Page 67 of Doubts of the Egoist (Egoist #3)
The echo of gunfire through the mansion made Kuon break out in a cold sweat.
He rushed to the door, pounded on it, then tried to break it down, but the wood held no matter how hard he kicked.
The wounds on his feet reopened, forcing him to stop.
Left at the mercy of his fevered imagination, Kuon feared Rick had taken the bullet.
Because of me… His helplessness poisoned his mind.
Even before the sun reached its zenith, he turned into a wired knot of nerves, uncertain of his situation and Rick’s welfare.
He had already forgotten how endless a day without freedom seemed.
For hours, he bounced off the walls, tormented by guilt and regret, until his energy finally left him, and he slumped into a leather chair.
When the door opened and Greg entered the room with a steaming tray of food, Kuon greeted him with a hostile glare and silence.
Greg’s brief explanation of the weapons test slightly calmed him, but the refusal to let him out of the room annoyed and made him feel trapped.
He waited, but Yugo didn’t return even as the sky turned pitch black.
While he took another cold shower, the broken glass was removed from the room, and the bed was remade without him seeing anyone come and go.
The silicone dildo had disappeared as well, but the memories remained.
They lingered, making him stew with indignation and shame.
He couldn’t believe that Yugo would let someone else enter the room, see his disgrace, and remove the evidence of it. Exhausted, he finally slipped into oblivion.
A groan escaped Yugo as he rolled onto his side, followed by a yelp as gravity took hold.
His hand shot out to save his face from smashing against the floor as the bed came to an abrupt end.
His eyes snapped open to find the dark wooden floor and the cigarette ash scattered around his fingers , ominously close to his nose.
His focus moved upward, following the legs of the coffee table, the edge of the tabletop, and the bar niche visible farther away.
“Ughhh,” he groaned, becoming aware of his sorry state.
White-hot needles pierced his brain, making it melt and boil, as a dull, throbbing pain hammered his tooth.
His dry tongue scraped against his palate as he worked his jaw in an attempt to moisten his mouth with some saliva, but his throat remained bone dry, only intensifying the foul taste.
“Why the hell am I…” here? The vivid shards of something fucked up zapped through his mind, causing him to shield his eyes with his other hand from the offensive light and painful memories.
Kuon, sleeping in another man’s bed, bloody hickeys on his pale skin… Loud barking of the puppies… A fight, blood, a clinic, and a long way home—all blurring into a sea of consumed alcohol.
Yugo cringed, hoping this was a nightmare, not a flashback. But for a dream, the thunder in his head was too loud, and the tiny sounds his nose produced with each exhalation didn’t support his theory.
“Fu—” The curse rose to his throat but died there with a gargling noise.
He coughed, groaned, rolled to the other side, but dropped his hand from his eyes as something fluffy tickled his nose.
Black and silver stripes filled his vision.
He cast the chinchilla fur throw aside before his eyes caught what it really was.
The world tilted as he sat up; not only because the events of the last night suddenly became real, but also because his balance was thrown off by a rush of nausea.
He had to grab the edge of the coffee table for support, and the glass on top of it shook, spilling water.
Yugo swallowed hard, grabbed the glass, and poured the contents down his parched throat.
His mouth flooded with saliva, but the blood ran quicker in his veins, and soon the storm in his stomach settled.
It’d been a while since he last had a hangover. Usually, he consumed just enough alcohol to rela x without getting drunk or losing control. But yesterday was a mess.
He rubbed his neck with his other hand and groaned again. After crashing on his office couch, his body felt broken in too many places. “Not a nightmare, after all…”
Yugo gave the glass a quizzical look, not remembering grabbing or filling it, then turned his gaze back to the fur throw.
Someone sure had balls big enough to roll them into his office without permission and find him sleeping on a couch, like a sex-denied husband who was kicked out of the bedroom for inappropriate behavior.
He winced at the thought and the scene of sexual violence that flashed through his mind. This time the curse left his throat unhindered. “Fuck…”
Yugo looked out the window at the blinding sun in a crystalline sky and realized that an entire night had gone by.
A fleeting thought to go and check up on Kuon got tangled in a web of doubt.
Even yesterday, with his mind polluted by alcohol, Yugo hadn’t had the courage to face Kuon.
He’d sneaked into his own bedroom to clean up the broken glass, the fucking dog dildo and to change the sheets.
He’d only done so when Kuon was in the bathroom.
