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)
As we start to move, I go to the cameras I had Jeremy’s men in Brighton Island install at the mansion Yulian shares with his goons. Just like my friends have formed the Heathens’ club, Yulian and his entourage have the Serpents’ club, and they’re rivals in the heart of The King’s U.
Jeremy said his people could only access the outside, near the gate of the mansion, but that’s enough.
For now.
I watch for the other things I asked Jeremy to arrange after I told him the story this afternoon.
He, like any logical person, expected me to be more devastated, but I was busy detailing my plans and exactly what he needed to do.
It’s around midnight on the island right now. One camera shows a motorcycle flying through the gate, then stopping suddenly, throwing the driver onto the concrete, sending the bike to the opposite side of him.
A smile curls my lips as I watch him sit up with a groan while the guards rush up to him.
Yulian removes the helmet that saved his skull from cracking into pieces and shakes his head like a dog, grinning. “I’m totally fine! Good call about the leather jacket, Cy. I would’ve lost my fucking arm, goddamn!”
My smile falls as he laughs while Cyrus gets out of a sports car and approaches him, eyeing the bike suspiciously.
He should.
Not sure if Yulian tells that prick everything or if he had the time to inform him, but he probably did. I was able to confirm that Yulian flew back to Chicago on his private jet as soon as he was finished with Danika, so that gave him ample time to inform Cyrus.
Not that it matters.
“What’s up, Zveroushka?” Yulian walks toward the bike. “Mad at me or something?”
Zveroushka. A diminutive form of Zver (Зверь).
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.
He has to 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.
And that’s a good idea for a shitload of reasons.
“Are we seriously holding a funeral for your bike?” Cyrus stares between me and the rest of the Serpents’ club that has gathered here today to commemorate a legend.
They say nothing because, unlike Cy, they’re not safe from my temper—if they piss me off, they’ll be gone in a heartbeat.
Listen, I don’t remember the names of half the idiots who decided to join the club. Cy and the guards confirmed they’re clean, and since they’re the kids of other members in the Bratva, they’re kind of obligated to respect me on the outside, even if they disregard me on the inside.
Tough shit. They’re stuck with me.
The main reason our parents agreed to send us to The King’s U, a university funded by mafia money on the depressing coast of the United Kingdom, is that they have full control over the board, the grounds, and the mansion we live in.
Another reason is that the other club at the college, the Heathens, is run by the New York mafia kids—sans the actual heir, if I may mention; seriously, what’s the point?—and we just love getting into each other’s business.
Call it the Russian sense of camaraderie.