Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
I roll over and sit up. “About the revenge he mentioned, it’s not that serious.”
“He said I hurt you.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “You did.”
“When did I do that, Yulian?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.” He blows out a sigh. “Will you talk to me about it?”
“Maybe one day.”
“All right. I really have to go,” he says, but he’s not hanging up.
“Go, then.”
“One last thing.” He pauses for several long beats, and I pull my lower lip with my fingers, waiting with bated breath.
“What?” I finally ask.
“Thank you for last night. I never thought sex could feel like a mind-blowing out-of-body experience that can shift perspective. You showed me that I’ve been missing out, apparently, and I’m genuinely grateful for that. Talk soon.”
The line goes dead, and I fall back, on the verge of kicking my damn feet as I hug the phone to my chest.
Oh fuck.
I can’t stop grinning.
And laughing and smiling.
I think I finally converted Vaughn.
Took me four years—off and on—but I’ve finally done it.
He’s so fucking mine, and nothing will change that.
Not even him.
I came to the realization that a week is a long fucking time.
Seven days. Okay, five, whatever. Then twenty-four hours every single day?
Kill me.
Actually, don’t. I still haven’t had my fill of my Mishka yet.
So how do I keep myself occupied? Punching the shit out of people, of course.
To which Cy shakes his head on the regular.
And Vaughn texts that I better not be fighting. But how the hell would he know if he’s not here?
I slam my fist in Nikolai’s face, making him stumble back in the midst of the roar from the spectators.
“Hit back, Niko!” someone shouts from ringside—Jeremy, acting like Nikolai’s sidekick.
“You’re so doomed, you little bitch.” Nikolai swings at me and I guard, but his punch is strong, and I fall back a few inches.
The crowd roars louder as we trade blows, time stretching into a blur. My vision tints red, and it takes me a second to realize it’s blood—mine.
Well, fuck me. Why the hell not?
Nikolai grins through a bloodied mouthguard, his fists battered, his bandaged knuckles smeared in red. We almost mirror each other, our blood dripping to the floor like some twisted art.
I wonder if I can add a few more strokes to it.
Listen, violence is the only way I can express myself, so the more of that the merrier.
Oh, and sex.
Violence and sex are the only way I can feel real.
Alive.
Something more than a mere incompetent tool in Dad’s life.
Since sex isn’t in the cards until tomorrow—no, the jerking-off sessions I indulge in after talking to Vaughn on the phone, picturing him whispering in my ear, don’t count—violence is the only coping mechanism in my arsenal.
“That all you got, motherfucker?” Nikolai swings, and I duck, then hit him in the side.
He jumps up in an instant, and I notice movement behind him and kind of stop, because I think I’ve lost my mind.
Or else Vaughn is standing beside Jeremy, wearing all black—pants, shirt, shoes—with a hand in his pocket, his brows drawn, his eyes darkened.
Glaring at me.
That looks too real to be a hallucination.
I’m not even taking drugs lately. Maybe I need to check with a doctor to see if I swallowed a Vaughn-shaped pill somehow and can conjure up a fucking real-life depiction of him.
A fist cracks against my face, slamming me to the ground with a thud as the crowd erupts in a collective “Ahhh.” My vision spins, my ear buzzing with the chaos around me.
I blink, and Cy comes into focus beside the ref, his mouth moving—calling my name, I think. Asking if I can hear him. The referee lifts Nikolai’s hand, and I spit out the mouthguard with a cough of blood, forcing myself upright.
The side of my face throbs where that brute landed the hit, swelling fast and already bruised to hell. But that’s the least of my worries, because I’m pretty sure I saw Vaughn’s eyes widen right before I went down, and even if it was a hallucination, I need to confirm it.
Nikolai, who’s been reeling the crowd, jumps through the ropes, and sure enough, Jeremy pats him on the back, but the illusion of Vaughn is staring at me, his brows still drawn, and I think his hand is balled into a fist in the pocket of his prim pants.
I jump out of the ring as Cy calls my name, but I ignore him, heading toward the three of them. No—toward the illusion, because I think I’ve missed him so much, I’ve started to imagine him.
My hand reaches toward him, and he pulls back as my fingertips brush his arm.
Wait. I can touch him?
“Hey!” Nikolai steps between us and shoves me away. “The fuck you think you’re doing? Couldn’t handle me, so you’re trying to fight Vaughn or something? I’ll fuck you up.”