Page 49 of Doubts of the Egoist (Egoist #3)

From the wall, Milana, Father, Mother, and many others, living and dead, stared at him, judging him for his unpaid debt.

Leaving the doorway and entering the room took effort and courage.

Yugo had never liked being reminded of his failures, but more than that, he hated leaving debts unpaid, especially to the dead.

It had taken him years to let go of the past and move on, and he didn’t appreciate the vivid display of his impotence.

The first impulse was to tear everything down and light a match.

But ruining such work also felt wrong. It must have taken Kuon so much effort to recreate the family tragedy years later—especially since he didn’t speak Italian.

Yugo stopped his hand from pulling at the corner of Milana’s photo card.

With his index finger, Yugo hooked a string connecting Milana’s picture to Tobias’ who had a yellow Post-it note with a big black question mark on it.

Mio’s picture was out of place, hanging somewhere between the two.

He paid no attention to it. Instead, he examined the yellow notes pinned to the corners of more than a dozen other portraits.

He scoffed, recognizing Rudolph among them.

Yugo yanked his hand away, as if the red thread burned him, then averted his gaze only to meet more and more dead eyes. The wound that had been festering in his soul for ages pulsed, threatening to burst and flood everything with pus.

Feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from under him and needing a gulp of air, he crept up to the window. He reached out for the handle when a faint handprint on the glass came into his sight. Gravity drew his palm to the print. It was a male hand, a fraction wider and shorter than his own.

Yugo spun on his heel and surveyed the room once more.

Fresh linens lay crumpled on the mattress, and black leather boxes with the remaining files stood next to it.

Yugo tilted his head to the side, spotting the long-forgotten black socks in the corner and a smartphone lying on the pillow.

This tiny fucking room bore more signs of Kuon’s presence than Yugo’s comfortable bedroom.

The realization hit him. “Did he sleep here?”

Greg nodded.

What is this, a statement? Exhaustion struck Yugo.

He pressed his back against the windowsill and dragged his nails down his cheeks, leaving burning trails.

His thoughts fumbled in a haze of consumed alcohol, failing to string together a coherent, logical explanation except…

Are you telling me that even this fucking room is better than my bedroom?

“Why did you let him do that?” Yugo swept his gaze around the room again, then sunk his fingers into his hair. He was definitely too sober for this shit.

“So he would understand. Didn’t you want that?” Even without looking at his subordinate, Yugo knew Greg had shrugged.

Yugo’s hands relocated to the pressure point on his neck, rubbed, and the vertebrae under his fingers snapped in place. Pain surged, followed by searing relief and fatigue. “It’s useless, and you know it. A wasted effort, an unwanted reminder. Take it down.”

“It’s not useless if it made him stay. You’re a big boy, you’ll survive. Besides…” Greg hesitated, then added, “Having an open-minded approach isn’t a bad thing. Look,” he tapped on the question mark above his own photo card and grinned, “I’m willing to see where it takes him.”

“Only it didn’t make him stay,” Yugo enunciated every word. For some reason, Kuon’s refusal to sleep in his bed offended him more than his leaving did. This… He glared at the mattress. This felt final. “Tell Rudolph to send a few boys over and take this down.”

Yugo turned to leave when Greg grumbled, “But it did.”

“Yeah? Then why the hell can’t I see him?” Yugo scoffed, amazed at Greg’s stubbornness. If he didn’t know the man better, he would think Greg did his best to get on his nerves.

“Maybe because you brought Mio?”

“Mio? How’s—” Yugo stopped short, crossed to the window and scrutinized the handprint again. “Turn off the light.”

Greg slapped the switch, and Yugo fell forward, hand against the window. He pressed his cheek and nose against the cool glass, squinting at his car, parked further to the left.

“Fuck my life… When did he leave?” Yugo asked.

“Fifteen minutes after your arrival.” The light flared, turning the window into a black mirror. In it, Greg glanced at his watch. “Just over two hours ago. Security said he took a car.”

“Why the hell didn’t you stop him?” Yugo growled, turning from the reflection in the window to the man. Blood rushed into his eyes, staining the white room red.

“For what? To prove he’s a prisoner here who can't trust what I say?”

“Fine, but why didn’t you send a car to follow him?”

“You can hear a car a mile away at night. What would he do if he suspected he was being followed? Freak out, hide in the woods, and get lost?”

“So you did nothing.”

“Well, not nothing. I gave him space to cool off and come back.”

“Fuck you, Greg. He can barely see, yet you let him drive?” Yugo snapped, shouldering him on his way out.

“His eyesight isn’t that bad. At this hour, the road is empty.”

His surroundings blurred as Yugo darted to the stairs and reached the door in three leaps. Short shouts reached him from behind, but they drowned in the loud thuds of his heart. He got in the car and started the engine when Greg blocked his way, leveling him with a look of silent astonishment.

Yugo lowered the window and growled, “Move!”

Greg didn’t budge. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Are you an idiot? I’ll fucking fire you.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Then you drive.” The asphalt creaked under his foot as Yugo stepped out of the car and jerked his chin toward the driver’s seat.

“Is that wise?” Greg sighed. “You reek of alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat, and he’s hurt.

No matter how reasonable your words are, he won’t listen to you.

If you go now, you’ll have another fight.

Go take a shower, shave, change your clothes, and when you look like a decent human being again, I’ll drive you.

It will also give you time to sober up.”

“Did I ask your opinion, or did I order you to fucking drive?” Yugo slammed the door.

“Give him space. He’ll cool off and come back. The tracker said he didn’t go far.”

“He won’t. It’s been two hours. Don’t you know how stubborn he is?”

“Yugo…”

“I won’t repeat myself. Scram or drive.” When Greg still didn’t move, Yugo slammed his palm down on the roof of the black car. “Greg!”

“Whatever,” Greg muttered under his breath and took the driver’s seat.

Yugo got out of the car before it had even come to a full stop.

He climbed down into the ditch and yanked open the front passenger door of the crashed car.

The cabin was dark, cold, and empty. A key protruded from the ignition, and a deflated white airbag hung from the steering wheel.

Yugo turned the key, switched on the lights, and inspected the steering wheel and windows, but found no traces of blood.

He got out and circled the car, searching the muddy ground with his cell phone light for footprints, leaving more as he did so.

“He’ll come around? Let him cool off? He’s fucking barefoot!” He ground out, shooting his subordinate a lethal glare. Then he hollered, “Kuon!”

He pressed a hand to the hood but found it cold.

“Where the fuck did he go?” he muttered under his breath, then followed Kuon’s footprints out of the ditch.

He was about to shout again, when Greg said, “This way, Boss.”

Greg’s flashlight scanned the road, illuminating a trail of muddy footprints on the dry dust.

“Bloody fool,” Yugo cursed, then slid into the driver’s seat. Greg silently took a place by his side. The door slammed shut a second before the car lurched into motion.

It was impossible to follow the dusty footprints while driving.

However, Yugo didn’t miss long, smudged tire tracks suggesting that a car had come to a sudden halt here, in the middle of nowhere.

A brief stop for inspection made him grind his teeth as he followed the turn of the car and Kuon’s footprints, which soon vanished.