Chapter 6 Yulian
YULIAN
So there’s this really huge, big-deal type of shit that’s going on right now, and it’s about the worst time it could happen.
I think I died and then came back to life.
Don’t ask how. Just know that when Vaughn was doing his theory shit with scissors, rummaging around in my goddamn insides and trying to get the bullet, I contemplated biting my tongue and going to be with the angels.
Or demons.
Probably demons.
Definitely demons.
At any rate, he got the bullet out after a lot of fucking pain that made me nearly lose consciousness.
Actually, I did, because when I woke up, I found my head tilted back against the stone while he continued sitting in front of me, stitching up the wound.
That’s what woke me up—the feel of a fucking needle sewing my skin.
Let’s make one thing clear—judging by all the haphazard lines, this dude will not have a career in fucking haute couture.
But the thing is, Vaughn was also shaking. I thought it was me who was having all of his insides turned upside down with whatever kinky scissors shit he’s into, but his hands were visibly trembling as he put the bandage on my side.
He was breathing harshly, too, blowing out a large exhale every now and then to get himself under control again.
Guess no one signs up for seeing someone’s gory insides if they don’t dream of cutting people up a la butcher style.
That was a couple of hours ago.
Now, he’s much calmer and back to being a fucking delight—aka a boring little bitch—as he sits across from me with his knees bent.
The cave is too small—there’s so little distance between us that I can see the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt despite the relative lack of light. All for the best, really, because now that night has fallen, it’s cold as fuck in here.
What makes it worse is that we can’t start a fire, or it’ll give up our position.
Vaughn patrolled outside earlier and spotted a few men dressed in black searching the area, but there was no sign of our guards.
So he came back with some large evergreen boughs that he’s used to build a makeshift bed around me for support.
Since then, he’s been either pacing with his head bent low because the cave can’t contain him, or peeking outside, or sitting around and moping.
Oh, and checking on me.
I still feel like shit. My side burns like hell, I’m drenched with sweat one second, then trembling with cold the next, but the antibiotic shot he gave me helped. Definitely would’ve been much worse without it.
However, I’ve been keeping myself busy, because while Vaughn’s been doing his Vaughn shit—being a control freak—I’ve been watching him.
I don’t mean merely looking at him, but full-blown creepily observing him, noting every goddamn detail about him as if it’s an assignment.
Just kidding, I never work this hard on an assignment.
Studying Vaughn, though? My brain puts every ounce of its power behind it, recording every scrap of visible detail.
And I’m not talking about simple stuff like how his thigh muscles stretch against his shorts or how long his legs look or how his calves are full of small cuts from when we were running.
I don’t mean the enchanting color of his eyes that look darker now or the way he tends to frown when he’s stressed—more than usual.
No, it’s not that.
It’s how now that his hair is disheveled, it looks longer, more…wild and untamed and beautiful, framing his forehead and falling over his ears.
It’s how all that running and adrenaline has made his natural scent overwhelm the clean, sharp-smelling cologne he wears. Like cold metal warmed by skin and smoke, then trapped in silk.
It’s strong, heady, and has kind of been fucking with my head since earlier, because I have to stop myself from getting closer and sniffing him.
Or biting him.
I would totally bite him if given the chance. Find out if he tastes as mouthwatering as he smells.
Not that I should be wondering what he tastes like.
Seriously, what the fuck, brain? Get your shit together.
“You think they were all killed?” he asks, and I’m looking at his lips because why wouldn’t I?
Why would you? that little voice of reason asks.
Shut up. It’ll be nightfall soon, and I need to soak this in.
Vaughn’s frowning at me, and I realize I’ve been having that conversation with my alter ego while staring at his lips.
Surely, he thinks it’s because I’m sick and not that I’m shamelessly ogling his lips.
“Who? The guards?” I pretend to be the dumbfounded airhead and the resident dumbass in the Dimitriev Bratva.
“Yeah.”
“Probably. Otherwise, they would have come for us.”
He stares at the cave entrance, then at the ground, where there are a few wrappers from the protein bars we ate. Because, yes, Vaughn brought those, a flashlight, and all the tools he used for Operation Frankensteining Yulian.
He starts pacing again. “Who do you think is behind this?”
“Who cares?”
“I do. And so should you, considering you were targeted.”
“If I cared about everyone who targets me, I’d be in a mental institute by now.”
