Page 46 of Deviant Need

“I know what you’re thinking. But Danya, please. I need this. You need this. We need to talk about what’s been happening between us. I’m not doing this distance bullshit anymore. I’m done with it. It’s either this or I kidnap you, throw you in the trunk of the car, and drive there myself.”

“You don’t have a license,” I point out.

“I’ll drive anyway. What are they going to do, arrest me?”

My lip twitches.

“Just to clear the air,” he continues. “That’s all. And you can go home whenever you want to. I’m not going to trap you there, I promise. But please. I can’t keep doing this thing where you won’t look at me, and I don’t know what I did wrong.”

He didn’t do anything wrong… That’s the problem.

“Fine,” I say and throw my hands up in defeat because what else can I do?

He sags in relief like I just gave him oxygen, and before I can process what’s happening, he closes the distance and wraps his arms around me. His nose burrows into my hair, breathing me in like he’s been starving for it. My hands hover uselessly at my sides before settling awkwardly on his back.

“Just for a few days,” he murmurs against my hair. “Maybe five at most. This will be good, I promise you.”

“We can go home tonight and grab our stuff,” I mumble.

He hums in agreement and hugs me tighter, and I close my eyes and try not to think about how this is the worst idea either of us has ever had.

The cabin comes into view through the windshield, swallowed by darkness except for the security lights that flicker on as we pull up the drive. It’s modern with black wood panels, two bedrooms and two bathrooms, an open living room that flows into the kitchen, and a pool out back. We bought it brand new two years ago.

Mikhail’s curled against the passenger window, snoring quietly.

My McLaren W1 has almost zero storage space, so we barely managed to cram two small duffel bags behind the headrests. But I made sure that food gets delivered tomorrow morning so we won’t starve, since neither of us thought to pack anything useful anyway.

I poke him, and he jerks awake, blinking at me in confusion before his gaze slides to the cabin through the window.

“I’ll get the bags.” He twists around in his seat and shoves the headrests down to grab the duffels.

Climbing out of the car, I head for the keypad mounted beside the door, punching in our code. The lock clicks open, and I push inside, flipping lights on as I go. Mikhail brushes past me with both bags slung over one shoulder and heads straight for the main bedroom.

He stops at the doorway and tosses the duffels onto the floor inside, then yawns. “I’m staying with you.”

“Mikhail.”

“Stop arguing with me, you’re making me lose my fucking mind. I can’t do this anymore, Danya. Just let me sleep in the same bed as you before this torture actually kills me.” He stomps into the room dramatically.

He still wants to share a bed with me after everything that happened?

Sighing, I follow after him and kick off my shoes and strip down to my boxers and t-shirt, tossing my jeans onto the floor. He does the same and peels his shirt over his head, revealing bruises blooming across his ribs in violent purples and yellows.

I saw the video Yulian sent me and watched the entire fight. Mikhail lost his mind in that cage, jumped the barrier, and went after someone in the crowd. Wonder what they said to him to set him off like that.

I climb onto the bed, and he throws himself onto it so hard the mattress jolts, sending me bouncing up before I settle back down with a laugh. He pats the spot next to him with that stupid grin on his face. “I’m so tired,” he mumbles, grabbing me and tugging me against him.

“Me too.”

“That kiss was probably what you said, right? Comfort? We’ve been stressed out of our minds, and it just happened,” he says, licking his lips.

“We’re brothers.”

“I know.” He pauses. “It’s a bit messed up, I mean, but I’m okay with it. It’s just you.”

Just you. The words land like a punch to the sternum, and I shove the feeling down fast before it shows on my face.

“We’re weird,” I mutter.