Chapter 5 Vaughn
VAUGHN
We’re under attack.
It takes me only a split second to realize that.
I heard the gunshots, and my reflexes spiked fast, but not fast enough.
Not as quick as Yulian’s.
Not only did he shove me out of the way before I could protect myself, but he’s also hauled me toward a bush out of the snipers’ view.
I grab on to his arm and pull him with me as he scrambles.
Because he’s shot.
A splash of red widens on his side, soaking his striped shirt through. His face pales instantly, his lips are dry, and his temples are beading with sweat, but his eyes are bright and focused.
So focused, actually, it’s a bit unsettling.
We throw ourselves behind the bush, and I make sure he lands on top of me. Again, because he’s injured.
My hand lands on his back, holding him still as the earth keeps me grounded—or more like my backpack is spooning me, the straps digging into my shoulders.
Yulian’s heavy, and I struggle as he nearly crushes me, but my fingers dig into him to keep him in place.
He looks down at me with a little pained grin. “Are you sure? I’m all bloody. Isn’t that against your cleanliness code or some shit—”
“Shh.” I place my other hand on his mouth as I strain to hear any movement. “Stop talking for a second.”
I can feel his lips curving beneath my palm, but he doesn’t attempt to talk again. Instead, he plants a hand on the dirt near my shoulder and tries to hold himself up.
But I press on his back and knock him down again.
“Stay still,” I whisper-yell with a tinge of both rage and annoyance.
At myself. For not being fully prepared.
Yulian got shot because he was trying to save me.
Why would he?
He’s not my guard or a family member. We’re not even friends. Pretty sure he hates my guts and would love to leave this camp as much as I would.
So why…?
I don’t have time to ponder on that as the string of gunshots echo around us, our guards and the assailants each trying to get the upper hand.
The fact that no one is coming to get us to safety is a bad sign.
The worst sign, actually.
It means they’re so overwhelmed by the exchange of fire that they can’t spare anyone to ensure our safe transport.
“We need to go,” I whisper.
“Yeah, they’re outnumbered.” He stands up with surprising agility even as he groans.
I frown, watching him inhale and exhale sharply.
How did Yulian come to the same conclusion I did?
Pretty sure he’s a half-wit, so how did he make the quick connection…?
“You gonna gawk for long, sunshine? I know I’m a world wonder, but we need to get going.” He grins, pointing north. “Follow me. I know a place.”
“No, we’re going back down to the compound, where our guards are.”
“It’s cute that you assume the assailants haven’t thought of that possibility. Either the men below are neutralized, or the attackers have soldiers on every path leading to the camp to trap us. Don’t know about you, but I’m never getting fucking kidnapped again.”
Again?
Yulian’s already moving—too fast for someone who’s injured, might I add—using the trees as camouflage. His gun out.
I stare in the direction of the gunshots and rub a hand over my face. While I hate to admit it, Yulian’s probably right. If they went through all this hassle to attack us on the mountain while we’re mostly isolated, they probably thought we’d want to go back down and planted traps along the way.
However, following Yulian isn’t really a foolproof plan. Yes, he’s been up these mountains many times during the period we’ve spent here, but what if he’s in on this?
What if Yaroslav, whom I’m already so wary of, decided to either kidnap or kill me to get to my father and asked Yulian to be in on the plan?
But then again, Yulian wouldn’t have taken a bullet for me if that were the case.
Or maybe he did it so I’d trust him?
I groan. Guess I’ll kill him in that event.
But right now, wandering north is my best bet for survival.
I jog behind Yulian while rummaging through my backpack until I find the bandage roll.
As soon as I catch up to him, I wrap it around his middle from behind, and he startles, pointing his gun at me, then lowers it and stops for a second to look at me.
“It’s just a graze, not too bad…” His voice is low, too low, actually, the lowest I’ve ever heard, and it’s full of a sort of…wonder.
“You’re losing a considerable amount of blood.
It could be bad. This will at least help stop it until we can disinfect it properly once we’re safe.
” I tighten the bandage in a secure knot around the wound on his side, right below his rib cage.
I can barely see it through all the blood, so I doubt it’s just a graze—in fact, the wound is deep enough for the bullet to still be in there.
“We need to get going.” He moves as soon as I’m done with the knot, his eyes focused forward.
I step in front of him, my gun pointed ahead. “Tell me which way to go. I’ll cover you.”
He moves right beside me with his own gun, scanning our sides and our backs. “I don’t need you to cover for me.”
