Chapter 3
VAUGHN
I’m doing handrail pull-ups in the gym when Nikolai walks in, half naked, sweaty, and with his long hair damp.
I was hoping I’d have the gym to myself before I had to go up the mountain with the clown from Chicago.
And I needed to work out, because I’m still bubbling with pent-up energy from after the fight.
“Who won?” I ask Nikolai, unable to eradicate my curiosity.
“Me, of course.” He laughs. “Guess I have to thank you for tiring the bull.”
“Good.”
“He wants another fight after he comes back later, so I’ll be working my arms.” He grabs a few weights, then stands in front of the mirror and flexes, showcasing the random scattered tattoos he’s started to get. “Wanna spot me?”
“Give me a minute.”
Nikolai continues flexing during the whole minute, rolling his muscles and tightening his stomach.
Even though Niko and I are around the same age, we couldn’t be any more different. Where he’s too outward, I’m too inward. The reason we get along, however, is because we’re both loyal to the people we care about.
As I watch him, I wonder if his flamboyant personality is the reason he gets along with Yulian. If fighting all the time is considered getting along, that is.
Nikolai points at his reflection. “Looking good.”
I pull myself up with a bit of a challenge for my fiftieth rep. “Is that important?”
“Is what important?”
“Looking good in this setting. It’s not like you’re crushing on one of them.”
He grins at me through the mirror. “Maybe I am.”
I go slack, my arms screaming under my weight, and then drop from the bar, my fall louder than usual.
“What the hell, Nikolai? If the wrong person finds out, you’ll be in danger. This isn’t exactly our turf, and your parents always told you to be careful around outsiders or those who don’t belong in the close circle.”
He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I know, I know. It’s not like I’ll be fucking left and right in public.”
My muscles are still tense as I help him set up the weights, then I frown.
Why the hell am I stressing out anyway?
Yes, Nikolai came out as bi a year ago and even threw a party to celebrate it, but he didn’t come out to his grandfather or uncles or even the elders in the organization. He needs to be careful about the places he announces he loves dick as much as pussy.
This camp is not one of those places.
“Relax. It’s just a harmless crush. For now.” He laughs as he lies down on the bench.
“Who are you crushing on?” I stand next to him as he lifts.
He blows out a breath, his face reddening with exertion, but he doesn’t say anything, completely focused on his task.
“Yulian?” I ask, sounding almost bored, but that sharp malaise settles at the bottom of my stomach.
“Yulian?” He hands me the bar, and I help him deposit it on the hooks.
“Yeah.”
“What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t know. All the fighting you guys do?”
“Fuck no. I wouldn’t trust that crazy motherfucker anywhere near my dick.” He sits up. “Also, pretty sure he’s straight, and you know I don’t fuck with straight guys.”
“How do you know he is?”
“Saw him laughing when he was FaceTiming a girl in secret.”
“He could be bi like you.”
“Nah, didn’t sense the vibes. Anyway, I’m not interested in him whatsoever.”
“Good. He’s bad news.”
“I’m bad news, too!”
“Not as bad as he is.”
“Cyrus, on the other hand…” He whistles. “I love guys who are so put together. I wonder what it’d take to make him crumble.”
“How do you know he’s not straight?”
“Just a hunch, I guess?”
I drop the barbell he’s pressing, and he struggles to hold it up. My eye twitches, and a spark of agitation ripples through my stomach, spreading like wildfire.
It takes me a few moments to regain my composure. “What type of hunch, Niko?”
“Queer men things. Not something you’d understand. Cy is queer, in a sense. Not sure what yet, but I’ll find out.”
“Did he give you permission to call him that?”
“Call him what?”
“Cy. Only Yulian calls him that. None of the others on their side dares to.”
“It’s cuter than Cyrus.”
“Ever thought maybe that’s the reason he wouldn’t want practical strangers to call him by his nickname?”
“Meh. It’s just a name.”
I grab the bar from him and set it down with a clank. “Have you figured out why he’s being fostered by Yulian’s dad?”
“I know it started, like, two years ago, because he moved in with Yulian’s family when he was fourteen, and he’s sixteen now.”
“Did he mention bloodline relations with the Dimitrievs or any reason why they’d take him in?”
“No. He changed the subject when I asked him.”
Of course he did. It was a long shot to have Niko investigate anyway.
“Buuut, Yulian said Cy is his brother from another mother—figuratively, I assume.” He sits up. “Also, the dad is here.”
“The dad?”
“Yulian’s dad. The leader dude from Chicago? He showed up when we were fighting, and everyone on the other side looked terrified. Maybe Yulian lost because of that.”
“Yaroslav is here?”
“Yeah, whatever his name is.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you say that earlier, Niko?”
“Didn’t think it was important.”
That tracks.
Nothing except for violence and sex is important to Nikolai.
I rush out of the gym, wishing I had access to my phone so I could message Dad.
Yaroslav wasn’t supposed to show up at the camp. Neither is my dad.
Hell, even the upper echelons of both organizations shouldn’t come here.
I have a bad feeling about Yaroslav’s sudden appearance.
It takes me a while to reach Yulian’s room, which he shares with Cyrus.
This camp might have been started to bring us together, but we’ve both kept interacting mostly with our respective sides of the fence. We even eat at separate tables. I work out either alone or with Niko. Yulian works out with Cyrus or their men.
We only really get together in classes or when Yulian and Niko are fighting.
