dashinhfuzzydeer

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

BAD IDEA

The salty air of Brighton Island usually soothed Landon, but today it felt like an accusatory breeze, whipping around him as if mocking his poor life choices. A stark contrast to the warm, lingering memories of the past night. Staying away on the eve of his parents’ arrival to Brighton Island was a masterclass in poor decisions.

It had started with the relatively innocent lie: telling his family he was going away with a friend for the night. He’d told everyone he was with a friend, a flimsy lie now rendered tragically comedic. He hadn't just been with a friend. He’d been with Jeremy, his boyfriend, in Jeremy’s secluded seaside cottage.

A lie that had quickly spiraled into a chaotic mess of bad decisions, each one more spectacularly catastrophic than the last.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

A clandestine night with Jeremy, away from the watchful eyes of his family, in the secluded cottage by the bay.

But even as the car sped across the causeway, a tiny seed of dread had begun to sprout in Landon's gut.

And the night hadn’t been a quiet catch-up. It had been a maelstrom of tangled limbs, whispered promises, and the burning press of skin against skin.

That dread had blossomed into full-blown panic when Jeremy, that infuriating, magnetic force of nature, had turned his possessive gaze on Landon.

"Go easy, okay?"

Landon had whispered, more a plea than a request. It was like asking a wildfire for a soft glow.

Jeremy, the mafia prince with a penchant for control, had answered by tracing Landon’s jaw with his teeth, his eyes burning with an intensity that made Landon’s knees weak.

He'd been marked then, every inch of his skin claimed by bruising kisses and hungry bites.

He'd naively asked Jeremy to 'go easy' a phrase that had clearly been an invitation for the notorious mafia prince to unleash his unrestrained desire.

Every inch of Landon felt branded with Jeremy’s possessive fervor – a landscape of purpling bites and fading bruises.

Landon had tried to reciprocate, of course, digging his nails into Jeremy's back, leaving his own map of passion on the tanned skin.

It had felt like a kind of defiance, a statement that he could be as wild as Jeremy, but the feeling had quickly been overtaken by the sheer, all-consuming pleasure.

The result of their heated night was that Landon’s legs now felt like lead, and he was sporting a collection of love bites that would make even the most seasoned voyeur blush.

His legs, in particular, were a testament to their late-night exertions, rendering each step a wince-inducing affair.

And Jeremy, the smug bastard, seemed utterly pleased with his handiwork. The infuriatingly smug bastard, had the audacity to look proud about it. He’d returned the favor, of course, leaving his own trail of furious scratches and love bites down Jeremy’s back, but that seemed to only fuel the fire.

To add insult to injury, there had been the ridiculous spectacle of being carried into Landon's family's mansion like some kind of prize.

The truly egregious error, however, had been letting Jeremy persuade him to come to his family's mansion. He should have insisted on returning to his own place and nursing his broken body in silence.

Instead, he'd been swept off his feet, quite literally, his legs giving out only to be carried princess-style by the very man who had incapacitated them.

To top it all off, Jeremy had insisted he wear one of his own shirts – a loose, dark garment that did little to hide the hickeys blooming on his neck. The swollen, tender lips, a result of their hungry kisses, were an equally damning detail. No mask, no attempt to hide the evidence of their passionate night.

His legs had simply given up, betraying his attempt at a dignified entrance. Jeremy, the smug, overbearing Overlord, had swooped him up into his arms, his eyes glittering with amusement.

He was wearing Jeremy's clothes, the loose collar of the shirt offering a clear view of the landscape of marks covering his neck.

He hadn't even bothered to try and hide the swollen lips, a testament to the intensity of their last kiss, or to wear a mask to hide the bruises.

Now, standing in the middle of the grand hall of the Kings mansion, surrounded by an audience of his family and friends, Landon wanted nothing more than to vanish. In middle of a breathtaking space of polished marble and towering ceilings, feeling like a couple of teenagers caught sneaking out after curfew.

His parents, Levi and Astrid, were there, their expressions a mixture of shock and growing fury. His siblings, Brandon and Glyndon, stood beside them, their faces etched with disbelief and suppressed laughter.

To make matters worse, their respective lovers, Nikolai and Killian, were also present, their eyes sparkling with barely concealed amusement at his predicament.

Their secret relationship of eight months, their carefully cultivated reputations as ruthless leaders in their respective circles, their titles of Overlord and Devilord, their long-standing ‘rivalry’ in the public eye – all of it was about to be incinerated.

And then there was Jeremy. Standing beside him, the picture of serene confidence, oblivious to the impending storm.

"What in the hell is going on here?"

Levi’s voice boomed through the hall, shattering the fragile silence. His eyes, dark and dangerous, were fixed on the marks peeking out from Landon's collar.

Landon could almost see the gears turning in Levi's head as his father's gaze jumped from the livid marks on Landon's neck, to the guilty smirk on Jeremy's face, and then back to Landon’s weary expression. Levi's face darkened, and he roared at Jeremy, his voice echoing,

"Put. My. Baby. Down!"

Jeremy, the absolute infuriating idiot, looked at Landon, an unspoken question behind his eyes. Should he? Before Landon could even nod, or shake his head, or utter any sound at all, Levi’s voice boomed again,

"What in the hell were you two thinking?!"

Jeremy looked at Landon, a question in the depths of his eyes. Landon barely had time to consider the implications before Jeremy, with an exaggerated sigh, set him down.

Even that small movement was a mistake. A sharp hiss escaped Landon's lips as his feet hit the polished floor, the pain in his ravaged thighs a physical testament to the night's activities.

The sound was enough. The pieces clicked into place for the onlookers, and the hall erupted into a chaos of emotions.

It was a verbal declaration of their intimacy, a painful admission of his current state. He wanted to burrow into the floor.

Landon desperately tried to ignore Nikolai’s and Killian’s smirking faces. He knew their thoughts, the bastards. Jeremy had finally topped him; they were basking in the pure chaos of it all.

Meanwhile, Brandon, his fierce younger brother, had moved to corner Jeremy, practically growling,

"What did you do to him?"

Levi, face a mask of barely contained fury, was right beside him, his gaze sharp enough to cut.

Brandon and Levi now cornered Jeremy, demanding an explanation, their hands itching for a fight. Astrid, ever the diplomat, put a hand on Landon’s arm, her gaze searching, a thousand questions unspoken.

Glyndon, usually the quieter of the two, was observing everything with a fascinated expression.

"How could you keep this a secret?"

Astrid murmured, her voice a mix of hurt and curiosity. Being the ever the composed one, was on Landon’s other side, Glyndon right beside her. Both were wide-eyed, but their expressions were more curious than angry.

