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)
“Tell you what,” he muses when I say nothing, pinching his bloody lower lip between his fingers before releasing it. “I’ll jump off this railing.”
“What?”
“Hear me out. If I make it out alive, you’ll have to give me a chance. If I die, then, well, I’ll no longer annoy you. What do you think?”
“Jump. Drop dead, for all I care.” I scoff and turn to my car. “Just stop messing around, and you better not get involved with Niko, or I’ll shoot you in the face.”
“You know…” His voice drifts as movement stirs behind me. “You’ve always underestimated me, Mishka.”
I spin and lunge forward, my arms outstretched. He flashes me a calm grin as he lets himself fall back.
“Yulian, no!” My fingers claw at empty air.
The motherfucker just threw himself off the cliff.
Water splashes violently against the rocks below, the sound reverberating in the night. I stare into the black current, gripping the metal railing so tightly, my knuckles ache.
Fuck.
Fucking hell.
I only said he should jump and drop dead to taunt him. I never meant for him to do it for real.
Fuck.
It happens in a flash—for the first time in my life, I move before my thoughts can catch up.
Before I realize what I’m doing, I dive in after the man who’s tearing my life apart.
Plunging with him into the depths of the ocean.
18
YULIAN
Iopen my eyes to a void of white.
For a second, I think I’m back at the hospital where I saw my mother in her final days.
My heartbeat skyrockets, and I expect the machines to start beeping and freaking the hell out.
Silence.
Long, stretching silence.
Memories of the crashing waves trickle back in, and I grunt. Okay, so that wasn’t one of my brightest ideas per se, and I’m pretty sure I underestimated how strong those damned waves could get. I was swimming to the surface in full-blown survival mode, only to get knocked back down again.
And then what…?
Holy shit. I sit up in bed—is this my bed in hell? I expected something less comfy.
Seriously, though, someone tell me that wasn’t the end, and I didn’t in fact die in the freaking ocean.
No, come on, that’s so lame. I want to go out in battle like a badass warrior.
Wait. Hold on.
I remember large hands gripping my waist and slapping my face and…
Very typical of my brain to black out at the good part. Need to ask Cy for supplement recommendations because this shit’s serious.
I pinch myself and it hurts, so that means I’m totally alive—you can’t have me yet, Satan. Go sit in the corner.
Then it hits me—the reason I’m alive is because of Vaughn.
I think.
At least, I hope.
I mean, no one else was there—again, I hope—so he must’ve been the one who saved me. I don’t remember swimming to the shore.
Running a hand through my damp hair, I take a look at myself and grin so wide, because guess what?
I’m naked beneath the duvet.
Yup. Completely in the nude.
Please tell me Vaughn removed my clothes. I’d pay my entire fortune to see him do that, and Cy’s too—he’d do that for me. What are bros for, am I right?
My focus sharpens on the room around me. It’s cozy, dark wallpaper patterned with leaves wrapping the walls. A lamp in the corner spills soft orange light across the wooden floor. The decor is simple, elegant, and structured—the kind of place I can easily imagine Vaughn living in. Nothing like my badass room with lots of shit everywhere. Though I believe this is an upscale hotel, not really a house.
The sliding door creaks open inch by inch, and I hold my breath as Vaughn’s head slips through the gap. He freezes the moment his gaze collides with mine.
Fuck.
Fuck me all the way to hell.
I had hoped he’d be here, but I never dared to have too much hope. But there he is.
Right here.
I grin.
He scowls.
God, I love the guy’s grumpiness more than I should. I’m a certified masochist when it comes to him, it seems. Thank you very much.
He steps in, clad in black shorts and a gray T-shirt that hugs his bulging muscles, his biceps flexing when he leans against the wall next to the door and crosses his arms.
Vaughn looks devastating even in loungewear and with damp hair framing his forehead. It’s the way he carries himself—always composed elegance wrapped in control, his expression cool, locked behind the mask he wears so well.
“Where is this place?” I ask, my voice raspier than usual. “Somewhere on the island? How did you get me here?”
“Since you’re awake,” he says in his usual bored, calm tone, ignoring all of my questions. “Off you go.”
I point at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s two in the morning. You can’t possibly expect me to leave.”
“I absolutely do. Taxis run twenty-four hours a day.”
“You’re so heartless. I almost died and all you do is kick me out?”