No longer angry or drunk, he still couldn’t claim to be calm and rational.
It’d be wise to stay away for a few more days. Yugo didn’t want to lose control when he saw the hickeys again. Hell, he should have locked Kuon up yesterday, too. Things would have been so much easier if he had.
He won’t forgive me… The thought pierced his skull with a jolt of the toothache.
Finding overthinking useless, he stood up and staggered toward the desk.
The cool leather chilled his back when he fell into the wide chair and habitually lit a smoke.
His fingers flew over the smartphone and mindlessly punched in Greg’s name.
“Boss, you awake?”
“What do you think?” Yugo growled, feeling dangerously grumpy. This wasn’t how he’d imagined his life with Kuon to begin—sleeping on the couch, covered in bruises. He poked his throbbing tooth with his tongue, winced at the jolting pain. “Bring me coffee… and a painkiller.”
“Right away, Boss.”
His cigarette was still smoldering when the office door swung open, and Greg barged in, carrying a tray with a tall glass on it.
Dressed in a crisp white shirt and a pressed suit, he was an eyesore to the disheveled Yugo.
Greg stopped at the desk, an amused expression tugging at the corners of his wide mouth.
“What?” Yugo gave him what should have been his deadliest look, but Greg just shrugged.
“Nothing.”
Yugo huffed out a puff of steam, but the tiny sound his nose produced must have ruined the angry image as the corner of Greg’s mouth twitched again. “Why do you look so damn happy? You piss me off.”
“No reason.” Greg didn’t bother to hide his grin anymore.
“Then wipe that look off your face, or I will. Where’s my coffee?”
CLANG. A tall glass landed on the desk next to his hand. The yellow liquid swirling inside was cloudy and had something swimming in it. It resembled a poison rather than the invigorating drink Yugo craved.
“Did you bring me your piss?” Yugo recoiled from the desk, the leather creaking under his weight.
“Nope!” Greg’s grin widened, giving him a strange resemblance to the Cheshire Cat. “Something better.”
“Better? What’s that supposed to mean?” Yugo’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “If you don’t tell me what the hell this is, I’ll pour it down your throat.”
The paper-tiger threat made Greg grunt. When he spoke again, he sounded as if the drink made his mouth water, and he would gladly drink it in Yugo’s place. “Pickle juice. It’s great for a hangover; better than any painkiller.”
Sparks flew out from under his fingers when Yugo crushed the cigarette in the ashtray and leaned forward, fingers steepled over the desk.
For a long moment, he stared silently, hoping Greg would take a hint.
When the grin widened, but the bulky man didn’t budge, Yugo asked, “Are you feeling suicidal a month before your wedding? Is it pre-marital depression that is driving you to recklessness? If not, think again. I slept all night on a damn couch. I’m this close…
” he brought his index finger to a thumb, leaving a hair’s breadth of space between them, “…to killing someone, and the only thing that could stop me from doing so is a nice cup of coffee.”
“Yeah, married life is complicated but also rewarding, or so I heard.” Greg bit his lower lip and turned his face away.
“What’s so fucking funny?” Yugo scowled.
Greg shrugged and gave him a quick, wary look. “Nothing. It’s just… been a while since you cared for someone who isn’t Mio enough to sleep on a couch.”
“I was drunk and passed out…” For some reason, indignation rose in Yugo’s chest.
“Whatever you say, Boss.”
The way his subordinate said “Boss” rubbed Yugo the wrong way.
He blinked, mentally returning to his teenage years when Greg had only been assigned to him as a bodyguard.
The older man had always called him that, but the nickname had been used in a playful, teasing way, without any recognition attached.
It had stuck for years, but over time, the tone in Greg’s voice had changed to respectful, and Yugo stopped minding it. Now it pissed him off.
“Besides, it’s… refreshing to see Kuon’s fairly fine, and you’re the one sporting bruises.”
Yugo’s mood darkened, and he forced the bitter confession through his teeth to wipe the grin off Greg’s face. “I wish I’d hit him, but I did something worse.”
“What?” Greg’s black eyes obscured, and his face lost its cheerful expression. “Abrasions? They’ll heal.”
“No. Something he won’t forgive. Not in this lifetime.”
“Yugo…” The four letters of his name contained so much disapproval that Yugo’s entire soul turned inside out.
“Shut up,” Yugo growled. “I know everything you have to say, but it can’t be undone. Go and bring me some coffee.”