"Landon, how could you hide this from us? Tell me everything!"

Astrid demanded, her tone a mixture of fascination and mild exasperation. Glyndon, ever the follower, echoed,

"Yes! Details!"

Landon wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He tried to ignore Nikolai and Killian’s smug looks, knowing they were reveling in Jeremy's triumph.

The fact that his secret was out felt like a cataclysmic event, obliterating everything he'd tried to keep separate. His private passion had been flung into the harsh light of his public life, and he felt utterly, terrifyingly exposed.

This was a colossal mess. Landon swallowed. His own parents and siblings were interrogating him about his love life, while his boyfriend's friends were reveling in the car crash of a reveal.

"What did you do to him?"

Brandon’s voice was tight with rage, and Levi had now grabbed his boyfriend's collar, aiming his glare directly at Jeremy, a silent promise of very real violence in his eyes. And Jeremy, the damn fool, just stood there, refusing to back down, a stubborn glint in his eyes.

"Don’t touch my big brother"

Brandon growled, stepping in front of Jeremy. Levi's voice was laced with venom as he too spat out,

"You don't deserve him, You damn lizard"

Jeremy, the idiot, just stood there, a half-smile playing at his lips. And in a move that could only be described as either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, straightened his shoulders and declared, in a voice that resonated through the hall,

"I already did"

He declared, his voice laced with that infuriating smugness and confidence, looking at Landon from the corner of his eyes who was basked in the lingering presence of Jeremy pressed against his soul.

"And you’re all smart enough to look at our precious Landon and know that".

Landon slammed his head into his hand, his face flushing crimson with a heat that had nothing to do with passion, but mortification.

His ears were ringing, his cheeks were burning. This infuriating man was declaring their tryst to the world like it was some badge of honor.

He wanted to die. The ground offered no refuge.

He came between his father and his boyfriend, trying to diffuse the situation. Stepping in between his enraged father and his equally stubborn boyfriend, Landon threw his hands out, trying to physically separate them,

"Dad, relax. Bran, stop it. He's not going to kill me, it was…..."

His voice trailed off. He couldn’t even finish the sentence, the words stuck in his throat.

Nikolai and Killian were cheering Jeremy on, their laughter adding to the cacophony. Astrid and Glyndon were trying to play peacemaker, their voices calm amidst of madness.

This was a disaster, a spectacular, embarrassing, and completely avoidable disaster. The lies, the secret rendezvous, the rampant passion, it had all led to this.

He had tried so hard to keep his life separate, one side the calculated, ruthless Devilord, the other the man who melted into a puddle of desire at the touch of his Overlord . Now, both sides had collided head-on, and the fallout was devastating.

Landon looked at Jeremy, who was now arguing with his father about his rights as an adult, and just wanted to scream.

Yes, he loved him, with an intensity that both terrified and thrilled him. But sometimes, just sometimes, he felt like strangling the man.

This was a bad idea. A really, very bad idea. And it was all his fault. The thought of the chaos yet to come, the fallout, the family interventions, turned his blood to ice.

He closed his eyes, the chaos swirling around him. Brighton Island was no longer a haven of salty air and tranquility, but a battlefield of his own making.

To his left, Nikolai and Killian were clapping, cheering for Jeremy’s brazen confession. Astrid and Glyndon were simultaneously trying to de-escalate the situation and glean more information from Landon. Chaos reigned. It was a scene ripped straight from a bad sitcom.

This really, REALLY, was a bad idea. It was, perhaps, the worst idea he'd ever had. And yet, a small, traitorous part of him, the part overwhelmed with lingering traces of Jeremy's touch and the echo of his husky voice, found a strange, masochistic enjoyment in the utter pandemonium.

After all, it wasn’t everyday his relationship blew up in such spectacular fashion. And if there was one thing he knew about Jeremy Volkov, the man wouldn't back down from a fight, regardless of who the opponent was. And Landon, well, he had a feeling he wasn't going to be leaving Jeremy's side anytime soon.

He had, after all, been willingly dragged into this mess, and some part of him, no matter how small, wanted to see where they both landed.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 8

The heavy oak door of the mansion groaned as Vaughn pushed it open, the sound a stark contrast to the crisp, sea-salted air he’d just left behind.

He’d been fencing with Landon earlier, a forced pretense of civility that did little to mask the simmering tension between them. Vaughn stepped inside, the lingering scent of freshly cut grass and ozone still clinging to his clothes. He’d just finished a match with Landon, a decidedly less than pleasant affair, before Landon had dropped him off.

The memory of Landon's scoff and the tires screeching as he'd peeled away after Vaughn’s teasing voice that said,

"Bye, wifey!"

Made Vaughn smile faintly. He knew Landon would come around eventually. Forced marriage or not, he’d thaw.

Even if that forced marriage was a direct consequence of Vaughn’s own meticulous machinations.

Vaughn chuckled to himself; Landon was predictable in his petulance, but Vaughn knew that beneath the prickly exterior, a grudging acceptance was slowly, and surely, forming.

Their forced union was a necessity, a desperate gamble to save the Falling King Empire from the abyss of its own making – a fall, Vaughn admitted with a thrill of pride, that he had orchestrated.

A plan, he thought with a surge of pride, that had the entire Falling King Empire on its knees, practically begging to be saved by the New York Bratva.

Inside, the mansion was a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses. The Heathens, the Bratva heirs he was meant to lead, were in their usual state of relaxed revelry. The air thick with cigar smoke and the pouring of expensive alcohol.

Nikolai, all boisterous energy, threw an arm around Vaughn’s shoulders in a sideways hug, his hand clapping Vaughn’s shoulder with undue force.

"Vi-Vi! you magnificent bastard! Look what you’ve done!"

He roared, his voice thick with vodka. He punctuated the last part with a wink.

"You’ve got the Falling Kings by the balls! Now we can all marry our little lovelies peacefully"

Nikolai grinned, referring to his impending nuptials with his long-time boyfriend, Brandon, just as Killian was on the cusp of wedding Glyndon King.

Vaughn merely offered a small, enigmatic smile, a subtle nod. He let Nikolai’s praise wash over him, savoring the taste of victory. He had played the long game, patiently setting each piece, each pawn, until the entire board was his.

Vaughn simly smiled as the others too started to shower him with compliments of his mastermind plan, the edge of his lips barely turning upwards as he heard them. He knew they didn’t understand the intricate dance of power he’d initiated.

They saw only the immediate outcome: the absence of obstacles in their path to happiness.

