“Of course you do.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I don’t need a reason to want you, lotus flower. I just do. And if you put a pause on the useless thoughts cramming that head of yours, you’ll also admit that you just want me, too. Simple. Normal.”
“You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re such a gentleman and you love running at the same time every day. I also know you’re different from your psycho twin brother and have a good relationship with everyone. Except for Clara, because she’s finally out of the fucking picture, but here’s the most important part.” He smirks. “I also know you love kissing me.”
“I do not.”
“Wanna prove it?”
“Don’t…” I slam a hand to his mouth and he kisses my palm, then licks my fingers, thrusting his tongue between them.
I jerk my arm away. “Why the hell would you lick me? Are you a dog?”
“Woof.” He grins and I can’t even muster the emotions to be mad at him.
Bloody wanker is mental.
“Is there a way I can get rid of you?” I ask, my shoulders hunching.
“If I die, maybe. Scratch that, I’ll haunt the fuck out of you until you join me, my Prince Charming. Then we can have a fuck fest in ghost land.”
“You need help.”
“Then help me, baby.”
I release a groan of frustration, but I can hear my walls cracking and a door opens despite my attempts to slam it shut.
All this time, I’ve refused the very notion that I’m attracted to him. But last night proved me terribly wrong.
I could blame the alcohol or him, but that only worked the first time. Barely.
Pushing him away is futile since he’s a fucking elastic band that keeps snapping back twice as hard.
If I want to remain in control, I need to absorb him into my system. Take things into my own hands. Get bored. Toss him aside.
The end.
A grunt leaves me and he watches me closely as if he’s attempting to read my mind.
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“If this happens, and it’s only an if.” I meet his gaze. “No one knows.”
“Not even Jeremy?”
“No.”
“Not even your sister? She’s all cozy with Kill and we get along.”
“No one.”
His lips push in a pout. “Okay.”
“We’ll only meet in a place no one else knows about.”
“My penthouse. I bought it recently and still haven’t told anyone else about it.”
“Except for Clara.”
“You still jealous about that?”
“I’m not jealous.”
“Whatever floats your boat, my lotus flower.”
“Nikolai.”
“Yes, baby?”
“Don’t call me any of those nicknames in front of anyone else. Don’t act like you know me in public.”
“But why? I want to hang out with you.”
“I don’t. We’re not friends and this is only physical.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“What?”
“What?” he repeats, pretending to be oblivious. “I want to see you all day.”
“Don’t you have school?”
“Not important.”
“Your silly club shenanigans?”
“Not a priority.”
“Have you forgotten that my brother’s club is at odds with yours?”
“What do you have to do with your asshole brother?”
“He’s my twin.”
“Still can’t see why you have to be lumped with him.”
I stare at him for a beat. Nikolai doesn’t hide his disregard for Lan, but he’s also not subtle about his obsession with me. Does he not see that we’re identical twins?
“We’re strangers in public, Nikolai. I mean it.”
“Fiiiine. Any other dictatorial conditions?”
“That’s it for now. I’ll let you know if I come up with anything else.”
“Since we’re done with that stupidity. It’s time for my condition.” He wraps his fingers around my neck. “Don’t run away from me again. If you do, I’ll flip the world upside down to find you. You’re mine now, baby.”
15
NIKOLAI
Today is the perfect recipe for violence.
It started with Jer and me riding our bikes into the wind and beating up a few Serpents, doing some old-fashioned house cleaning on the island and teaching them a few valuable lessons. Naturally, that included drawing blood and breaking bones.
While I felt a rush at the time, and Jeremy had to stop me from beating a fuckwit to death, the intoxication disappeared as soon as we got back to the mansion.
I slept in the pool—sorry, I mean meditated—but that didn’t stop me from spiraling down that chaos-driven hole.
There are these times when I’m in the mood to destroy everything—myself included. A high without the drugs. Insanity without the straight jacket.
And it is some form of a mental illness—at least, according to the hotshot psychiatrists my parents took me to the first time I beat a kid to near death for calling Mia a mute. At the age of ten.
Apparently, it’s normal to feel offended on my sister’s behalf and want to rip the other kid a new one. Everyone feels anger. It’s okay, it’s normal.
What’s abnormal, however, is me insisting that the kid should die, have his tongue cut out and shoved down his throat.
Yeah, that one didn’t go over well with any of the people dressed in white in that spotless room. Even my mom, who’s a goddamn leader in the Russian mafia, was concerned about my violent tendencies that manifested early.
More concerned than the time I used my wiener as a gun.
I seem to do that a lot to my dear mama. I worry her to no end and probably keep her up at night thinking about my shenanigans. She’s supportive, though, and often softens her voice when she tells me to be careful when I’m in this mood.
The destructive mood. The red haze mood.
The mood in which the world is full of featureless people with black plastic bags strapped around their heads, waiting to be punched to death.
A mood where everyone and everything grates on my last fucking nerve and I’m better off staying away from the people I love, namely my sisters, my cousins, and Jeremy.
But Kill insisted on fighting me tonight. He’s the only one without enough brain cells to avoid me when I’m like this, but then again, he always says I’m much more fun when I’m exhaling chaotic violence into the world.
It’s the only time he can relate since he’s a bit of a psycho himself.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I love this mode, especially this morning when Jeremy gave me the chance to embark on that thrill of hunting down slimy cunts and teaching them a lesson. Jeremy knows what I need, which is why he’s like the best bro ever.
The only friend who can tolerate my crazy and gives me methods to counter the way my chaotic brain presses on my sanity.
I’m not a docile kitten outside this state of hyper mania—I’ll always want to beat up things for sport. However, at least then I can tell my thoughts apart. I can see the world in colors other than red.
I can see people’s features.
Having had manic episodes since puberty, I’m used to it. I’m so used to it that I have it completely under control.
Today is different.