Page 16 of Bratva Holiday

Aleksandr and Drea were dead last. They were too busy arguing and tripping over each other to get any kind of good rhythm. The rest of us were pretty dead even, and it only spurred me on more, pushing myself to go faster.

Lukyan and Lyla came up quickly on our side. Instead of running or walking, they were jumping, hopping in sync down the field. It was actually a pretty good idea—not that I ever would have admitted that to him—and was giving them the ability to gain significant ground.

“Get ’em, baby!” I grunted, trying to pick up speed.

Arturo didn’t hesitate, swinging one arm out. He pushed Lukyan in the shoulder, and he went tumbling, screeching the whole way down. Since he was connected to Lyla, she went down, too, and Arturo and I took the lead.

“Arty! How could you?!” Lukyan screamed out into the air, but we were already gone, moving along fast.

“I told you to stop calling me Arty!” he screamed back.

“Focus, baby! Don’t let him distract you! One, two, one, two, one, two.”

Nikolai and Tatiana were in close second, no more than a heartbeat behind us, with Autumn and Father taking third.

Mikhail was running down the sidelines, his arm swinging in wide circles toward the finish line. “Go! Go! Go!”

Aleksandr’s loud cursing echoed around me as I charged forward. Every part of me wanted to turn around and watch him, because watching my brother lose the plot was a highlight of my day, but I refused to let myself get distracted. My eyes were set on the finish line ahead.

Arturo and I crossed first. A victorious war cry fell from my lips. Arturo’s too. We screamed and cheered, wrapping up in one another’s embrace as we jumped up and down—probably not the best thing to do with our ankles tied together. We fell over one another, and laughter erupted from our mouths as we tripped to the ground.

“Victory!” I screamed out, laughing hard.

Arturo and I unwound the rope from around our ankles and stood just in time to see Nikolai and Tatiana cross the finish line, coming in second. A heartbeat behind them were Father and Autumn.

Mikhail blew his whistle, swiping his hands through the air. “Game!”

Nikolai and Tatiana high-fived. Father and Autumn got into some sort of argument, both of them adamant they had lost because of the other. To me, they still got on the board, which was a win in and of itself. But Father and Autumn loved to bicker, no matter the subject. Lukyan complained about how Arturo had pushed him, claiming he cheated. And Aleksandr punched the scoreboard.

Sore loser.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Aleksandr Volkov

This is bullshit.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Drea Volkova

“Round two! The egg toss!” Mikhail announced.

We were on the same field we’d been on for the three-legged race. There had been a short intermission, and by short, I meant fucking short. The Volkov siblings didn’t believe in procrastination. Not when it came to a competition. Each and every single one of them was determined to jump straight into the next game with no delay.

I was fine with that. I was just as, if not more, competitive than those idiots. I wanted to fucking win.

Aleksandr and I were never going to win the first game. The odds had been stacked against us there, but that was okay. We had the other ones in the bag. Aleksandr had a four-year winning streak, and I was not going to see that come to an end. Not on my fucking watch.

“Head in the game, baby. Head in the fucking game. This is our win.”

The sour look on my husband’s face was something I would remember forever. I had never envisioned him being a sore loser. Not at all. But if I was being honest, I didn’t blame him, and I actually understood. I only had one sibling, Juan, who was spending Christmas with our mother this year, and if he beat me in anything, I never heard the fucking end of it. The little bastard still liked to bring up the fact that he had beaten me in a race when we were seven for no goddamn reason at all except to rub it in my face.

“That win was bullshit.” Aleksandr grunted, arms folded over his chest. I’d never seen him so sulky before.

“You’ve won four years in a row, baby. Your father had to even the score up somehow. Don’t worry, though. We got this next one.”

That seemed to lighten his mood, determination flashing in those beautiful blue eyes. “You’re right.”