Jeremy called out from the depths of a leather armchair, his eyes narrowed in playful suspicion. Jeremy, ever the jokester, sauntered over, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Where were you Vi-Vi? Been out with your wifey again?"

A low, almost imperceptible growl rumbled in Vaughn’s chest. His smile vanished, replaced by a hard edge that could cut through steel. Vaughn’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold, hard glint in his eyes. The word, even in jest, was an unwelcome intrusion.

"Don’t call him that"

He said, his tone a low growl. Nobody, absolutely nobody, could call Landon ‘wifey’ but him, even in jest. It was a possessiveness that was as visceral as it was illogical, a dangerous spark in the cold depths of his heart.

Killian, always quick to jump on any opportunity to needle Landon, chimed in, his disdain for Landon was legendary as he snorted and spoke

"Probably had to comfort the sulking brat and soothe him. Seems like he’s on his period these days, always moping"

Nikolai laughed, adding fuel to the burning fire inside Vaughn’s chest.

"He deserves it funny for all the trouble he caused us!".

Vaughn’s jaw tightened. He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over all of them. The growl deepened, turning into a low, guttural rumble.

Vaughn’s gaze swept across the room, a predator’s stare that made even the Heathens shift uncomfortably. His expression was stone cold, his eyes glacial.

His voice, when he spoke, was dangerously calm.

"Don't make fun of Landon"

He said, his voice low and dangerous that almost vibrated just like his father's voice does when he speaks as the pakhan.

"No matter what he did, no matter what he is, he’s going to be my husband. He’s the future pakhan’s spouse. So, you all, as the other bratva heirs, will learn to respect him"

His words earned him a collection of shocked gasps from his fellow Heathens as their unhinged doctor was the first one to stand up against their future pakhan.

Killian scoffed, fury tightening his features, his dark eyes flashing with defiance as he spoke up,

"Respect him? Of all people, you want us to respect that…...that nuisance?"

However his words held no power to intimate the future pakhan who spoke up firmly,

"Yes"

Vaughn's voice was cutting with each word, one single word from him was enough to make his statement clear.

"Yes. You will respect my husband"

He paused, his gaze sweeping over each face, a slow burn of disdain simmering beneath the surface as he spoke up,

"You will. Because your blatant disrespect stems from your own shortcomings. It’s your own fault".

Vaughn stated, his voice an unwavering command as the heir of the Russian Mafiosos.

"It’s your own fault, your lack of discipline, your lack of honed skills".

Angered confusion rippled through the group, but Vaughn wasn’t done. He stood taller, his lean frame radiating a quiet menace.

"You all have been enjoying your lazy life here on Brighton Island. Partying, drinking, and flaunting the raw talent you possess. You should have been honing yourselves, pushing your limits, but no. You chose stagnancy"

He paused, letting his words sink in, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on them, the disapproval of their actions from their future pakhan.

"That’s why someone who isn’t even trained to fight, who isn’t a part of this world, could kidnap not one but two of you"

He said, his gaze settling on Nikolai and Killian whose shoulders tensed at his words.

"That’s why he could set our previous mansion on fire and all we could do is watch it burn"

His voice dropped another octave, the barely contained fury causing the air around him to vibrate.

He finally landed on Jeremy, the leader in charge in his absence, his tone dropping another degree to the point it sent a shiver to the men gathered.

"And that’s why you, with your girlfriend's carelessness, gave Landon access to the cameras that caused all this"

He turned his gaze to Jeremy, a silent accusation hanging heavy in the air.

His eyes narrowed, focusing on them again,

"That's why he always managed to get under your skin. Because, between the two of you, the unhoned Landon is superior. He was forced to fight, forced to adapt, while you all choose to laze around on your potential".

He stepped forward, the muscles in his jaw tightening.

"That is why even I needed months of him not my existence to defeat him"

The truth, stark and unforgiving, hung in the air. Their pride, carefully nurtured, bristled at his words, but deep down they knew it was true.

The harshness of his words hung in the air, the truth of it cutting deeper than any blade. They had been complacent, resting on their laurels, while Landon, an outsider, had repeatedly proven his mettle. The silence that followed was thick with the weight of their own inadequacies.

"Have you fallen in love with him?"

Killian finally broke the silence, his voice laced with incredulity and disdain as he spoke,

"Is that why you're defending him so fiercely?"

Vaughn let out a dark laugh. It was a cold laugh cold, devoid of humor. It was a sound that sent shivers down their spines.

"Love him?"

He finally looked them all in the eyes. Hazel eyes of a predator as he said,

"No"

The word was sharp, like a shard of ice.

"No, I am not in love with Landon. Not one bit"

He saw the shock on their faces, and he felt a surge of disgust at their limited thinking.

"But I respect his willpower, his resilience, and his ability to see what you are all blind to. I admire him for his capabilities, while I am ashamed of all of you. Each of you have been fighting for your whole life and have gotten nowhere while Landon, who hasn't, has already beaten you all"

His jaw tightened, and he turned on his heel. This conversation was over. He didn’t need to justify himself to them, to anyone.

He had laid bare the flaws in their character, the laziness that had allowed Landon to manipulate them, and he was done. Their pride might not let them admit it, but Vaughn knew they understood.

He’d left them to stew in their own inadequacies, a bitter pill of truth that he hoped would eventually drive them to something more. He had work to do, plans to finalize, and a reluctant fiancé to break, and perhaps, just maybe, understand.

But apparently, he was so damn wrong.

"Looks like after Cecily and Annika, we lost another one to that man's manipulation"

Came Gareth's sharp comment that stopped the Future Pakhan of the New York Bratva.

The air in the Brighton Island training room was thick with animosity.

Vaughn, a lean figure amidst the hulking forms of his bratva brothers, stood rigid. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

The accusations came, hurled like venomous darts, still echoed in his ears.

"You are to naive to understand what that snake is doing to you Vi"

Jeremy spoke up firmly, standing as the oldest among them and as the leader of the Heathens as others followed his steps.

"Yeah, you have become a puppet dancing to Landon’s strings without realizing it"

Nikolai spoke up with a venomous hiss as he spoke up Landon's name, as if speaking the Devil's name it's.

They dared to besmirch Landon's name, a name Vaughn would not tolerate being dragged through the mud.

"You sit there, in your ivory tower in New York"

Killian had dared sneer, his voice a low growl as he mocked Vaughn. Killian had sneered, his thick neck flushed with anger,

"Protected by your papa’s money and influence. You wouldn't know a real fight if it bit you on the ass."

Others had chimed in, a chorus of doubt and resentment. Gareth, his face mottled with disdain, had spat

"You think Landon's so great, so skilled? He’s a leech, Vi. A manipulative whore using your pathetic infatuation to climb the ladder".

