Chapter 12 Yulian
YULIAN
It’s been less than two weeks.
Thirteen days, eight hours, and five minutes, to be exact.
What? It’s not my fault I can’t stop counting. Take it up with my brain.
Reality is, it’s been such a long time since I had that super realistic dream of me devouring Vaughn’s lips.
Now, listen up, I know it’s not healthy or normal that I was practically dreaming about the same man I intend to break to pieces, but fuck me if my dick understands the logic.
He doesn’t, just for the record, because I woke up with the most massive erection known to man, and when I wrapped my hand around my cock and closed my eyes, all I could picture were Vaughn’s wide eyes when my lips brushed his.
The way the hazel color darkened, and his heartbeat exploded against my own felt too good, too raw.
Too goddamn…real.
Naturally, I came in a minute at the image.
Then I was about to take another minute to figure out what the fuck I was doing but decided against it. What’s the point of thinking about it anyway? Nothing good ever comes out of that business.
I also decided against sharing the episode with Cy. One, he’ll judge me like the little bitch he is, especially since he thinks I’m wasting time and energy on the Vaughn thing.
Two, because he’ll judge me harder till kingdom come.
Still, I had to tell someone, so guess who the scapegoat happened to be?
That’s right. The man himself who dared to invade my sacred dreams.
I mean, that’s not the first time it’s happened. I might’ve, kind of dreamed of fucking him instead of Danika the night I was done with her—good times—but it was definitely the first time he felt so fucking 3D, almost as if I could taste him.
Or more accurately, his blood that I sucked vampire style.
Anyhoo, my first plan of action was creative. Instead of texts that he ignored like a sport, I video-called him.
That’s right. Reach for the sky, right? I’m the most ambitious motherfucker on the planet, bitches.
He still ignored me.
Actually, he hung up on me, if you can believe it.
So much audacity in that little shit. I swear he does it on purpose because he knows I’m not used to being ignored, so that he’s the crowned champion of the “ignoring Yulian” game.
The only player, too.
Okay, fine, Cy comes second because the motherfucker tunes me out sometimes.
Anyway, back to the subject of Vaughn practicing his niche religion of pretending I don’t exist—something I intend to change even if it’s the last thing I do.
After he hung up on me a few times, I went for the second-best thing—sending a video.
I filmed myself lying in bed, my hair haphazard, my eyes still droopy from sleep and an orgasm, then stared at the camera for a beat and narrowed my eyes.
“So, in case no one told you, it’s really rude to hang up on people after ignoring their texts.
Knock, knock, who’s there? Your manners, Vanya.
Ha. What do you think of that? I know your name isn’t Ivan, but it still fits.
Seriously, why did your fully Russian parents give you an American name?
Pretty sure they meant Ivan and slipped somewhere.
Anyway, Vanya sounds adorable, no? Not cuter than Mishka, though.
Speaking of Mishka, did I call you that recently?
I swear I had the most realistic dream last night in which I was…
you know, doing dirty things to you.” I winked, grinning, then bite the corner of my lower lip.
“You were so into it, too, by the way. If you don’t believe me, we can reenact the scene. ”
He saw that video aaand, you guessed it, he didn’t reply.
The fact that he saw it is enough.
For now.
So since then, I’ve been sending him my video diaries, just talking nonsense, sometimes in Russian, sometimes in English. Oftentimes switching up just to mess with him.
He’s seen every single one of my amateurish vlogs.
Not sure if he’s watched them, but the fact that the blue ticks appear not long after I send my video of the day is enough of a sign that I’m luring him into my trap.
And tonight is the perfect confirmation of my suspicions, because guess what? I received a QR code invitation to the Heathens’ initiation ceremony.
Yup, that’s right.
Heathens, here I come.
While I don’t give a fuck about them, I do give a whole lot of fucks that Vaughn joins his friends when an initiation happens.
However, the reason why I’m bubbling with excitement isn’t only because he’ll be there tonight.
No, it’s more due to the very logical conclusion I came to following a recent conversation.
My law professor, Kayden Lockwood. Just kidding, he’s Kayden Davenport—an important business associate of my dad’s and one of the reasons Yaroslav is so feared in the mafia world. Being friends with the Davenports is a fast track way to have power, influence, and carte blanche to kill.
Now, I’m not sure why Kayden came all the way from the States, abandoning his Davenport empire just to play law professor, but it doesn’t matter, because that’s not the important part.
