He called his bike Zver. Beast in Russian.
Who the hell gives diminutive forms to their motorcycles? Yulian apparently.
I watch as he keeps walking, his fingers tightening around the phone.
Just a few more steps.
Just a bit more…
“Yulian, stay away?—”
Cy’s words are cut off when the bike explodes right in front of Yulian’s eyes. Cyrus shoves him out of the way at the last second as the flames mount to the sky.
There’s an army of soldiers running around, shouting orders as extreme chaos ensues, but Yulian isn’t rattled.
He’s laughing—manically.
He’s lost his mind. Good.
From the research I did, that bike is the most precious possession Yulian has. He also has a name for it, so it’s only fair he sees it blow up in front of his face. That’s why I asked Jeremy to have one of his men mess with the bike and plant an explosive that would go off around this time—when Yulian usually returns to the mansion.
I timed it perfectly.
If he hadn’t followed his routine, he would’ve been blown up while on top of it.
Which wouldn’t have been a bad idea now that I’m thinking about it.
I pull out his number and send him a screenshot of the fire as he sits there watching it burn.
Me
Just for the record, I could’ve killed you but chose not to.
I go back to the camera just in time for him to check his phone. Yulian jumps up and looks around, then grins at his screen.
I don’t like that expression.
He’s supposed to be in pain.
Or at least upset.
Hehasto pay for messing with me.
My fingers clench around the phone when he texts back.
Yulian
Are you flirting with me? The answer is yes,by the way.
10
YULIAN
Well, this is inconvenient.
And anticlimactic as hell.
Someone needs to do something because I’m seriously contemplating grand-scale things. You know, like bombs and assassination attempts, fifties mafia style.
