Chapter 4 Yulian #2
Has to succeed.
It’ll take years, but I’m nothing short of persistent.
A sea turtle, if you will. I don’t care how long it takes. I’m crawling toward that finish line no matter how dangerous the path is.
Slam.
“Fuck!” I raise my fist, about to hit whoever’s run into me, but my hand remains suspended in midair upon seeing the one person Dad seems to have a metaphorical hard-on for.
Vaughn this and Vaughn that. Kirill’s son this and Kirill’s son that.
I swear he’d transplant me into his shell if he had the chance.
Well, Vaughn, aka Russian royalty per his gloating about aristocracy links, is Yaroslav’s dream all wrapped up in perfection.
He has perfect hair, always styled to precision, not a strand out of place.
Well-groomed, boyish features already sharpening into angular lines, high cheekbones, and the calmest, most undisturbed eyes I’ve ever seen.
Nothing like my creepy eyes.
His are a blend of brown and green, that blurred edge where earth meets trees in a forest. But it isn’t the color—it’s the look. The untouchable, holier-than-thou weight they carry without effort.
The constant reminder that guys like him exist—perfect lives, perfect scores, perfect fathers.
Probably perfect mothers, too.
Perfect grades, perfect manners, perfect physical condition, even perfect combat skills.
So great.
So admirable.
So fucking irritating.
Vaughn Morozov looked down on me the second we met, and I’ll never forgive him for it.
Yup. Call the petty police.
Anyhow, I’d love to rip Vaughn fucking Morozov a new one, so he’ll stop shoving people into the tiny boxes he has in his head.
They’re probably color-coded and in alphabetical order.
I let my lips curl in the wide grin he hates so much. “Oh no. Mr. Perfect doesn’t have perfect vision?”
Now he’ll say I’m the one who wasn’t watching where I was going while looking down his nose at me.
Again.
Cy’s right. This prick is predictable.
I wait and wait, but Vaughn says nothing. He has a hand in his shorts pocket, and his white shirt is wet at the top. Not sure if it’s because he spilled water from the bottle he’s carrying or he’s been working out.
Actually, uh, he was definitely working out. He wouldn’t continue to wear a wet shirt if he’d spilled something on it. I know because I saw him remove his shirt the other day after Nikolai spilled some lemonade on it.
It was one of the few times he’s gotten naked—half naked, to be precise.
I kept watching him that time as I licked the blood from my lip after a fight with Nikolai. The taste of violence exploded on my tongue while I took in the view of his lean abs glistening under the golden rays of the sun.
Once again, I find my attention zeroing in on the pulse that throbs in his neck.
His neck is coated with a sheen of sweat, and a droplet slides down it, gliding over his protruding collarbone before dissolving in the collar of his shirt.
“What?”
My gaze snaps back to his face at his question. No—actually, my eyes rest directly on his mouth because it’s also glossy, slightly pink. Probably from the water.
And I’m just looking at it.
His lips, I mean.
It’s like the most normal thing. Lips. Everyone has them.
And yet I can’t help noticing how his lower lip is slightly fuller than the upper one, and that for some reason, now, of all times, a droplet of water is stuck at the dip at the top.
“Yulian?”
“Huh?” I say like a goddamn idiot, and Vaughn frowns, probably because I’m gawking at him as if I were caught with my hand in the cookie jar.
Which might as well be the case.
What. The. Fuck.
“Why are you staring at me?” he asks, his tone not at all as abrasive or cold or disinterested as when he usually talks to me.
If anything, he seems to be a bit…flustered? Out of his element?
I must be imagining it, because the Vaughn I know would never be either of those things.
“Just checking to see if you’re watching where you’re going.” I mask my inner disturbance with a grin, because seriously, my brain still hasn’t told me what the actual fuck is going on.
I mean it, brain. What the actual fuck?
I’d be lying if I said this was the first time I’d found Vaughn’s muscles or lips…fascinating?
Interesting?
Arousing?
Whatever it is kind of gave me a strange, titillating feeling when I fought Vaughn earlier today. It’s why I held him against my chest and demanded he tap out while keeping my lower half as far away as possible.
Let’s say it didn’t help that his skin flushed a bit, and I was so utterly fascinated by the way his shirt stretched across his chest, how his abs flexed, and how he wore my blood so well.
Nikolai killed the feeling when I fought him, thank fuck, but I was still disturbed.
I’m even more unsettled now, because why the fuck do I keep wanting to peek at his lips?
“You’re the one who bumped into me.” He points a finger at my chest.
His finger is on my chest.
The stupid discomfort floods my lungs until I can’t breathe.
It hurts.
Not because of the bruises Dad gifted me, but due to the spark of electricity that races through me, then surges and heightens.
All of a sudden, it’s like an earthquake that crumbles all of my insides.
I instinctively push back, wincing, because the lack of contact stopped the electricity, but it didn’t stop the pain.
The fuck?
Vaughn visibly cringes, taking a step back and shoving a hand in his pocket.
