Chapter 28 Vaughn #2
I nearly kissed him in public.
For the world to see.
Yes, it’s early morning, and no one is around, but still.
What the hell was I thinking?
That’s the problem—I wasn’t. My thoughts short-circuit whenever I’m around him, his recklessness and je ne sais quoi behavior bleeding into me.
And it’s dangerous. For both of us.
“What’s with the tough love today, Mishka?” He grips the bottle, strips off his gloves, and tosses them on the bike.
Flipping the bottle in his hand, he leans casually against the seat beside me. “What is this anyway?”
I say nothing, just drink the kombucha, letting the bubbles fill my throat, still fuming about Harry wanting Yulian so openly like that. Some people have a lot of audacity. Even I can’t admit how much I burn for this bastard out loud, so why can everyone else?
It took me such a long time to even touch him without my brain getting in the way. Took me ages to just…be with him like this.
So how can someone who just saw him express interest in him so openly?
Not everyone is as uptight as you, the voice in my head whispers.
Yulian takes a sip of his drink, then spits it right out, coughing. “What the fuck is this? Fermented urine?”
“How on earth do you know what fermented urine tastes like? Actually, don’t answer that and drink. It’s good for your gut that you only feed alcohol or greasy food.”
“Have you been stalking me? ’Cause I don’t mind.” He grins, taking another taste, then grimacing, but this time, he doesn’t spit it out, probably because I’m staring at him. “Seriously, this is an abomination. They have no beer? Cheap whiskey will also do.”
“You’re not drinking while driving, Yulian. You’re already reckless as it is.”
“Love it when you say my name so uptight and serious.”
I glare.
His grin widens, then he hits my shoulder with his. “Why aren’t you drinking? You’re not driving.”
“I don’t like drinking much,” I say, staring at the label.
“What type of blasphemy is that?” He jumps up in front of me. “We’re Russians. We love drinking.”
“Don’t be stereotypical.”
“But it’s true. Alcohol is in our DNA.”
“Must’ve skipped mine.” I pause, then add, “I just don’t like the way it dulls my senses.”
“Hmm.” He plants himself beside me, watching me intently.
It’s overwhelming—his mismatched gaze, his focus, everything about him. I can’t look into those eyes for long; they’ve bewitched me, and now I’m here, drinking ginger kombucha in an empty gas station with the one man I should never be with.
So instead, I stare at the sky as it clears, dawn unraveling the cocoon of night we’d been hiding in. Pale blue and violet bleed across the horizon as the sun breaks through.
Maybe that’s what unsettles me—that the night, our sanctuary, is dissolving, and my body and mind are clinging to it, desperate to hold on just a little longer.
“You don’t like that you might lose control with alcohol,” he says more like a statement than a question. “That tracks.”
“And you like losing control, judging by all the drinking and partying and fighting and fucking.” I take a sip of my drink to stop talking.
“Hell yeah. It makes me feel alive.”
He grimaces after gulping his drink, and I smile, because he’s definitely not a quitter. He obviously doesn’t like it, but he keeps pushing himself to give it more chances.
“Speaking of fucking, let’s go home so I can bend you over and fuck you. I’ll ride you, too, make you feel so good, you won’t be able to move, baby.”
My spine jerks at that image, and I have to briefly close my eyes to chase it away. “Do you truly only think with your dick?”
“When I can, yeah, and right now, I totally can.” His hand that’s lying beside mine on the seat of the bike slides closer, and he interlinks his pinkie finger with mine.
The motion is so hesitant, it makes me swallow hard, because, as careless as he is, Yulian is fully aware of the outside world. Yeah, he thinks there are things he can get away with, probably with Cyrus having his back in the mansion, but he also knows we can’t get caught.
I should remove my hand, but I can’t.
I don’t want to.
There’s no one here anyway. I’ll just stay like this for a minute, that’s all.
“No, you can’t,” I say.
“See? Even fucking is being policed now. I’ll hit you up with my therapy bill when the stress gets to be too much due to the lack of one important part of my loosening-up routine.”
“Stop whining like a baby.”
“I thought I was your baby, baby. That’s what you called me when you were fucking my brains—”
“Shut up, Yulian,” I say, trying to sound stern, and he just sulks, so I add, “I don’t want to get hard in public.”
That makes him grin, completely forgetting what just happened. I wish I had the same sense of freedom he possesses in spades.
“Do you even attend classes in the midst of your busy curriculum?” I ask in an attempt to change the subject.
“I do, sometimes.” He shrugs. “I don’t really care about school. I’ll get my degree one way or another.”
“Then what do you care about?”