With that, something snapped in Vaughn.

No matter who Landon is, currently he is Vaughn’s fiancee.

Vaughn’s name is associated with him and soon it will be official that they are married.

Someone called the Future Pakhan's spouse a 'manipulative whore'. And if there is one thing Vaughn has is pride.

Pride on himself and his family, one Landon is soon going to be a part of. He will be fucking damned today if he can't defend his fiancee infront of his Bratva Brothers.

Because there is a reason Vaughn choose Landon to be his equal in future and that means his bratva brothers will have to listen to him.

Either they understand it nicely or he will beat the information inside their head because it's not about any kind of 'love', it's about them questioning their future pakhan's decisions with not valid arguments but unnecessary cursing.

It is them disrespecting their future pakhan's spouse with nothing but old stubbornness.

Vaughn looked at Gareth, with a look that made the fixer shudder with the cold intensity the gaze held despite the warm tone of his eyes as the Morozov heir spoke up,

"Come. Any weapon you want. All of you. If you can land a single blow on me, I’ll admit defeat. I’ll admit I was wrong. But you won't. You all have become lazy mobsters here in Brighton Island, too comfortable in your positions".

He knew they couldn't touch him. Not in a million years. He met their stunned gazes, his challenge clear.

He watched as they shifted, their bravado momentarily faltering. He could practically see the cogs turning in their heads. He’d been away in New York, honing his body into a lethal weapon, while they’d been drowning themselves in booze and love along with parties.

They had become content with their status in Brighton Island, basking in the small amount of power they had amassed.

Killian, ever the hothead, stepped forward first. He was the group’s boxer, known for his brute strength and devastating punches. He bounced on the balls of his feet, a sneer twisting his lips.

"Alright, Vaughn, let's see how much your fancy city training has helped you"

The challenge was accepted with a mixture of anger and arrogance. They all stalked toward the training ring, their weapons of choice clattering against the ground.

This challenge was an insult to their pride and arrogance. They needed to prove their future Pakhan wrong.

Vaughn stood in the center, a figure of poised calm amidst their fury. They all would come and attacked him with reckless abandon, punches flying, knives flashing, guns blazing, he knew that.

But Vaughn was always whirlwind of motion, dodging, weaving, and deflecting with an effortless grace. His discipline vibrating in his being as he pranced into the arena like a tiger.

"Come"

Vaughn spoke through the barrier of his boxing gloves and he didn't brother taking off his glasses, too confident in his own skills as he stood across the red masked Heathen.

Killian, a skilled boxer, lunged forward with a series of vicious blows. Vaughn simply sidestepped, each attack missing by a hair’s breadth. Then, with a swift, precise movement, Vaughn slammed his fist into Killian's jaw, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

"Kill!"

They all heard Gareth yell out for his little brother as he ran into the arena.

Vaughn merely stared at his unconscious body that his elder brother came to pick up as Vaughn took off his gloves and turn to the infamous duo of Heathens.

"Next, come"

Vaughn watched as Nikolai glared at him, the youngest among them who took of his unbuttoned shirt and entered the ring.

"You will regret this Vi"

He warned Vaughn who merely stared back at him, pushing a leg back and taking his stance to fight the bull of the Heathens.

Nikolai, his face etched with a mix of shock and anger, stepped forward, his raw power his most potent weapon. He lunged at Vaughn, a bear of a man, his brute strength evident in his heavy blows. He was a absolute mountain of raw strength who charged with a bellow.

Vaughn however, was too quick, too agile. He sidestepped Nikolai’s attacks with ease, using his knowledge of pressure points to paralyze him painfully with precise jabs, leaving Nikolai writhing on the ground, his muscles seizing. With the practiced awareness of pressure points, he has jabbed at key locations on his body, crippling him with a paralyzing pain that brought him to his knees.

"Niko!"

This time, Jeremy came running into the arena, picking up his younger bestfriend and carrying him away to massage the damaged muscles and free Nikolai from the paralysis.

Vaughn payed no attention whatever the two were doing, giving them sometime as he watched the fear built up in all of their presence, hopefully starting to learn their lesson.

He however was far from done with them as he spoke up after a solid five minutes of silence from him to let the remaining two tend the injured two.

"Next, come"

Jeremy, more calculated, more strategic, attempted to use misdirection and feints in his mind as he stepped up the arena and locked eyes with Vaughn, the steel cold grey meet the summer hazel as the oldest among them spoke up,

"Let's finish this Vi"

Vaughn saw right through his plans before the fight ecen began, he merely acknowledge Jeremy with a nod as the fight began and ended far too quickly once again.

Jeremy, relying on his calculated attacks, tried to trap Vaughn, but Vaughn anticipated each move, meeting them with a 360° kick that cracked Jeremy jaw and knocked him off his feet. The blood immediately spilled from the other's mouth as he held his bleeding mouth, still trying to process that just how quickly Vaughn had defeated him.

Vaughn looked down at him with the look in his eyes that resembled his father's disappointment one, as if none of them were worth of his attention as he spoke up, looking at Gareth, the one who called his fiancee a 'Manipulative Whore',

His eyes narrowed at the blonde man as he spoke up with a coldness in his tone.

"Last, Come"

Gareth, not the best fighter of their group stepped the arena with nervousness, his hands slightly trembling witness their best fighters going down so easily.

'This should work'

Gareth, bringing up the rear, opted for ranged combat, pulling out a pistol. Till now, Vaughn had proven to be untouchable and invisible in close combat but his advantage was long ranged combat so he opted for that.

Gareth, with his usual arsenal, unloaded ten bullets, five directly into Vaughn's chest and four directly on the helmet Vaughn had donned.

The bullets bounced uselessly Vaughn's after images as the future pakhan moved with a speed that was dazing to human eyes, turning and confusing Gareth, while Gareth failed to land a single shot on him.

Five bullets were fired and none slammed into Vaughn's chest armor. He didn't flinch, but gave Gareth a look that stated that he should aim better.

Gareth almost emptied the clip, four more bullets hitting Vaughn's helmet, the final bullet was about to be spent but not a single hit made on the exposed areas when Vaughn suddenly apparently infront of Gareth, kicking the gun off his hands and taking it, pointing the gun with the last bullet at Gareth's head with a ice cold look on his face.

Gareth was frozen on his spot along with everyone that was stunned with Vaughn’s agility and speed. Vaughn lowered the gun and scanned the room as he spoke up,

"Anyone wants a second round to realize how rusty they are?"

