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“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’reidenticaltwins?
“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 meanmeditated—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’snormal.
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.