He stops and frowns, this time tilting his head as if I’m this badass puzzle he wants to solve.
I like that.
Fucking hell.
I love that.
“You think it could be one of the people who tried to kill you before?”
“Could be.” I lift a shoulder. “Let’s talk about something fun, because I don’t want to think about depressing things if I’m gonna die.”
“You’re not—”
“Have you lost your virginity yet?” I cut him off, grinning, and yeah, maybe that’s not the best conversation starter, but I really need to distract myself from this thing.
You know, the big-deal shit that’s happening in my brain.
My question definitely catches Vaughn off guard, because he freezes, and I’m almost positive he blushed, but the dim light doesn’t offer a definitive answer. “Uh, why do I need to tell you that?”
“Come on, it’ll be fun.”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll go first.”
“You don’t have to tell me—”
“I had my first sexual intercourse with a badass bartender about a year ago and have had a few others since.”
“How the hell were you allowed in a bar, let alone having sex with the bartender?”
“I look about twenty, so my fake ID worked.”
“Why am I not surprised you have a fake ID?”
“Everyone does.”
“I don’t.”
“You don’t count. Anyway, it was fun with her, and she gave awesome head. It took me a long time to come, though, which is apparently not normal for teenage boys.”
“I don’t need those details.”
“Loosen up a little and talk, would you? We need to make the cold pass by quicker. A question each, yeah?”
He muses for a bit, biting his lower lip, then releases a sigh and sits down in front of me. “Fine.”
“You still didn’t answer my question.”
“Not yet.” He seems visibly uncomfortable with the subject, shifting slightly. “I’ve made out with girls a few times and went further, but there was no actual sex.”
“Why not?”
“Eh, I’m still fifteen, Yulian.”
“Old enough.”
“I just…never mind.”
“Come on, tell me.” I shift forward and grunt when pain explodes in my side.
Vaughn pushes me back down. “You’ll just make fun of me. Forget it.”
“I won’t. Promise.”
He narrows his eyes, then blows out a breath. “There’s a girl I want to ask to be my girlfriend. I want to have sex for the first time with someone I like.”
“Very boring, indeed. On brand, really.”
“Very reckless of you to have sex with someone older than you after lying to them about your age. On brand, really.”
I lift a shoulder. “I wanted to fuck her, so I did it.”
“You do everything you want?”
“If I can, sure as fuck. Now, my question.”
“I didn’t ask mine.”
“Just did when you asked if I do everything I want.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Definitely is. Don’t be a baby. Anyway, the question is, do you have any siblings?”
“No, but I have four cousins. Mike is nine years older than me, and he lives in Russia, so we don’t see each other as often.
My other two cousins, my aunt’s children, are way younger than me, so I just dote on them.
I’m closest to my cousin, Lidya. We were born around the same time and were brought up together, so she’s like my sister.
” He smiles fondly as if he can see her in front of him.
“She wants to be a badass mafia leader, and Dad and Uncle said they’ll make it happen.
She wrestles and boxes all the time, often coming home with bruises and cuts, which really worries her parents.
Whenever she gets in trouble, she calls me so we can go together behind our parents’ backs and beat the shit out of anyone who’s hurt her. ”
“She sounds like fun.”
“She is. A headache, too, sometimes.” He slides his eyes back to me, the shadows of the night starting to eat him. “How about you?”
“A sister, Alina. She’s a ballerina, plays the piano, and is a classical music snob.
She’s the softest, most well-mannered kid you’ll ever meet, but she’ll roast you alive if you get on her nerves or criticize her favorite composers—Stravinsky, Prokofiev, and Chopin, by the way—so maybe don’t insult them if you ever meet her. ”
His lips twitch. “Noted.”
“Next. Who’s the family you have in Russia?”
He pauses as if he’s choosing his words. “My maternal uncle and a cousin.”
“Are you close?”
“Yes. And I get to ask two questions now.”
“Touché.” I chuckle, then cough when my wound burns.
Vaughn makes a move toward me, but I hold up a hand because, really, I need the distance.
For his sake. Not mine.
He sits back down with a frown, but it soon disappears when I smile.
Vaughn pauses for several beats, then asks in a calm voice, “How does your mother let your father treat you like that? Surely, she’d stand up to him and demand he protect you properly?”
My smile falls. “Going straight in with the deep shit?”
“You never said what questions aren’t allowed.”