And the message was clear. Nobody dared face the future pakhan once again.

The silence that followed in the training room was deafening, punctuated only by the gasps of the defeated Heathens.

They lay sprawled on the floor, nursing their injuries and their shattered egos. Vaughn stood over them, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.

He remained untouched, unharmed, and his eyes blazed with a cold, controlled fire.

In that moment, amidst their pain and humiliation, the Heathens understood. They had underestimated Vaughn, assuming his youth meant weakness.

They had seen him, the middle one of all of them and physically the leanest, as just the heir while they, the stronger ones, were the true powers within the Bratva. They had dismissed his words as arrogance, not realizing it was the hard, cold truth.

Lying here, injured and defeated by his hands, they realized just how deadly he truly was, how far he had surpassed them while they had been busy enjoying their leisure days in Brighton Island.

The Heathens were scattered on the ground, defeated, their bodies aching, their pride shattered. The realization dawned upon them then, the sheer terrifying power their future Pakhan wielded.

While they had been indulging in the hedonistic pleasures of Brighton Island, Vaughn had been honing himself, transforming himself into an apex predator. He had been preparing for the future, while they let themselves drown in luxury, their talents withering, left unpolished.

The truth was bitter, but it was finally clear: Vaughn was everything they weren't, and that made him all the more dangerous.

The future Pakhan had been training, honing himself, preparing for the role he would inherit, while they had been lazy, comfortable and complacent. The sting of that realization was far worse than any physical pain they had endured.

He looked down at them, their bodies bruised, their egos shattered. He was leaner, just a little taller than all of them. They were out of breath, muscles hurting.

And he had defeated them all with ease. For the first time, they saw, really saw, the man their future pakhan had become. He had been training, honing his skills for the future that awaited him while they had been living like spoilt children.

Their own laziness and arrogance had been their downfall. They could see their own weakness reflected back at them in Vaughn’s cold, calculating eyes.

He was their future leader, the one who would lead them through the turbulent waters of the Bratva, and they were far below his level.

They had all been outgrown. And they knew it.

But it's not the scariest thing. The scariest thing is, he did it all just because they said one phrase against someone he told them not to.

Under his discipline, it was his way of giving them a warning.

He did this to them and could have done worst for one reason.

He did it all for his 'wifey'.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 7

The crisp autumn air vibrated with anticipation. Landon stood, stiff and unyielding, facing Vaughn across the neatly manicured lawn. The fencing master, a man named Dubois, had just finished explaining the rules of the practice match, the usual masked and tipped affair.

Landon's stance rigid, the unfamiliar weight of the fencing sword clumsy in his hand. Across the manicured lawn, Vaughn smirked, the afternoon sun glinting off the polished steel of his own blade. The air crackled with unspoken tension, thick enough to choke on. This whole thing was ridiculous. He just wanted to learn fencing but here he was, about to spare with his fiancee with absolutely no formal training.

And he, Landon, a former lacrosse player through and through, was supposed to pretend to be thrilled about having a fight with this…....this enigma.

Vaughn, dressed in pristine white fencing attire, his dark hair impeccably styled, held an aura of effortless grace. He was a predator in disguise, Landon thought, a beautiful, dangerous predator. Vaughn, with that infuriatingly charming smirk playing on his lips, had thrown a gauntlet into the air, a glint of challenge in his deep-set eyes.

"Before we begin"

Vaughn announced, his voice carrying across the expectant crowd of follow fencers.

"I propose a slight adjustment to the rules"

A murmur rippled through the assembled members. Adjustments? To a friendly fencing match? Landon's jaw tightened. He knew this was coming. Vaughn enjoyed twisting the knife.

"Instead of traditional fencing"

Vaughn continued, his eyes locking onto Landon’s, a challenge blazing in their depths. Vaughn's voice, smooth as aged whiskey, cut through the murmur of the assembled crowd.

"let’s make it a military challenge. No masks, no tips. First to draw blood wins".

The murmur escalated into a hushed gasp.

This wasn’t sport anymore.

This was a blatant display, a power play.

The assembled guests, a mix of old money, young blood and ruthless ambition, were immediately captivated.

Landon's stomach churned. He’d never held a fencing sword until five minutes ago, let alone engaged in a proper duel.

A collective gasp rippled through the group of onlookers, mostly members of their own universities and the local gentry.

Landon's jaw tightened.

This was Vaughn’s doing, designed to publicly humiliate him, to assert his dominance.

He could already tell that Vaughn was a prodigy in the sport, a master fencer. Landon, on the other hand, had never held a fencing sword in his life.

Yet here he was, forced into a spectacle because of his stupid fiancee's provocation. A forced situation will not break me, Landon thought, his resolve hardening.

He could not show weakness in front of everyone.

He would not.

It was to either win with luck or lose with dignity.

Either way, Landon knew he couldn't back down. Not in front of all these people and certainly not in front of Vaughn. He'd be damned if he let Vaughn think he was intimidated.

Landon met Vaughn's eyes; they held a mixture of amusement and something else Landon couldn't decipher. His own glare was meant to be lethal, but it was likely ineffective given the thunder that was beating in his chest. He nodded curtly, the word 'accepted' caught in his throat, a bitter pill to swallow as he spoke up,

"Fine"

He bit out, his voice barely a rumble as his deep blue eyes stared into Vaughn's hazel ones.

"But don’t expect me to go easy on you, asshole"

Vaughn’s lips curved into a wider, more predatory smile as if he found Landon's threat very amusing. The swords, long and silver, were placed in their hands. Landon’s fingers closed around the hilt, the cold steel a foreign, unsettling sensation. He positioned his feet as he’d seen the fencers do, remembering the graceful lunges and parries when he heard Vaughn say,

"Wouldn’t dream of it, wifey"

The insult, the possessive endearment, ignited a fire in Landon. He gripped the sword tighter, his knuckles white.

He might be outmatched, but he wouldn’t be humiliated.

He was a Lacrosse player, quick and agile, his body used to movement and attack. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t make a complete fool of himself.

The whistle blew, and Vaughn attacked.

The match began.

Landon stood awkwardly, but he tried to mimic the graceful movements he'd seen in movies. He moved his feet carefully; his mind screamed at him to dodge, parry, do something!

Luckily his years of lacrosse gave him a natural athleticism, a raw agility that surprised him as much as it seemed to surprise Vaughn. He dodged Vaughn's initial lunge, the tip of the sword whistling past his ear.

Landon reacted purely on instinct, his reflexes honed from years on the Lacrosse field. He parried Vaughn's initial thrust, the clash of metal echoing in the sudden silence. He didn’t think. He moved, letting his body guide the sword.