He’s cringing at touching me?
Fire erupts at the bottom of my stomach, and I don’t understand why.
This asshole has always seen me as someone who’s beneath him. A freaking rock in his shoe.
He ignores me most of the time and calls me names when he doesn’t.
Irresponsible.
Chaotic
Unclean.
Imbecile.
Waste of space.
Those are a few of the colorful words he’s used to describe me. So this shouldn’t feel any different. He’s cringed at my actions more times than I can count, and I gave him the metaphorical middle finger as I repeated those actions just to spite him.
So why the fuck is it burning now?
“I…” He trails off and squeezes the bottle between his fingers so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t burst.
He blows out a breath and shakes his head, as if he’s trying to kill whatever thoughts are swarming in his head.
“We have to go to the woods. I’ll meet you in half an hour.”
His words are final.
He doesn’t wait for a response, just sweeps past me and strides in the opposite direction.
And I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
From the way his legs carry him in long, confident steps to how his shirt clings to his back, sweat turning the fabric into a veil that reveals more than it hides.
His back muscles shift with his steps, slightly tight, rolling and coiling and looking so goddamn—
I slap myself.
My skin burns and the bruises throb, but I do it again, this time forcing myself to look away from Vaughn’s body.
Because I refuse to let whatever this is blossom.
Fuck that.
“Uh, what the fuck is that?” I point at Vaughn’s backpack as we trek up the mountain.
I know it was said that we wouldn’t have security, but that’s impossible. Vaughn and I are too important to leave unguarded.
Therefore, members of security are currently following us, and judging by the sound of rustling leaves, they gave up trying to be unnoticeable.
But they’re far enough away that it feels like it’s only Vaughn and me.
He’s kind of the last person I want to be with after, you know, the epic freak-out an hour ago.
But hey, maybe it’s also good so that I can confirm this is absolute nonsense.
My theory is, Dad hit me on the head earlier and I’m imagining things.
Yup. Makes complete sense. We’ll go with my brain’s genius of finding solutions.
“Necessities,” Vaughn says in answer to my question, keeping his gaze on the trees spilling out on either side of us ahead.
“Necessities? Jeez, why do you need necessities for gathering wood?”
“I need necessities for everything.”
“Why am I not surprised?” I tilt my head to the side. “We’ll have to bring the wood back, you know.”
“And?”
“And how will you do that with a backpack on?”
“I’ll wear it on the front.”
“Extra weight for no reason.”
“There’s always a reason for necessities when out in the wild. I’m well prepared for emergencies, unlike a certain someone who only has water.”
“This is all I need.” I shake the bottle in my hand. “I don’t even know what the hell you have in that bag of tricks of yours. Any necessities to fight bears?”
“We have guns.”
I roll my eyes, trying hard not to watch his muscles flexing beneath the shorts with every step he takes.
He’s wearing different shorts now. These are dark green and slightly shorter than the ones from earlier, because his thighs are more visible. Add the black shirt, and I feel like I’m fighting for my life not to ogle him.
“Did you seriously wear hiking shoes?” I ask in an attempt to distract myself.
“Yeah, since we’re in the mountains and all.”
“But we didn’t come here to hike.”
“Then what do you call this, genius?” He stares at me as if I’m the most stupid idiot he’s ever met. “You of all people should have them, considering your daily trips to the mountains.”
“Very funny. Humor so dry, I’m choking.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny.”
“Good, because you’re the most boring person I’ve ever met. Humor’s not for you.”
He glares at me.
Which is curious because Vaughn doesn’t really glare. He usually has this completely uninterested look, so when he glares, you can tell the hate is at its peak.
And I kind of like it. The way his eyes hood, how that pulse in his neck throbs.
I want to see more of this.
“Bet you bore girls to tears.” I slam my shoulder against his jokingly.
“Actually, I have a lot of girls crushing on me.”
“Because of your looks and money, maybe even your intellectual abilities, but definitely not for your personality.”
“That’s not true.”
“Think about it. What do they say to you? You’re so smart and you’re so handsome, right? Did any of them say you’re so funny?”
His lips fall open, but then he purses them again.
“Ha, told you! My condolences, Mishka. Girls prefer funny guys over stuffy intellectuals like you.”
He punches my side. “I told you not to call me that.”
“Aw, hit a nerve?”
He slams his entire body into me, flattening me against a tree as he grabs my collar in a tight fist. “I’ve been trying to ignore your provocations all day, but you’re so annoying and should learn when to shut the hell up. Stop trying to make me fight you.”
My lips part.
That wasn’t what I was trying to do, though.
Yes, I wanted to get a reaction out of him—not sure why—but I haven’t really thought about fighting him.
But now that he mentioned it…
I grin, about to throw the first punch when the sound of gunshots echoes in the forest.
Then I see it.
Someone dressed in black is aiming at us.
I don’t even think about it as I push Vaughn out of the way.
And then pain explodes in my side.
I’ve been shot instead.
Fuck this.