“Don’t be an idiot. You’re injured. You’ve seen me shoot targets. I can protect us.”
“Not sure if you missed the memo, Russian aristocracy, but targets aren’t real people.” He grabs my wrist and swings me around, then points his gun at a tree across from us and shoots.
A thud echoes around us as a body falls from the tree to the ground, a rifle in his hand, a mask covering his face.
“They’re always up there like fucking monkeys.” Yulian heads over and kicks the cadaver. “Yo mama sends her regards.”
My fingers twitch on the trigger. Fuck.
I didn’t even notice the sniper.
I mean, I was wary of them, but not to the point where I could pinpoint their exact locations and even shoot and kill them.
My eyes narrow on Yulian’s back as he cuts through the forest with the ease of someone used to every nook and cranny of this place.
Who the fuck is this guy? He’s entirely different from the incompetent, idiotic, and violence-prone Yulian I’ve known this summer.
“To your right,” I shout as I shoot a figure from behind the tree.
Yulian points his gun at me, and I freeze, but before I can react, he runs toward me and shoots right next to my ear.
The bang is deafening, and my ears buzz in a constant flow of nothingness. The sounds of the forest disappear, overwhelmed by the gunshots still echoing in the air.
When I look behind me, I find a body slumping against a tree.
So that’s what he was shooting at.
Slender fingers rub the curve of my ear, and I jump, goosebumps prickling along my skin.
What the fuck was that?
Yulian takes a step back, his brow furrowing, and he pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and index finger, then releases it and turns around. “That was the best angle.”
It doesn’t sound like an excuse or an apology, more like he’s irritated.
He was the one who shot right next to my ear, then caressed it like a weirdo, and he’s the one who’s irritated?
“Hurry up, Mishka. Don’t slow me down.”
I slam my shoulder into his as I fall in step beside him. “You’re the one slowing me down.”
“Ow, my injury hurts.”
I frown, staring at the wound. Maybe I should refrain from being physically aggressive when he’s injured. “Can you move?”
“Ha, got you.” He’s walking backward, grinning like an idiot, even as blood slides down his striped shirt and onto his black shorts.
His lips are bluish now, which is a bad sign, but he’s moving around as if it’s nothing.
As if he doesn’t actually have a hole in his side, so close to his heart.
I get it, adrenaline can make you forget pain. I know my blood is pumping full throttle, my senses entirely aware of my surroundings.
Any rustle, any movement is a possible sign of danger.
But fuck if I’d be this nonchalant if I were the one who’d been shot.
Not sure what I’d do, but I definitely wouldn’t be grinning and messing around.
That nauseating malaise slithers more between my heart and rib cage the longer I watch him.
It’s because I’m feeling guilty.
It has to be.
“Come on, smile, Mishka. You look better when you do.”
“I told you not to call me that,” I grind out, watching our surroundings to avoid looking at him. “Stop picking fights when we need to survive together, asshole.”
“I’m not trying to fight, just stating facts…” He trails off, pointing his gun to my left.
I spin and fire at the same time he does.
My bullet tears through the head. Yulian’s finds the heart.
I narrow my eyes but stay silent as he scoops up the dead man’s rifle. I take it from him and sling it across my chest as we make our way up a steep incline. The hill punishes with every step, and I hear his breathing roughen, becoming ragged, uneven.
Gunfire echoes farther off now. The sharp pop, pop, pop is being swallowed by the flapping of crows and ravens scattering overhead.
I sweep the ridge one last time before grabbing his arm—the one without the gun—and hauling him in, my other arm circling his waist.
Although I feel his stare drilling holes into me, I refuse to meet it.
But I can still sense his grin anyway. “Aw, worried about me? I’m so touched, I might die.”
“Please do so you won’t slow me down.”
“You’re so cold.”
“Logical.”
“Inflexible.”
“Rational.”
“Boring.”
“Let’s agree to disagree.”
“I guess. At least you’re still holding me up.”
“So we can move faster.”
“I’m hurt. We could die any second now. Can’t you be nice to me?”
“Why should I?”
“I don’t know, maybe because I might be the last person you see before you die.” He slides an arm around my waist, his fingers squeezing the muscle a bit too tight for comfort. “Heard you spend the afterlife with the person you die with.”
“Nonsense.”
“There must be a religion somewhere that believes that.”
“No, there isn’t.”
“Then I’ll invent one.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Is that another word for perfect?”
I open my mouth to cuss him out, but the sweat streaming down his temple catches my eye—and the blood that’s still gushing, staining both him and me.