They circled each other warily, a deadly dance of steel and unspoken animosity. Each parry, each thrust, was charged with a silent language only they seemed to understand.

Landon, fueled by adrenaline and sheer stubbornness, managed to hold his own. He focused on Vaughn's movements, mirroring them as best he could, relying on instinct and reflexes to deflect the relentless attacks.

The crowd was silent, mesmerized. They had come expecting a polite exhibition, but they were witnessing something far more visceral, far more dangerous.

More interesting.

The only sounds were the clashing of steel, the rasp of their breaths, and the pounding of Landon’s heart.

Each parry, each dodge sent a jolt of adrenaline through Landon. He was not just defending; he was reacting, learning, adapting.

He was locked in Vaughn's gaze, a fierce intensity passing between them that seemed to strip away the formalities, the forced engagement, leaving only raw challenge and a strange, undeniable chemistry.

The world seemed to fade, the onlookers becoming a blurry, indistinct mass as their focus narrowed, their presence a charged energy that pushed others back, an invisible force field separating them from the world.

Landon felt Vaughn's gaze bore into him, dissect his movements, stripping away his defenses. It was unnerving, intimate, a violation of a different kind. He felt exposed, raw, as if Vaughn could see straight through him.

Yet, there was also an undeniable thrill, a dangerous spark of attraction that he desperately tried to suppress.

Vaughn, Landon realised with a jolt, was toying with him. He saw the subtle shifts in Vaughn’s stance, the barely perceptible hesitations before each attack.

Vaughn could have ended it anytime, but he was prolonging the game, savoring Landon’s struggle.

A slow and painful torture.

They circled each other, a deadly dance of steel and grace. Landon's initial fear gave way to a strange focus.

He watched Vaughn’s movements, trying to anticipate his next strike, his mind a whirlwind of observations and instinctive reactions.

Vaughn's every move was fluid, precise, the product of years of practice. He was a predator, testing its prey.

And Landon, against all odds, was holding his ground.

And yet, there was a strange, almost grudging respect in Vaughn’s eyes.

Landon saw it in the way Vaughn adjusted his attacks, as if subtly testing him, pushing him to his limits.

It was infuriating and…...strangely flattering.

Vaughn, though moving with practiced ease, was genuinely impressed. He hadn't expected Landon to hold his own. He had expected a swift victory, a display of his superior skill.

But Landon’s raw talent was a surprise, a dangerous and alluring one.

He had a natural aptitude for this game, and Vaughn found himself drawn to the flicker of defiance in his eyes, the silent refusal to be dominated.

He found himself thinking that it was impressive, far more impressive than he'd imagined.

His wifey was surely full of surprises, he concluded.

But as the minutes ticked by, Vaughn knew it was time to end this little game.

Finally, with a fluid movement that Landon barely registered, Vaughn struck.

A searing pain erupted on the side of his neck, instantly followed by the metallic tang of blood.

A swift, precise movement, the tip of his sword tracing a shallow cut along the side of Landon's neck.

It wasn't a major blow, but it was enough.

Enough to draw blood.

The horn blared, signaling Vaughn’s victory.

Landon stumbled back, his hand flying to his neck. He looked down at his fingers, stained crimson. He’d lost. He’d actually lost this ridiculous charade.

Loss, a bitter taste, filled his mouth. His eyes, wide and shocked, met Vaughn's. He could only grudgingly admit to himself that Vaughn was indeed a formidable player, a natural, a master.

He forced himself to meet Vaughn’s gaze, a mixture of anger and begrudging admiration swirling within him.

"Well played"

He managed to say, his voice tight with the loss he just faced as he spoke up.

"You’re…...formidable. Congratulations"

He said, the words clipped and rough. He turned to walk away, the sting in his neck a mere inconvenience compared to the sting of defeat.

Before he could retreat and lick his wounds in private, Vaughn was there, blocking his path. Vaughn reached out, his hand closing around Landon’s arm, stopping him in his tracks.

He turned back, an annoyed frown creasing his brow, but Vaughn’s gaze was softer now, concern etched onto his features.

He took Landon’s hand, his touch surprisingly gentle, and pressed a crisp white handkerchief against the wound.

"I apologize, wifey"

Vaughn said, his voice low, almost… sincere? He pressed the handkerchief to Landon’s wound, his touch surprisingly light.

"I didn’t mean to hurt you. I am sorry"

Landon stared at him, bewildered. The apology, the tenderness, the genuine concern in Vaughn’s eyes… it didn’t fit the image he had of this calculating, ruthless man.

The unexpected tenderness startled Landon. He stared at Vaughn, the heat from his touch radiating through the fabric. A shiver, not entirely unpleasant, danced down his spine.

He snatched the handkerchief away, his cheeks burning.

"It’s nothing"

He mumbled, turning away. Landon said, his voice sharper than he intended as he snatched the handkerchief away from Vaughn. The gazes of the crowd felt heavy, all eyes on them as they were clearly the main event.

He couldn't meet Vaughn's gaze any longer. It was too confusing, too unsettling.

"Just… try not to do it again"

Landon walked away, his back straight, his pride stinging as much as his neck.

But Vaughn. Oh, Vaughn. He was like an annoying shadow, following closely, his steps light despite the fact that he was a man of impressive stature.

"Wait, wifey! Wait for me! Let’s go back to the mansion together"

He called out, his voice laced with teasing amusement, the “wifey” said with such intentionality that Landon stopped, his shoulders slumped with exasperation. He turned back, seeing Vaughn walking towards him with a puppy-dog expression.

"There you are wifey"

Vaughn said with a smile as if it wasn't the second time he had wounded Landon. The teasing tone was back, the charming facade firmly in place. Landon resisted the urge to groan. He was going to kill Vaughn, he decided. Slowly and painfully.

Landon groaned. He was beginning to think that this was going to be a long engagement. A very long engagement indeed.

Outside the grounds, Landon, still simmering with resentment and confusion, stopped abruptly after a thought crossed his mind as he suddenly spoke up,

"I’ll drive you back to your…...estate".

Vaughn raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. Of all things, essentially with Landon’s words earlier, he didn't expect this proposal from Landon as he spoke up,

"Are you sure? I can drive on my bike"

Landon however had already unlocked his precious McLaren, lost in his thoughts about something as he snapped harsher than he intended to.

"Just get in"

He needed to get away, to process everything that had just happened. And get answers to questions that are cross his mind.

And maybe, just maybe, a car ride with Vaughn would offer some answers.

Vaughn, ever the enigma, simply smiled and nodded, not minding Landon’s temper at all.