“Becoming as strong as possible to take over and protect my sister.”
I nod. He’s always had the same goal. Though four years ago, it was his mother and Alina. I know his mom passed away due to cancer, and I don’t want to ask about it in case it’s still a sore spot.
“Hey, Mishka?”
“Yeah?”
“If you weren’t in the Bratva, what would you be doing? For me, I’d be a tattoo artist or, like, a boxer.” His eyes flash, looking bright under the slowly erupting sun, a glow covering his features. “Maybe even join the army, but that would be my last resort, because I don’t like rigid discipline.”
“You’d be every commander’s nightmare.”
“I know, right? I’m uncontainable.” He looks at me for a breath, then stares out at the sky again. “What about you?”
My grip tightens around the bottle, but I say nothing.
“Come on.” He nudges me. “You can tell me. I can keep a secret.”
“It’s just… I’ve never really thought about it. My life is prewritten, so I haven’t considered any other options, to be frank.”
Yulian’s lips part, but then they curve in a smile. He’s always smiling around me. “You’d be the nerdy literature professor who wears glasses and breaks his students’ hearts.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re in love with the local tattoo artist, duh. As a result, all your students who have sneaky crushes on you would be so heartbroken.”
My lips twitch in a smile. “And how did I meet this tattoo artist?”
“You went on a hike to get inspired and fell, and he saved you, and you kind of hit it off since that night. He was your first guy.”
“Mm, and was I his first?”
“Nah, he’s a flirt, but like a reformed manwhore, and he’s very much only into you now. The professor, I mean.”
I chuckle.
It’s a made-up scenario, but a part of me yearns for it. For being…nobodies. The picture of holding hands in public, even with people around. For not tensing up the moment I hear the cars on the highway, thinking one of them will come over and see us.
I sigh as I stare at the hues of orange and magenta illuminating the sky. “I bet they’d be watching the sunrise together like this. The tattoo artist and professor, I mean.”
“Totally.” He pauses. “You like sunrises?”
“Mm. I never stop to watch them, though. I’m usually running or swimming or working out during this time of the day.”
“I prefer sunsets.”
“Why?”
“Because after it, there’ll be night.” He squeezes my finger. “I love the night. It’s where I can be myself.”
My chest constricts, my words slipping away before they can form, so I lace my fingers through his instead. His hand is warm, steady, so perfectly right, it makes me wonder why I’ve never held it before now.
“This sunrise is stunning, though.” He grins. “I swear, random gas stations have the best sunsets and sunrises. Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Mm,” I say, looking at his face glowing in the early morning light.
He’s so gorgeous, my chest hurts.
And I really don’t want to leave him later today.
Sure, I can change schools next semester, but then what? This is only a phase that will eventually come to an end.
Only, eventually is not today, and I’m going to be selfish. I’ll get my fill of this beautiful nightmare until I can’t.
“Yulian?”
“Yeah?”
“What would hurt you the most to lose?”
“Chaos, so don’t burn her.”
I stare, and he laughs but then it fades away. “Jokes aside, it’s Alya. I couldn’t protect her before, so I’d be destroyed if something happened to her.”
“When we were in DC, you mentioned she’s disabled because of you.”
He purses his lips, obviously not wanting to talk about it, but I stroke his hand with my thumb, slowly coaxing him.
Finally, he lets out a sigh. “It’s… Mom told me to look out for her and I…well, ran away from home.”
“Ran away?”
“Not permanently, just for a day. Mom got worse during that time, and she passed away while I wasn’t there.
” His voice chokes on the last words, and I keep stroking his hand, squeezing a bit.
“Alya was by her side until the very end. She was distraught and needed me, so she had the chauffeur drive her, but they had an accident, and well, the rest is history.”
“It’s not your fault she had an accident.”
“It is. She wouldn’t have had it if I’d been there.”
“She could’ve had it on her way to school or anywhere else. You can’t predict accidents.”
He remains silent, but his shoulders are crowded with tension. I contemplate hugging him, offering him support or just a shoulder to lean on.
Before I can do that, a car rolls in, killing any chance of that happening.
“We should go.” He slips his hand from mine and faces his bike, his grin gone, the light dimmed from his face. The conversation clipped his mood, soured it.
But I know how to make him feel better.
Sex. Lots of relentless, consuming sex.
We’ll fuck until the minute I have to go.
And I’ll convince myself it’s just a physical connection, even though the truth—the answer to what would destroy me most—is losing Yulian Dimitriev.
I know it, because I tasted a fragment of that pain four years ago. If it happens again now, I don’t think I’ll survive it.