Lucien could feel his jaw clench tighter with every word that dripped from Nikolai's mouth.
That smug, honey-laced tone wormed into his skull like a parasite, and that goddamn nickname—Luci.
The sound of it alone nearly made him see red. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles blanched, tendons straining as though he were throttling Nikolai's throat instead of the leather-wrapped wheel.
"Don't," he spat, each syllable bitten off like he was chewing glass. "My name is Lucien. We are not close enough for you to butcher it into whatever pet name you've cooked up, Mr. Nikolai."
The words were flung like knives, hard and unyielding, ground between his teeth with the promise of violence.
On the other end of the line, Nikolai's grin only deepened. The way Lucien pronounced his name—like a curse, heavy with venom—made him lick his lips slowly, savoring it. There was music in that hatred, a rhythm he wanted to hear again and again. He leaned back into the sofa cushions, amusement simmering low in his chest, letting silence stretch long enough to choke. Then, when he finally spoke, it was soft, silken.
"Whatever you say, Luci. But…" His eyes flicked around the room, sharp, assessing the bodies within earshot. "There are too many eyes and ears here for us to get heavy over the phone. And yet—" his voice dropped, a grin curling through it, "I've got something you'll want to hear. Something about your friends who've been ghosting your texts and calls." He let the words linger, rich with promise. "And you already know me, Lucien. I live for the drama."
Lucien sat with that for a moment, jaw working, tongue biting against the urge to unleash a fresh torrent of insults. He wanted to rip that saccharine nickname from his throat and shove it back down Nikolai's, wanted to drown that arrogance in bile. But beneath the fury was logic, relentless and cold. If this bastard truly had information about Mark and the others, then Lucien needed to hear it.
"Just decide where to meet," he ground out, voice tight with impatience, edged with resolve. "I'm driving anyway. I'll come to you. Right now."
Logic beat fury—for now. It was easier, faster, smarter to deal with this man directly than to wait for bureaucracy or cowardly silence. He forced in a rattled breath, dry-swallowed another pill, grinding it between his teeth. The bitter taste settled him only marginally. He turned the key, engine humming back to life, pulled onto the road, jaw locked like steel.
Meanwhile, given the location, Nikolai rose from the sofa with deliberate grace, shrugging off the silken robe that had come undone, leaving it crumpled beside the bodies of the male and female employees who'd been clinging to him. Their disappointed glances barely brushed against his back as he moved.
Phone nestled between ear and shoulder, he kept Lucien entertained, voice oozing mischief while he dressed.
"Hmm… giving me the honor of choosing the venue for our first date. How considerate of you."
The words were a spark tossed into gasoline. Lucien's patience wore thin, dangerously so. He barked a harsh laugh, incredulous, rolling his eyes to the roof of his car as though it might offer divine relief from this lunatic. "A date? You're sick. Stop being despicable and talk like a human being for once." His tone was razor sharp, final, but underneath, the words tasted too much like a reminder to himself. Not into him. Not interested. Not one damn bit.
And yet, logic gnawed at the back of his mind like rats in the dark. If Nikolai had answers about those worthless bastards, about the missing money, Lucien couldn't throw the chance away. Even if the blond devil was baiting him, Lucien would not—could not—be played for a fool.
In the half-shadow of his office, Nikolai tugged a navy hoodie over his head, paired with black joggers that fit snugly but allowed ease of movement. He strapped the familiar concealed weapon against his torso without hesitation—never wise to meet another predator unarmed. His fingers secured the blond wig, tugged the baseball cap into place, hiding sharp features in a casual, careless mask.
Smirk tugging his mouth, he glanced at his watch and spoke, every word calculated to bruise. "How about the park, then? Salem Park, to be precise." His voice softened into a near-purr. "I should roll up in ten, maybe fifteen. Gives me about five minutes to finish masturbating."
The line went dead.
Lucien slammed his palm against the steering wheel with a guttural groan, breath tearing out of him. "Disgusting piece of—" He cut himself off, teeth grinding so hard his jaw throbbed.
Fine. Salem Park it was.