"As you wish, wifey"

He gestured to a nearby bodyguard, who sped off to collect Vaughn's impressive Kawaski Ninja motorcycle. As they sat in his McLaren, speeding down the roads, Landon couldn’t resist asking while driving.

"How long have you been fencing?"

Vaughn leaned back in his seat, a smug look on his face as he looked at Landon,

"Since I was five. So, sixteen years in total wifey"

Sixteen years. Landon swallowed. He’d been holding a lacrosse stick for less than six years, and it had shown. He was confirmed that Vaughn went really easy on him and could have really killed him with that sword of his if he wanted to.

"What else do you do?"

He asked, hating the note of curiosity in his voice because of the questions in his mind. He however was not at all ready for the answer Vaughn gave him.

Vaughn’s smile widened with pure pride as he crossed his arms over his chest and spoke up,

"I’m a 2nd Dan Black Belt in Taekwondo, 4th rank in Jeet Kune Do and Black-Red belt in Muay Thai. I’m also a professional swimmer and diver, a basketball player, and an ice hockey player too. And-"

He added to the long list with a wink at Landon as he spoke up with a smile

"an excellent marksman and archer"

Landon stared at him, speechless.

He blinked, trying to process all the things Vaughn just said and connecting the information to his circuit.

He was called a prodigy his whole life because he was good at everything he touched, but sitting besides the future Pakhan, he really questioned how he had spend his childhood growing up.

He didn't have the nerve to be jealous of Vaughn right now because he found it all hard to even believe as he could only say one word,

"Overachiever"

Vaughn chuckled, leaning back conformably on the seat as he looked outside at the passing by scenery as he spoke up lightly,

"I prefer prodigy"

A flurry of playful insults flew between them, a bizarre mix of animosity and burgeoning.......something.

Something they both didn’t want to label.

Then, Landon took a deep breath, bringing his mind together and said with his eyes fixed on the road.

"Teach me"

Vaughn blinked, taken aback by the words that just came out of Landon King's mouth. He took a second to believe what his fiancee just told him.

"Teach you? What do you want me to teach you wifey?"

Landon rolled his eyes at Vaughn's reaction as he turned to look at him, still keeping an eye on the road while making sure it was clear to pay attention to his fiancee.

"Everything"

Landon said, his voice firm and holding no place for any nonesense or arguments at all.

"Fencing, Taekwondo, everything you know. I'm going to be your the 'future pakhan's spouse' you know"

He spoke up, exaggerating the words as he turned his attention back on the road from the bewildered Vaughn as he continued to speak,

"And as the 'future Pakhan's spouse', I need to be able to defend myself. And maybe"

He added, his gaze locking with Vaughn’s holding a firm determination as he voiced his inner thought,

"be on your level, to some degree where you won't have to hold back?"

He didn't know why he said it. Perhaps it was the challenge in Vaughn’s eyes, the need to prove himself, or the undeniable pull he felt towards this infuriating, fascinating man and his achievements.

He saw something flicker in Vaughn’s eyes – surprise, curiosity, and something else entirely. A hint of…....admiration?

Vaughn’s smile returned, wider than ever as he spoke up,

"Very well, wifey"

He said, his voice laced with amusement and something more profound that Landon failed to pinpoint.

"I will train you. Personally"

Landon hummed, turning his attention back to the road and leaving Vaughn to stare at his fiancee, wondering was this really the heartless narcissist his friends talked about?

Was it really the same prideful Landon who bowed before no one even if he had to face death?

Was it really the raging Sociopath who caused all the trouble the Bratva heirs went through on Brighton Island?

Yes, it was the same person, asking him to train him into a formidable warrior to enter the mafia world and stand on equal grounds as the future Pakhan himself, not just as his spouse but really as his equal in mind, might and spirit.

Vaughn smirked to himself, discovering yet something new about his wifey today that he considered a victory as the Heathens mansion came to their view. The silence between them being comfortable in it's own ways.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Sooooo what do you guys think of Vaughn and Landon together so far? 😂

Enjoying their tension?

Drop your headcannons about Vaughn because we don't know anything about him really 👇

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 6

Landon King's jaw was clenched so tight, he could practically feel his molars grinding against each other. The resignation form, crisp and white in his hand, felt like a physical representation of the jagged edges of his fractured heart.

Landon’s fingers tightened around the crisp white resignation form, the paper a stark contrast to the turmoil churning inside him.

He walked with purpose, each step a controlled march toward the Lacrosse Club's office, a place that had once been a sanctuary of shared triumphs and camaraderie. Now, it felt like a battlefield, the site of his latest, and perhaps most painful, defeat.

He knew Brandon, his twin, his little brother, would be there.

He always was.

Captain of the team, the golden boy, the one who never seemed to falter. Landon’s hand tightened on the paper.

How could he?

He’d always believed that despite their differences, despite the barbs and the veiled criticisms, a fraternal loyalty would bind them.

It was a foolish notion, it seemed.

Brandon's words, cruel and dismissive, echoed in his mind, each syllable a tiny shard of ice piercing his skin.

The crisp paper felt like a physical manifestation of the severance he was about to enact, a clean break from a life he'd always known.

The familiar scent of sweat and worn leather of the club felt thick with unspoken tension, a reminder of the bond he was so willingly cutting.

He could practically hear Brandon’s voice echoing in his head, the barbs that had finally driven him to this point.

'You’re a narcissist, Landon. A sociopath, You’re incapable of feeling love…....so what’s the big deal?'

The words stung anew, a fresh wound on his already bleeding heart. Was that how his twin, his supposed other half, truly viewed him?

A heartless monster incapable of genuine connection?

Maybe he was, Landon thought bitterly, if Brandon’s decision was anything to go by.

To sell him off like a prized possession to a Bratva heir, all to appease their family’s failing empire, was the ultimate betrayal.

It was a decision born out of a careless disregard for his life, a cold calculation that saw him as nothing more than a pawn in their desperate game.

If they truly wanted him gone, then he would go.

He would become the ghost they so clearly wished him to be.

They were words that had been hurled so casually, so carelessly, as if Landon’s feelings were nothing more than a discarded rag.

They, his family were all too ready to condemn him, to sacrifice him on the altar of their own selfish desires.

They would secure their own security by marrying him off to the future head of the New York Bratva.

They had no problem selling him to the highest bidder if it meant they could continue their lives without trouble.

Landon would not beg, nor whimper. He would take their dismissal, their hatred, and wear it like a shield.

He’d step out of their lives, slowly, deliberately, until they forgot he'd ever been there.

If that's what his loved ones want, he will give them that.