My feet come to a halt near the closed door. Some muffled noises are coming from inside, but I can’t really make them out.
So I head to the next room and sneak inside. It’s a mentor’s, but he’s out grocery shopping today.
I slide to the balcony and jump across to Yulian’s, careful and silent.
Through the ajar glass balcony door, I can clearly see him standing in the middle of the room.
Yaroslav Dimitriev. The man whom even my dad thinks twice about before stepping into his territory.
He looks similar to Yulian, but his hair is a lighter blond, and both his eyes are pale, icy blue—like Yulian’s left eye. A beard shadows his face, and he’s unnaturally tall and bulky, his frame threatening to tear through the seams of his gray three-piece suit.
That’s where the similarities end. Yulian’s skin is warmer, his features sharper, his face undeniably more striking.
From my research, I learned his mother came from a minority ethnic group in the North Caucasus, which explains the darker complexion, the almond-shaped eyes, the quiet beauty that sets him apart from his father’s brutish presence.
I flatten myself against the wall next to the glass door and remain still.
This is risky, and Yaroslav will have my balls if he figures out I’m spying on him, but this will likely be my only opportunity to get some information about him and his Bratva, so I can’t miss the chance.
Besides, he shouldn’t be here, and I need to find out why he chose to ignore that rule and the consequences.
“Twenty punishments in a month.” Yaroslav’s gruff voice carries through the room as he counts on his hand.
“Smoking, drugs, loss of focus, wandering around without security, not improving learning skills.” He switches to the other hand.
“Fighting without supervision, poor results on intellectual tests, average strategizing, spending too much time on meaningless activities.”
“Actually, I was making a bomb—”
Slap!
My muscles tighten as the harsh sound of flesh against flesh echoes in the room. Yaroslav hits his son so hard, he falls on the wooden floor, coughing.
Something in my chest twists when Yulian paints a smile on his cut lips and jumps up again, dusting his shirt off as if the hit were nothing.
That’s not the first time it’s happened.
Fuck. The black eye and the bruises on his side…?
Did Yaroslav come around last night as well?
“Have I or have I not told you to wait for permission to talk?”
“But it’d take a long time to mention everything I got punished for,” Yulian says, then stiffens.
For a hit.
He knows he’ll get hit and yet still runs his mouth?
What on earth is wrong with him?
His dad flexes his fist but doesn’t hit him again. “What’s with all the punishments? You have to do better than these lackluster results.”
“I’m the best at shooting in this camp.”
“That’s not enough. You have to be the best at everything, or strive to be. But it seems you’re trying to drag my name through the mud on purpose.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He lifts a shoulder. “You said I had to be here, not that I should be the best. You need to specify what you want from me, you know.”
“I’m specifying that you need to do better. If you don’t want to get Alina in trouble, that is.”
Something curious overtakes Yulian’s body language. Something that didn’t happen when Yaroslav slapped him.
A tightening of shoulders, a slight lift of lips, almost as if in a snarl.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him angry. He’s always clowning around, so I thought he lacked the capacity to be angry.
“Don’t touch her.” His voice is deep and raw, as if his vocal cords are ripped.
“Then stop being a fucking disgrace. You’re my heir. Act like it, and stop glaring.”
“I’m just looking.”
Yaroslav drives his fist into Yulian’s face.
Thwack.
It’s stronger than the slap, and it sends Yulian flying against the wall. The moment he hits the ground, Yaroslav kicks him in the stomach.
“Fucking useless piece of shit. All you do is piss me off. Talentless, stupid, irrelevant motherfucker. Kirill sends a perfect son, and I have this fucking moron who only knows how to get injured.”
“You’re the one injuring me, though,” Yulian grunts, sounding out of breath even as he tries to protect his stomach with his hands. His lip has busted open, and blood drips on the wood, forming a small pool.
“Shut.” Kick. “The.” Kick. “Fuck.” Kick. “Up.”
Yulian curls into himself, and I reach for the knob.
Fire tears through me like a volcano cracking from the core. Truth is, my muscles have been tight since the first time he slapped Yulian.
I don’t give a fuck if I’m not supposed to be here. I don’t even understand why I’m this worked up. I seem to end up in this state every time Yulian is around, but it’s worse now.
My father never hit me, so this concept of beating children is foreign—so foreign, it makes my blood boil.
Or maybe it’s the name-calling.
Or the way Yaroslav spits out hurtful words without an ounce of respect for his son.
No wonder Yulian seems messed up.
Maybe that’s why I feel the urge to act—guilt. For judging him before knowing he’s been his father’s punching bag. Realizing maybe he talks too much because every time he opens his mouth at home, he gets hit for it.
Before I can step in, Yaroslav kicks him one last time and then steps back.
“This is my final warning, you worthless piece of shit. Mess this camp up and you’ll never see Alina again.”
He turns and leaves. Yulian struggles to sit upright, wincing as he runs his tongue over his cut lip, licking the blood away.
I take a step, then stop.
Because what the fuck would I say?
I’m sorry your father is an abusive piece of shit would make things worse, not better.
Someone like Yulian wouldn’t want pity. I wouldn’t either if I were him.
He stands, staring down at his feet, expressionless.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Sixty.
He stays like that long enough that I find myself holding my breath, waiting for him to show a reaction.
I remain rooted in place, almost as if unable to move.
No—refusing to move.
He’s looking at the floor.
I’m looking at him.