Chapter 32 Yulian
YULIAN
Cold hits me with a sharp, merciless impact.
I gasp, sputtering as icy water drenches my face, soaking through my clothes, trickling down my spine and into my bones.
For a moment, I don’t know where I am.
Who am I?
Then the fragments of memories slide in. First, the pain of Vaughn’s rejection, then the kidnapping, and finally, the physical ache sets in.
My neck is stiff, my jaw throbs, and my wrists burn from the way they’re bound behind me.
The pressure around my ankles tells me they’re tied down, too, forced against the legs of the chair I’m strapped to.
It creaks beneath me whenever I breathe too hard.
Or maybe that’s me creaking. Difficult to tell with the overload of bullshit.
I lift my head slowly, every movement sparking discomfort in new places—my ribs, my shoulders, my cheekbone. There’s something metallic in my mouth. I spit. It’s blood. Probably mine. But might not be. I think I chewed on someone’s skin when I was transported like a rabid dog.
Oh, right. I bit his fucking ear off as he was carrying me to the plane, and he screamed like a pig. But I didn’t get to witness his reaction in full before someone knocked me out again.
Good times.
The room comes into slow focus.
I’ve been here before, in the basement. The stone walls are stained with mold and splashes of dried blood that haven’t been cleaned off.
A single bulb swings above me, flickering like it’s debating whether or not to stay on, casting fractured shadows across a rusted table lined with tools that my dear papa uses on his enemies—and his sons.
Yes, plural. My brothers face his wrath as well when they don’t meet his grandiose expectations.
And…there he is.
Yaroslav Dimitriev is leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his sleeves rolled up. His face is calm, as if this is just another business meeting.
He’s watching me like he’s waiting for something. Like this is the moment he’s been anticipating.
“Finally awake,” he says, his voice even. Almost casual.
My tongue feels like sandpaper, but I manage to smirk. It cracks my lower lip open, and warm blood trickles into my mouth. “Didn’t realize we were having father-son bonding time. Question. Did you bring cards?”
He doesn’t laugh. He never does. Not even when I was young. He’s never once shown me a soft side, or that he cares about me even a little.
My father picks up a pair of brown leather gloves and slides them on like he’s getting ready for a procedure.
There’s shuffling of feet outside, my father’s men waiting as backup, probably also scared I’ll chew the rest of their ears—and noses—off.
I’ve done it before and will do it again in a heartbeat, including but not limited to, fighting the guards I know he likes the most, because they’re an extension of him.
My father grabs a tool out of the box, really large scissors, and I doubt it’s because he wants to cut my bindings.
“What’s the reason for the sudden kidnapping?” I joke as he walks toward me. “What happened to a phone call to summon me home?”
He pulls out his phone, then thrusts it in my face. I blink once so the blurry image gets clearer, and my chest squeezes because it’s a picture of me kissing Vaughn, hungrily, like a goddam madman, one hand around his throat and the other in his hair while he has a palm to my chest.
The screen goes black, shoving me back to the present and the bitter reality that my father has a picture of Vaughn and me.
He pockets his phone, his muscles bulging. My father has always taken care of his appearance, part of his “not a weak man” mantra.
“What did I say, Yulian?” He speaks slowly but with simmering rage.
“About? You say a lot of things about a lot of shit. You’d have to specify—”
His punch whips my head sideways, copper flooding my tongue. The next strike comes harder, a boot slamming into my chest, and the chair buckles beneath me, toppling, and I hit the ground with it.
“I told you I’d kill you if you did that disgusting business again, you useless bastard.”
“It’s not disgusting,” I murmur, blood dripping down either side of my mouth.
He grabs my collar with one hand, pulling me all the way up, his manic eyes staring down at me. “The fuck you just say?”
“Me liking another guy is not disgusting.” I glare at him. “Maybe you’re the disgusting one for thinking that.”
He snarls. “I bet you bend over like a pussy to be fucked by another man. What a fucking weakling.”
