Chapter 11 Vaughn
VAUGHN
Ididn’t mean to be here.
In fact, this is the last place I should be.
Logically.
Rationally.
If I consider this situation from every sensible perspective, I shouldn’t have allowed myself to jump on a plane and come to where that bastard lives.
And the most disturbing part is that I can’t find an explanation for my behavior.
I dug deep into my brain and came up empty—not too deep, though, because that would trigger impertinent thoughts and skeletons I’d rather not provoke.
Before I knew it, I found myself here.
On the island I swore to never come to—except for participating in initiations with the Heathens and indulging in mindless violence-slash-release.
But the upcoming initiation is still a couple of weeks away, so I shouldn’t be here.
And I definitely shouldn’t be in Yulian’s den.
The mansion is too loud—pulsing music, undulating bodies, and the heat of overindulgence. The scent of cologne, sweat, and expensive smoke drifts through the open archways. The whole place is decadence wrapped in decay.
And I just stand here in the shadows, my mask cool against my skin and my hands in my pockets as I watch him.
I managed to infiltrate their security, mostly due to hacking an invitation to the Serpents’ compound.
Unlike the Heathens, who don’t throw parties often, the Serpents have these types of hedonistic gatherings on the regular in their mansion.
But then again, my group of friends doesn’t contain a certain unhinged guy who loves to advertise his pleasure-seeking tendencies.
The thorn in my side I came here for.
No. I’m not here for him—I’m here to teach him a lesson if he goes anywhere near Nikolai.
I’d like to consider myself responsible for my entourage’s well-being. And Niko’s well-being would be impossible if he got involved with the terminal cancer called Yulian.
So my presence comes down to putting that bastard Yulian in his damn place.
Said bastard is right across from me.
He’s wearing a black skeleton mask with gold serpents that gleams beneath the chandeliers. His obnoxious laughter lingers in the air as he talks to a group of people surrounding him in a reverent circle. The slightly husky sound is loud and carefree, like he’s not shackled by any rule in our world.
He runs his fingers along a guy’s arm, his body language loose and welcoming. The same slender fingers he had all over Danika not a week ago. The same type of sensual touch he used to steal my girlfriend.
It’s on a random guy now—that same flirtatious edge. The same sensual appetite.
Yulian lifts his mask, only revealing his lips, then lowers his head toward the bottle in the guy’s hand. His eyes on the guy, Yulian opens his mouth and closes it around the neck of the bottle. The guy tilts it, and Yulian takes a sip, his mouth still sealed around it.
As Yulian pulls away, some of the drink dribbles down his chin, winding over the taut veins of his neck before disappearing into the collar of his shirt. His lips are stained with something red—not sure if it’s a drink or lipstick or both.
The guy who’s holding the bottle swipes his hand along Yulian’s neck, on the liquid shining there, then strokes the skin.
My fingers flex in my pocket the more the guy rubs Yulian’s skin, but I force my hand still, even as inexplicable fire incinerates me.
I don’t move. Don’t speak.
Just watch.
And bide my time.
I’m good with waiting.
Monitoring.
Observing.
From a young age, I’ve always been described by my teachers as extremely bright but slightly withdrawn.
I’m not really withdrawn, per se. I just couldn’t care less about the noise that’s been surrounding me since I was born.
Tuning out distractions and carefully selecting what to focus on have been the most useful tools in structuring my life.
Though my brain would argue that my being here isn’t part of that careful selection. I’m clearly succumbing to a distraction I thought I’d eradicated long ago.
I don’t understand it.
And I’m growing uncomfortable with the obvious mismatch in my patterns and the nauseating, gratuitous scene in front of me, but I refuse to leave.
I’m here to protect Nikolai, after all.
Nikolai.
Yet my attention is completely confiscated by Yulian, who’s swaying on his feet, leaning slightly against the guy.
I know he said in his distasteful text that he’d fuck Nikolai, hinting at his bisexuality, but how…could he be so open about it?
Though the guy obviously has a death wish. So maybe he couldn’t care less about who figures out his preferences and whether or not he’ll be punished for it.
Seriously, with a father like Yaroslav, how is he so fucking sloppy?
Irresponsible.
Absolutely nauseating behavior.
Yulian straightens and motions with his hand, signaling his departure. I wait for a beat, expecting those in his circle—namely the guy with the drink—to follow him.
No one does.