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Lucien cursed himself for ever taking the blond bastard seriously. His jaw locked so tight it ached, teeth grinding until pain spidered down his skull. The pills hadn't settled yet; fever crawled like fire ants under his skin, bone-deep exhaustion weighing on him until it felt like the world itself was pressing down on his shoulders. Still, he was here. Gritted teeth and all. And if waiting meant he got to smash that smug face in, then fine. He could wait.
What was promised as fifteen minutes had bled into twenty-five. Then thirty. Now forty-five minutes later, movement finally stirred on the path.
A few scattered people dotted the park, none close enough to overhear or interfere. The newcomer's stride was slow, almost dragging—not deliberate, but distracted, as though some earlier confrontation had leeched the edge off his usual arrogance. His blond wig sat beneath the shadow of a baseball cap tugged low. A white medical mask covered the lower half of his face, cheap fabric hiding that mouth but not the sharp set of his eyes. Even his aloof air felt forced.
When Nikolai finally came into view, Lucien's face flushed—partly fever, partly a spike of annoyance that cut through the weariness like glass. He shoved himself upright too fast, head light, scent rolling thick in the air from sweat and the storm churning in his blood.
"Hey, princess," Nikolai called, voice smug despite his ragged state. "Apologies for the fashionably late entrance. Guess my fap session took longer than expecte—"
He stopped short.
A few yards away, he froze, nostrils flaring. His head tilted as if he were catching something invisible in the air, body locking with an animal stillness. The scent hit him like a fist. Thick. Electric. Unmistakable.
"…Is that coming… from you?"
Lucien's eyebrow twitched on the pet name. However, it was Nikolai's next words, that landed like a blow. Lucien's cheeks burned hotter—not from fever this time, but embarrassment. Quick and sharp, like being caught naked in daylight. But hell if he'd let Nikolai have the satisfaction.
Arms folded across his chest, his posture turned rigid, combative. "Yeah, so?" he snapped, forcing sneer into his voice even though it cracked at the edges. "What kind of pervert are you? A bloodhound sniffing strangers for fun?" His tone was too loud, too jagged, defensive in all the wrong ways. He lied without hesitation. "It's cologne, idiot. Don't flatter yourself." The words rang false even in his own ears. He hadn't worn a drop. He hated the thought that someone could smell him—could know.
Nikolai's breathing deepened, chest rising sharp with every drag of air. His pulse hammered so loud he swore it rattled his skull. "Are you sure," he rasped, laughter cracked and uneasy, "that you're not trying to seduce me with that smell of yours? The whole damn park is soaked in it. It's practically screaming come to me. I can't even think straight—" His words broke into an anxious laugh, though his voice frayed around the edges.
The palms of his hands slicked with sweat. Muscles locked tight, trembling as he forced himself to stay rooted in place. Instinct screamed at him to move—forward, toward, to close the gap and take. His fist curled hard at his side, nails biting until pain flared bright, a distraction to anchor him. If he lost control now, he'd drag the man off that bench and take him raw against the wood. The thought alone made his blood roar. He swallowed it back down with a growl.
The disguise—cap, mask, the half-slouched posture—already made him look like a stalker, shady as hell. Add the heavy breathing, the shaking fist, and he looked more like a junkie coming apart at the seams.
Lucien stared, scowl deepening. Of course. As if the bastard wasn't already infuriating, now he looked—and sounded—like a deranged lunatic. "You… are you completely nuts?" His voice cut sharp, disbelief wrapped in disgust. "Seduce you? Are you bored of living? It's just perfume, so stop acting like a goddamn sex maniac!" His breath tore out jagged, nerves strung taut and humming.
Nikolai broke the moment with a sharp, strategic flick of his wrist. A card hit the bench, landing just shy of Lucien's thigh.
"There's yours, bro." His opposite hand extended, palm open in demand. "Now throw mine over here." His stance shifted restlessly from one foot to the other, weight uneven, gaze darting everywhere but Lucien's face. The posture was rough, slumped, not his usual polished arrogance.
A yawn erupted from him as he waited for Lucien to return the card, only for him to wince and curse under his breath, as if the movement of his mouth caused him pain.