two. Stand Off, starring her manager, Mikhail Swarov, co-starred by Shiloh Belmonte. Unfortunately, there were no cameras to be seen and no director to yell “Cut!” When the scene was to change.

Then they switched back to English and, suddenly, she was no longer caught up in a foreign film. It was a smack to Shiloh’s face. This man really was daring to threaten Mikhail… or was it that he was threatening the Businessman? Could Zmey win such a thing? Judging by the way he adverted his eyes, Shiloh was surprised. He wasn’t going to stand up anymore.

“Why?” She started, looking over the older man, her voice still surprisingly hoarse. She seriously needed a glass of water that was not drugged with narcotics or pain killers that would put her on the ceiling. “You’re his godfather, right?”

Mikhail shot her a look of, Did you really already forget what happened in the car? You got shot, dammit.[/a]

Shiloh continued, attempting to ignore him. For some reason, now that Mikhail held his own weapon rather than it being in the hands of Andrei, she’d doubt she’d be pelted with those laced bullets a second time over this. Unless, of course, Mikhas used hemlock as well.In which case, this was probably incredibly, incredibly stupid. “Why are you so anxious to have him do what he really doesn’t want to? Why can’t you just let him go?” She swallowed back the question the moment she asked it, but, really, she couldn’t help it. He’d worked his way out. She’d witnessed that much. It pissed her off that this one older guy intimidated Mikhail to the point of , well, submitting to anything. Even when he relented to her own whims, it was all willingly. If Mikhail didn’t want to actually do something, chances were he wouldn’t.

This time, he didn’t, but followed anyway. Something about seeing him defeated in any aspect, her Mikhail who could stand up and work magic in ways no other person could easily do, made Shiloh want to fight for him. Fighting his battles? Not quite. Fighting along side him? Absolutely. Her brown eyes narrowed, sizing up this Mikhas. Sure, he was intimidating and… well, he reminded her a lot of both Mikhail and Andrei. He had that heartless glare which Mikhail’s dad could pull off naturally but something about the way he spoke gave every reference that Mikhail had probably learned from him directly. This was a man who could work some magic of his own.

Mikhas’ head tilted, regarding Shiloh for the first time as not some girl who had bled over the back of his truck and somehow managed to gain the affections of his godson. His eyes were a deep gray, like charcoal which sunk with his pale skin. “Shiloh Belmonté. I’m surprised to see you feeling better. Not many withstand conium so easily. Of course, I think he wished to save you.” Those threatening eyes flickered back up to Mikhail, “Isn’t that right, Swarov?”

Mikhail’s teeth ground together. “I’ll take the marks.” He said sternly, as though he wanted to end a conversation before it even began. Moving away from her bedside, he let a hand fall on Shiloh’s shoulder.



“Why wouldn’t he?” Shiloh crossed her arms defiantly. Something about the smugness of this man irked her to no end. Perhaps it was the entire I own you now vibe he was putting off.

“Shi.” Mikhail tried to gently coax her to let the entire issue drop. “It’s nothing bad.”

The Businessman grinned and holstered his gun again.

Her brown eyes drifted to him incredulously. Raising an eyebrow, she didn’t need to utter a single word for Mikhail to understand exactly what she was saying.

His eyes seemed guilty before he looked back up to Mikhas. “You have your answer. I’ll take it.” His eyes narrowed with an icy chill to them. It was a dismissal though his lips didn’t utter anything further. It seemed as though he wouldn’t say anything further until they were alone. When it was obvious Mikhas wasn’t about to budge until his Godson followed, Mikhail shook his head gently. He took Shiloh’s hand, giving her a look that may have been read as passionate though the single word he uttered hardly meant that. “Traicionar.” His hand reached forward and, as though he were translating it to english, he gave a gentle smile, “Rest, Shiloh. Please, don’t over-strain yourself.”

Luckily, not too many Russians knew a select few words in Spanish nor Italian. He brushed a hand over her cheek, pushing the hair back, “I’ll be back soon. Don’t stay awake for my sake, alright?”

To Betray. There weren’t many words that Mikhail knew to speak purely, but the inflection of his voice had managed to lessen to be sure the message was sent through. It took everything in Shiloh to not pale at the idea of it. Mikhail was betraying Mikhas, playing along. He was being a snake, a serpent, slithering his way through before biting the enemy in their moment of trust. Was his family his enemy though? Mikhas had said that Mikhail should have simply killed his father when he had the chance. Was he going to? What stopped him? Sure, Shiloh wanted to nail the guy a few times between the legs for that utterly painful twisting knot in her side, but kill someone? She didn’t exactly want that for anyone. “Alright…” Her lips echoed as the touch from his hand against her cheek startled it out of her. Those eyes were… convincing to say the least. She had a feeling it was all a part of the show… almost. Maybe.

Mikhail turned, glared to Mikhas before all of the emotion vanished entirely from his face, “Davayte idti.”

Shiloh watched the two men go before falling back into the pillows, letting a breath slip between her lips. “And… cut.”