It’s that Kayden said I was drugged that night.
Yup—the night I had a dream about Vaughn’s lips and hard chest pressing and rubbing against mine was the night my drink was roofied.
Maybe that was the reason the dream was so realistic, but you know what? Kayden said he dragged me to my room and saved me, but did he really? Because I swear there was someone other than Kayden in the room with me.
If there’s even the slightest chance it was Vaughn, I might roll off a cliff on my new bike in celebration.
Sure, I’m delusional—he was across the pond and all that—but I’ll stick with the fantasy, thank you very much.
I focus on the now. I’m walking through the forest where the Heathens’ initiation takes place.
Mist curls low around my shoes, the ground damp and eager to stain, and the trees are lined up like comical soldiers, all stiff and whispering secrets to each other.
Typical British weather has graced us once again today—cloudy, gray, and dramatic as hell. Seriously, why does the sky look like it wants to pour its guts out but keeps holding on?
For suspense, I think.
Honestly, the sky and that little shit Vaughn have too much in common.
I wonder if he loves the humble gift I left in his inbox today.
My lips stretch behind the stupid white bunny mask as the wind cuts through my jacket, carrying the scent of pine, old stone, and something darker.
Smoke.
No, sin.
Because fuck me, I’ve been wound up and vibrating with excitement since I got that invitation. No clue who sent it, but I’m so fucking stoked at the idea buzzing in my head.
I brush past a low branch, snag it on my shirt, and keep walking, whistling softly. A frightened scream echoes in the air somewhere ahead, possibly someone who was caught by the Heathens’ chasing games.
The whole atmosphere is fucking intoxicating, and truly, I’d be all over this shit under different circumstances. Chasing, blood, and frightened lambs?
Where do I sign up?
Not today, though, because I’m looking for someone.
I saw Vaughn on that balcony with the four others. He had a white neon stitch mask on, and yes, they all had masks on, so, in reality, I shouldn’t have been able to differentiate him, but then again, he’s so distinctive, even behind a facade.
Nikolai was the biggest and the loudest, so I could tell he was the one with the yellow mask from a mile away.
Jeremy stood in the middle with a club on his shoulder, so the orange mask was obvious.
Killian and Gareth have similar builds, and they held a baseball bat and an archery bow respectively, two weapons Vaughn wouldn’t go near.
Call it a hunch, but he’d want more control with his weapon of choice, so a gun would be his go-to, but since that’s not allowed, he had something very Vaughn, so to speak—a thick chain that’s wrapped around his neck like a serpent.
I grin wider when I catch a glimpse of him dragging a guy on the ground, his upper body bulging with exertion, his biceps flexing, the tendons almost visible through the gloves he’s wearing.
And yes, I’m close enough, kind of floating between bushes to get near. I’m the definition of a moth flying toward the flame, my wings flapping about against the window, so fucking desperate to be let in.
Or maybe I’m a junkie who’s so close to getting his first hit in weeks.
Months.
No—years. Four, to be exact.
A voice over the speaker declares the number scrawled across the eliminated guy’s mask. I quicken my pace, using the sound to get as close as possible without Vaughn noticing.
A bit more, just near enough to breathe him in—
He lifts his head, his eyes shooting lasers in my direction.
It’s getting dark, and even though I can’t see his eyes clearly, I can see something else.
Tension crowds his shoulders, and he tightens his grip on the chain. His spine snaps upright, and he stands taller, his shoulders squared.
Not only does he recognize me, but I also unsettle him.
I unsettle the rigid-as-a-stone, emotionless-man-of-few-words Vaughn.
Fuck me, I’m already getting high.
“Yo.” I wave, one finger at a time, then remove my mask, letting it hang in my hand. “Got to say, my heart skipped a beat when I received that invitation, and I’ve been wondering if maybe, possibly you were the one who sent it—”
My words come to a choked halt when he runs toward me, throws his chain around my neck, and slams me against a tree. The mask slips from my hand and clatters against the ground, cold metal biting into my skin as Vaughn pulls the chain taut between his fists.
I’m a couple of inches taller than him, but the way he stares me down through the two holes in his mask is fucking intoxicating.
It’s not the staring down per se, it’s how his chest nearly grazes mine, how his loud breaths sound unhinged against his mask in the near silence.
“Love it when you get rough, Mishka.” I grin, winking.
Apparently, that was a very bad idea, because he growls. Literally. The sound vibrates against my chest and goes straight to my dick.
Obviously.