“Not sure I buy that.”
“This motherfucker.” He punches me, and I hold him, then kick him in the chin, sending him to the ground.
“It’s not that I don’t believe you, but…” I look down on him, adopting a sympathetic tone—yes, I learned provocation tactics from Cy. “We all know no one listens to you in that place, Niko. Jeremy is the leader, Killian and Gareth are the brains, and you’re just…oh, what’s it called? The muscle. Easily replaceable and discardable. I feelsosorry for you.”
He jumps up and hits me across the cheek. My face flies to the side, blood spilling onto the canvas. “Feel sorry for yourself, motherfucker.”
I laugh. “Listen, if you manage to raid my mansion withallthe members on your side, including Vaughn, I’ll take what I said back.”
“You think I can’t?” He lunges at me again, but I stop him, the weight of my body balancing his.
“As I said, I have doubts.”
“I’ll show you, you little fuck.”
“Please do.” I smile—more like laugh, really. Maybe I need to turn my threats to Vaughn about pursuing Nikolai into reality after all.
Hmm—
I lift my head and pause, my eyes widening.
Not sure why I even looked up in the first place. Call it instinct or a sixth sense, but something told me I had to.
And I’m glad I did.
I’m instantly drawn to a figure across from me in the stands, clad entirely in black, his face lost beneath the brim of a low baseball cap.
Wait. Is that Vaughn?—
My ears ring, and I crash to the ground at Nikolai’s brutish punch. A metallic taste explodes in my mouth, and I cough up blood through my guards as I jump up despite the pain.
When I search again, Vaughn—no, the man I thought was Vaughn isn’t there. The place where he was standing is now empty, and everyone is shouting and banging and talking and talking and fuckingtalking…
No, no, no, fuck no.
I jump out of the ring, not caring about Nikolai and everyone calling out and telling me to get back in there.
There’s a high chance my wild imagination is conjuring him up again, as I do sometimes.
Okay,allthe time.
But anyway, if it is Vaughn, I can’t let him indulge in his favorite hobby—running away.
I shove through the crowd, shouting at the guards to clear a path for me, because the last thing I need is people getting in my way.
When I finally arrive outside, a sports car revs out of the parking lot.
But not before I catch a glimpse of him through the driver’s window.
I see the man who’s plaguing my dreams and nightmares, and a wide, almost manic grin curves my lips.
You know, Cy is wrong.
Yes, Vaughn and I are different breeds, and yes, he’d probably win in a chess game—what are the rules for that anyway?—but it’s not always the brainy people who get the upper hand.
The thing is, I’m not the one who keeps crossing the sea for six hours or more and showing up on a different continent—it’s the other way around.
Some might argue that I’m a fucking pest with my texts, but I don’t go to harass him in person.