Across the hall, I move parallel to him, silently slipping through the crowd.
He’s swaying a bit as he takes the stairs at a moderate pace.
I cast a glance at my surroundings, half expecting his shadow Cyrus to be there like a watchdog.
Honestly, I never liked that guy, which is odd, because I’ve hardly spoken to him.
I heard him talking to Yulian all the time at that summer camp, though. He always seemed half done with his shit, but he still had his back one hundred percent.
And I suppose I despise that.
Someone like Yulian should be on his own so he can finally suffer the consequences of his actions. Though if that were the case, he would’ve probably gotten himself killed by now.
I use the throngs of people standing or sitting on the marble stairs for camouflage as I shadow Yulian’s movements, strategically leaving a safe distance between us.
Then I start to get closer, but he’s too drunk to notice me.
What an idiot with no sense of self-preservation.
So what if he’s in his own mansion with his guards around? If he gets attacked right now, a knife to his throat would have him bleeding out in seconds.
Not that I’m considering the option.
Or maybe I should.
That could finally extinguish the fire that’s been raging in my soul since he sent me that sex video.
Or maybe since he appeared in that fucking restaurant.
He sways up the stairs, waving at a group of guys and girls huddling in the corner, and they raise their drinks back.
I narrow my eyes between them.
Yulian goes down a hall and stumbles against a door. As he’s about to stagger inside, a large figure appears in the doorway, wearing a mask similar to his. He’s around an inch taller than Yulian and dressed just like him in black jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.
Yulian tilts his head back and laughs upon seeing him.
He does that a lot.
Laughs. Like a fucking idiot.
The husky sound echoes down the hall and into my ears, uninvited.
Something is said between them, but it’s camouflaged by the chatter surrounding me, and I don’t hear it.
As I slip closer, the man grabs Yulian’s arm and pulls him inside, the door slamming behind them.
I stop short, my shoes digging into the carpet.
Was that…Nikolai?
No. Certainly not. He wouldn’t have come here in the first place, and even if he did, he wouldn’t have locked Yulian in a room with him.
As if…what?
My fingers clench in my pocket, and my right eye twitches uncontrollably.
Just because Niko’s bi, he wouldn’t go for Yulian.
Right…?
I’m walking before my thoughts can catch up to my actions, but as I approach the room, the door swings open.
I back up against a wall, hidden by a group of people as the man who pulled Yulian into the room stumbles through the door across the hall.
He’s still wearing the mask, but I know it’s not Yulian. The height and body type are not the same.
Call it an annoying observation habit, but I’d recognize that prick anywhere, even if he’s behind layers of disguise.
After Yulian’s copycat goes into the other room, a slender guy, judging by the frame, who’s also wearing a mask, slips through the crowd and goes into that room.
I narrow my eyes on him as a sense of familiarity prickles me.
Hold on.
The lean body build, the perfect posture due to a decade and a half of continuous archery training…
Gareth?
Surely not. Why would he come here in disguise…?
But then again, why would I? Unlike him, I flew all the way from the other side of the ocean.
I remain still long after Gareth goes into the room. It’s so…unlike him. He’s the quintessential overachieving law student—meticulous about his image and how others see him and by far the least violent among us.
Though I shouldn’t be quick to label Gareth. Everyone has dark sides.
I stand in place, contemplating.
Considering my next course of action.
Yulian is clearly not sleeping with Niko. Because his copycat who pulled him into the room was not Nikolai—I only thought of that rationally now that my eyes aren’t covered in a red mist.
What I came to prevent isn’t happening, so I can leave.
I have to leave.
And yet my feet carry me in the direction of his room, completely unnoticed by the crowd surrounding me.
I halt in front of Yulian’s door, my breathing deepening, my fingers hesitating on the doorknob.
Just like they did four years ago when I found myself in a place I shouldn’t have been.
And that was also because of this prick.
It was the first time I ran away from home, the first time I defied norms, tradition, and my core beliefs.
The first time I used my intellect to outsmart my parents and leave their reach.
I felt so free, as if I were soaring in the sky.
Until I was crushed back to life again.
Back then, if I hadn’t stood in front of his door, if I hadn’t gone in, I wouldn’t have had my hopes broken to pieces before they even started to be fulfilled.
I wouldn’t have become the current version of myself.
If I turn back right now, I won’t have to relive that experience.
I won’t have to feel the cracks in my armor that I thought was impenetrable.