36. Nico
CHAPTER 36
NICO
I exit the elevator in the back of Purgatory and push through throngs of workers, looking for a familiar face. I know it's dangerous, being alone. I know Sal is probably plotting my murder. I know he'll try again. And he's dumb enough to do so on Vlad's turf.
It's the weekend and the place is especially busy with the security and kitchen staff rushing to get ready for the busy night that's about to start. The DJ has already taken over the floor, and music has filled every corner of the premises, filtering through the walls and doors.
My eyes dart across the winding space, probing the shadowy corners for any glimpse of Vlad. Nothing.
That heartless fucker.
Why am I even looking for him?
He deserved that slap.
Outside, in the alley, I spot Seven lounging against the brick wall, cigarette dangling from his lips. His guarded eyes meet mine as I approach. These men, the Hellhounds, even though we've done some gnarly things together, still don't trust me. I get it. I'm someone from an enemy camp. I don't expect them to treat me the same way they treat Vlad. Vlad protects them. I'm just giving them extra work.
"Hey, have you seen Vlad?" I ask Seven, foregoing with pleasantries. I don't feel like small talk today.
Seven takes a long drag before answering. "Took his beast out of the warehouse. Heard from the boys, he's headed to the Enclave."
Fuck.
This can't be good.
Those hipsters with loud engines are slimy bastards. All the dirt that couldn't hack it in the real underworld of this city.
"Thanks," I tell Seven and walk along the alley until I round the corner. There I pause, inhaling deeply and raking both hands through my hair. The crisp air fills my lungs but the fire is still there. Raging inside.
A decision looms before me, heavy as a storm cloud ready to burst. I could let Vlad go, let him cool off on his own terms. But the thought of leaving things unresolved, of letting this fester between us, is unbearable.
Pride and desperation battle in me, two sides of the same fractured coin.
Finally, I signal to one of the men working the back parking lot, and he swiftly retrieves my Maserati. As I slide into the driver's seat, I make my choice. The Enclave it is. I need to find Vlad, to confront him, to untangle the knots we've tied ourselves.
Because I won't be able to sleep unless I talk to him… unless I see his face.
The engine vrooms to life, and I peel out of the alleyway, tires eating up asphalt as the towering buildings melt into streaks of color.
My mind races faster than the speedometer, replaying our encounter in vivid detail.
Vlad's words cut deeper than any knife, carving out pieces of me. The way he dismissed our relationship as if it were nothing more than a fuck… It stung more than the slap I dealt him. But beneath the anger simmering in my veins, there's an undercurrent of something else. Something raw and aching, demanding to be acknowledged.
But even as logic screams at me to turn back, to let this go... I can't. I won't. My pride, my stubborn refusal to let Vlad have the last word, propels me forward.
Halfway to the Enclave, a wave of doubt crashes over me, sudden and cold. I slam on the brakes, tires squealing in protest as I make an abrupt, illegal U-turn on the next light. Horns blare around me, but they're distant, muffled by the pounding of my own heart.
What am I doing?
Chasing after Vlad like some fool, ready to bare my heart and soul?
Maybe that's why you're so easily broken. Why you keep submitting to me.
The reality hits, a sucker punch to the gut. This will never work anyway.
And perhaps… perhaps he is right. Perhaps we are nothing more than two people carried away in the trap of intimacy.
With that thought in mind, I drive back to Eclipse.
* * *
I slam on the brakes a little too hard as I pull into the Eclipse parking lot. My anger—seething force that threatens to consume all reason entirely—thrusts me forward. I storm through the lobby, jabbing the elevator button with a vengeance.
In my suite, I open the closet and yank out my gym bag. Clothes, toiletries, essentials—I toss them in haphazardly. There's this furious energy thrumming through my veins, making me do this, making me want to run away. Vlad's words continue to echo in my head, taunting me.
A fuck.
It that all we are?
Is that all I am to him?
After everything we've been through?
I zip the bag with a violent tug. Shouldering it, I cast one last glance around the room. The bed where we'd tangled together, the couch where we'd shared drinks and childhood stories. All tainted now, poisoned by Vlad's cruel dismissal.
I leave, slamming the door behind me. In the elevator, I grip the handrail, my reflection in the mirrored walls a stranger—all shadows and livid eyes. Vlad has unleashed something in me, an animal I barely recognize. And I don't know if I can cage it again.
Downstairs in the parking structure, I toss my bag into the back seat of my Maserati and peel out of the lot. I drive on instinct, that very instinct guiding me to the Regal Arms. The hotel that has no affiliation with the Russians. A property a friend out of LA owns.
At the front desk, I slap down my credit card. "I need a room."
The agent smiles up at me from behind her desk. "How many nights, sir?"
"A week," I bite out. "For now."
A loaded pause, then a nod. Transaction complete, I snatch the key card and stride to the elevators.
* * *
Light needles my eyes, stirring me awake the next morning. At first, I think, I had a nightmare and in that nightmare, Vlad and I had a nasty argument, but as I lift my eyelids and scan the space around me I see that I'm wrong.
Ceiling. Unfamiliar.
Sheets. Not my bed. Not the one I've been sleeping in recently.
Reality rushes in, chased by the gut-punch of memory. The fight was real. The words were too. He said them without blinking. As if all this was just a game of pretense for him.
I lie there, staring into nothing. My chest feels hollow. I hate it.
I don't know how much time passes before the buzzing of the phone finally punctures the fog in my head.
I glance at the device on the nightstand.
Vlad's name flashes at me from the screen.
I ignore it. Burrow deeper into the bedcovers.
Bzz. Bzz.
The insistent sound won't stop.
Pause. Then again.
Bzz. Bzz.
I reach for the phone, squinting at the screen.
My thumb hovers over the answer button. Wavers.
I let it ring out. Drop the phone back on the nightstand like it's burning me.
It lights up again, mocking.
I turn away, pressing my face into the pillow.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz.
Fucker is stubborn. Now he wants to talk. Well, that's just great. Because I don't.
What I do want is to hurl the phone across the room, shatter it into silence.
Instead, I lie there. Letting it ring.
Punishing myself. Punishing him.
Four calls. Five. Six.
Each one a question, an accusation, a plea.
And each one ignored, unanswered.
I close my eyes, breathing in the stale hotel air. Trying to clear my mind of gray eyes and cruel words.
But they linger, caustic.
The phone finally quiets and the sudden absence of noise is a gaping void.
I feel... adrift. Anchorless.
But beneath it all, the anger still simmers.
The voicemail icon winks when I finally muster the courage to check my phone.
I press play before I can second-guess myself. Glutton for punishment.
Vlad's voice, smooth and emotionless, fills the room from the speaker. "Nico. Come on. Let's forget about what happened yesterday. Move on. We were both in a bad mood."
Clipped and dispassionate words again like he's discussing the weather, not the reasons for the argument between us. The reasons he never gave me. I don't know what set him off.
Fury ignites in my blood. How dare he dismiss it so casually? Reduce us to a mere footnote. And him offending me to an inconvenience to be forgotten?
I grip the phone until my knuckles blanch.
He wants to forget? Fine. Two can play that game.
I stab at the screen, deleting the voicemail with a vicious swipe. Erasing him, just like he erased us.
But the anger remains, an insidious companion. It rolls in my gut, tightens my chest.
I want an apology. A recognition of the hurt he's inflicted. But I know better than to expect one.
Vlad, with his calculating mind and guarded heart, doesn't deal in apologies. In vulnerability.
And that's the crux of it, isn't it? The fatal flaw in the story of us.