“What I do with my dick does not make me a weakling!” I yell, spit and blood splashing his face.
“Beating your son for as long as he can remember, spawning illegitimate children and forcing them into the army, then proceeding to abuse them, and neglecting your terminally ill wife while dipping your dick into all available holes is what makes you a weak man, Dad!”
His fist slams into me again, followed by a brutal kick that topples me sideways. “I should’ve killed you years ago, you useless piece of shit. You should’ve gone with your worthless mother.”
I growl deep in my throat as I cough up a mouthful of blood and struggle against the binds. “My mother was not worthless.”
“Sure was for spawning a faggot like you.” His boot grinds into my chest, the pressure so sharp, I swear a rib snaps.
“Your whole life has been useless, Yulian, but I’ve been willing to give you chances.
Seems I spoiled you for too long, but I can’t have you being a deranged, sick motherfucker who’s less than a man.
I told you, didn’t I? No son of mine will be a cocksucker.
Since breaking your legs didn’t fix you, I’ll break your whole fucking body this time. ”
He slams his boot down again, a crack snapping through the air. Pain floods my chest, nausea surges up, and a raw, piercing roar tears from me.
The room spins, my vision fractures, and in the haze, I see my father’s outline. He’ll kill me, whether he means to or not.
And all I can think of is Alina.
And the last time I saw Vaughn.
If I’d known this would happen, I wouldn’t have thrown a fit and demanded he must go all in. I don’t like that the last memory he has of me is anger and ultimatums.
If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve kissed him one last time.
But then again, Vaughn and I always came from different worlds. They might have collided a few times, but all that’s come out of it is pain.
Four years ago
So yes, I totally shouldn’t be here.
In New York City, hundreds of miles away from home and carrying a fake ID that Cy begrudgingly gave me.
I touch my abs, wincing as pain explodes where my injury is. It’s been a week since I woke up in the hospital to my mom looking like a skeleton and me not being in the cave.
And that’s fine, truly.
Or was, for a while, until that urge to see Vaughn one more time returned.
Just once.
For like ten minutes.
I know it’s one of those reckless choices Dad will punish me for, Mom will ache over, and Alina will lose sleep about—but I couldn’t stay away.
Not after the cave.
I stole a kiss from him, and I think he might have stolen my heart in return.
Dramatic, I know. I blame the teenage hormones. This is probably another crush, like all the crushes I’ve had.
But who am I kidding? It’s not.
Vaughn is obviously not a girl, and this is new territory for me, but that doesn’t stop me from jumping out of my skin with excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.
And I don’t know why I just can’t forget the feeling of his lips against mine, or the way he frowns, or how his muscles looked when he worked out, or how they felt around me when he hugged me from behind.
All of it is etched deep in my soul.
Everything has been playing in my head nonstop over the past week, invading my dreams and my waking moments.
What did I do? Ran away from home, of course.
I mean, not really, as I plan to go back, but I didn’t tell anyone about my trip.
Dad would beat the shit out of me if he knew I went to New York after he announced war with Vaughn’s dad, and Mom and Alina would be so worried.
They’ve been fawning over me, but Mom is too frail and kind of needs someone to look after her instead.
So I sneaked out of the house, grabbed a taxi, and took a commercial flight. Maybe it’s due to flying, but I don’t feel so good, despite the multiple painkillers I pumped myself full of.
Nausea rises to my throat, and I stop to catch my breath as pain racks my body.
It’s okay. I’ll be fine. Dad always says if I stay strong enough through pain, it’ll eventually go away.
Which is obviously ridiculous because the pain is not going away. If anything, it’s getting sharper and more unbearable.
Goddamn it.
With a deep breath, I stop by the parking lot of Vaughn’s school and pull out the bottle of acetaminophen from my denim jacket and swallow two dry. They better kick in fast, because Vaughn can’t see me as a weakling.
Though he didn’t look down on me when I was weak like Dad does. If anything, he took care of me in the cave. So maybe he’ll do it again?
I smile through the pain, but it soon drops when I recall that he left me there.
Abandon is the word Dad used. He abandoned you in the cave and saved himself while you were being an idiot by getting shot.
No.
I lean against one of the cars to catch my breath. I saw how Vaughn was shaking while suturing my wound, heard the panic in his voice as he tried to stay strong while slapping my face and begging me not to fall asleep.
Someone like that wouldn’t just abandon me.
It’s just not like him.
I watch students drift through the parking lot toward their sleek German cars. My school is just as polished, but there’s something easier in the air here—lighter than the tension that hangs in Chicago. Or maybe that tension is mine, a shadow that follows me because of who my father is.
It’s still August, but apparently, they do some form of a summer class or orientation or something that Vaughn joined last minute according to Cy. Which makes sense. Now that the camp is no more, Vaughn would still want to advance academically during the summer. He’s too studious for his own good.
Anyway, Cy was the one who found this school for me and even got me a visitor’s entrance badge. No clue how he does it, and I don’t ask. But in typical Cy fashion, he did demand to know the reason I want to be here.
He called me an idiot for even liking someone like Vaughn, who’d never like me back, and said that I’d only get hurt. But Cy is the idiot, because he wasn’t in that cave with Vaughn—
My lips curl in a grin when I spot him walking toward me, dressed in delicious-looking black pants and a shirt. Okay, fine, they’re just black clothes, but seriously, he wears them so well, looking all serious and grumpy and shit.
Not even kidding, but my heart lights the fuck up upon seeing him, and the pain that’s been pulsing into my abs recedes to the background.
There are so many things I’ve wanted to ask him and talk to him about. Like what happened between falling asleep, hugging, and waking up in Chicago, or why he didn’t check on me—though he doesn’t have my number, which can be fixed.
I want to thank him for taking care of me and just…maybe meet him sometime, if he can. It doesn’t have to be much, and I won’t push for anything out of his comfort zone since he’s straight.
My grin widens at the thought of introducing him to other possibilities. Maybe, like me, he’s only straight because he hasn’t tried anything else.
At any rate, I need something more. He’s like a maddening itch I can’t seem to reach.
I’m about to come out from behind the car when a girl rushes toward him and wraps her arm around his waist.
My smile drops instantly.
Who the fuck is that brunette, and how can I get rid of her?
She looks up at him, saying something I can’t hear, and he smiles. My heart kind of crumbles, releasing this stupid sound that makes it hurt more than my gunshot wound.
Vaughn rarely smiles, if ever, so why is he smiling at that girl?
Then I recall that he has a crush on this one girl whom he wants to be his first, and my heart simply shatters, giving up on me and spilling out on the ground.
So this is his crush? A beautiful, put-together girl who he can’t stop smiling at?
She gets on her tiptoes and kisses him.
Buzzing explodes in my ears as I watch her kiss the lips I claimed a week ago. Okay, claim is too strong a word. I brushed my mouth against his, and that’s nothing compared to the kiss I’m currently watching in full HD.
The pain becomes so lethal, I drop against a car to catch my breath.
I know I tend to hope a lot, but I shouldn’t have, because the reality is that Vaughn is straight. He’s only ever been straight and with girls.
My phone vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket, distracted.
Cyrus.
Fuck. He’ll just say, “I told you so.”
I decline the call, my gaze fixed on Vaughn kissing the girl. She’s lost in it, her eyes shut as she presses closer. His hand knots in her hair, but his own eyes are heavy-lidded—not fully closed, just…distant.
Or maybe that’s what I hope.
My phone vibrates again, and I’m about to ignore it, but it’s a text.
Cyrus
Come back, Yulian. Your mom passed away, and Alina’s been in an accident.
My world crashes down around me as I read the text, then stare at Vaughn kissing his girl.
All my feelings of fondness shatter and transform into something more potent, deep, and dangerous.
My obsession with Vaughn has led me to more pain than I can afford, and I hate him for it.