Starting with the lacrosse team.

Let them struggle, let them feel the absence of the ‘narcissist,’ the ‘sociopath’ they so readily dismissed.

And let his little brother be happy that his troublesome twin, the broken one of the two finally stepped away from his life.

He walked the familiar path towards the Lacrosse Club office, each step measured, a deliberate march away from a life he no longer recognized.

The scent of sweat and old leather clung to the air, a constant reminder of the countless hours he’d spent on this field, a brother by his side, their lives intertwined.

Or so he had thought.

He pushed open the door, the squeak of the hinges momentarily silencing the boisterous voices within.

Brandon, his twin, stood by the coach, their heads bent over a clipboard, strategizing for their upcoming games.

Landon watched for a moment, the usual warmth that used to bloom at the sight of his brother replaced by a cold, hard knot in his stomach. Brandon looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

Brandon’s head snapped up, a flicker of shock crossing his features. Landon barely acknowledged the coach, his gaze fixed on his brother.

"I was about to call you and the rest of the team for a group discussion on-"

Brandon's voice trailed off as Landon silently placed the resignation form on the desk, his knuckles white against the paper.

Landon didn’t offer a greeting. He simply extended the paper, the resignation form a physical manifestation of his decision.

Brandon took it, his brow furrowing as he scanned the words.

"What is this?"

Brandon stared at the form, his brows furrowing in confusion before a hint of dawning horror began to emerge.

"What.....is this Landon?"

Landon shrugged, a carefully cultivated indifference masking the turmoil storm within as he stood across his twin, his other half.

"My resignation"

Landon replied, his voice flat, devoid of emotion as he looked at the paper rather than Brandon, refusing to meet his eyes at any cost.

"I'm leaving the team"

The thundering news won him a gasp from his little brother who immediately spoke up, Brandon’s voice was a bewildered mix of concern and confusion.

"What?! Why?! What happened?"

Landon however turned his back to him, not willing to face his brother anyways and walking away just like Brandon had one day walked away from his life,

"I've decided to focus solely on my sculpting. It will need my undivided attention. Nothing more to it"

He replied, his voice devoid of any emotion, appearing as the heartless monster his twin believes he is. Landon said, giving a pre-planned excuse.

He couldn’t bear to reveal the true reason, the hollow ache that bloomed whenever he thought of the betrayal that had been inflicted on him.

He tried, he tried his best even after one day Landon decided to push him away and look at him as if he disdained his existence.

But even his hollow heart could take too much, Brandon abounded him when he needed him the most and so, Landon has decided to step away and let him live his life.

He didn't allow Brandon or the coach to protest, to question, or even to plead. He simply gave them a curt nod and walked away, the click of his shoes on the linoleum a steady rhythm against the sudden silence.

He didn't turn back, couldn't bear to see the confusion, the regret – maybe even a flicker of longing – in his younger twin's eyes.

Without another word, Landon turned and walked out.

He didn't see the confusion morph into guilt on his twin's face, the way his eyes followed him with a mixture of regret, longing, and utter bewilderment.

He didn’t see the coach exchange a worried look with Brandon.

All he felt was the burn of betrayal, the bitterness of being considered disposable.

He’d always been a master at concealing his emotions, at building walls, and right now, those walls were his only protection.

He slid into his McLaren, the sleek lines and powerful engine a familiar comfort.

He started the engine, the roar a satisfying counterpoint to the silence that had begun to settle in his life.

The university faded in his rearview mirror as he headed towards the fencing club, a place where he could channel his anger and frustration into something tangible.

The roar of his McLaren’s engine was a welcome relief, a cleansing noise that drowned out the echoes of Brandon’s words.

He drove with a practiced efficiency toward the fencing club he had recently joined, a place that offered both discipline and a physical outlet for his mounting rage and frustration.

If he was to be thrust into the viper's nest of the mafia world, as the unwilling spouse of Vaughn Morozov, he would become a venomous snake himself.

If he was going to be thrust into the mafia world, he wasn’t going to do it as a lamb led to slaughter.

He would become a force to be reckoned with.

He would be the best spouse for the future Pakhan, not to satisfy his so-called family or his fiancee but to prove to himself that he is not someone to be played with.

He would train, honing his body and mind into weapons, so that he wouldn't be a victim that they could easily control.

He needed to be ready.

He needed more than just sculpting; he needed to be ready.

Surely there was already a bounty on his head for being engaged to the future Pakhan.

He wasn't about to be an easy target.

He parked the car, a surge of grim determination coursing through him. He was done being the passive pawn in their carefully orchestrated game.

He had always been the odd one out in the family, the quiet, detached one.

He had always been a puzzle that they never bothered trying to solve.

He might not be able to escape his fate, but he would face it on his own terms and with his own strength.

The fencing club was a stark contrast to his familiar world. He walked into the club, the sounds of clashing blades immediately engulfing him.

The air was thick with the metallic tang of steel and the rhythmic clang of blades.

He changed into his gear, the heavy padding a strange comfort, a shield of sorts.

He stepped onto the mat, the weight of his situation still pressing down on him.

He was just about to find a partner to spar with when he heard the sharp snap of a foil hitting its target. His eyes were drawn to a figure across the room, their movements fluid and graceful.

He spotted a training match in progress and was about to move towards the mat, when a familiar, though unwelcome, silhouette caught his eye.

Vaughn Morozov.

His fiancee.

The very bane of his existence.

Vaughn moved with a deceptive grace, his sword flashing under the fluorescent lights, his movements practiced and precise.

Vaughn Morozov, his unwanted fiancé, was being the star of the match, his movements sharp and known, the rapier in his hand a dangerous extension of his arm.

He was a whirlwind of lethal elegance, and he was clearly winning.

Landon watched as Vaughn effortlessly disarmed his opponent, his victory swift and decisive.

As the match concluded, Vaughn removed his helmet, and his hazel eyes immediately locked onto Landon.

There was a beat of silence, and then Vaughn smiled, a slow, predatory curve of his lips that sent a shiver down Landon’s spine.

He waved a gauntlet hand that was wrapped in leather and walked towards him, a swagger in his stride.

He grinned, a flash of teeth against his pale skin and waved, his calloused hand waving in the air.

"Wifey!"

Vaughn called out, his voice carrying through the room, the words both possessive and mocking.

Landon’s heart sank.

Had he really not been able to escape him at all?

Vaughn's voice boomed, loud enough for everyone to hear, drawing all eyes on Landon.

"What a lucky coincidence! I didn't expect to see you here!"

Landon wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away, to disappear from the face of the earth.

He had known Vaughn would be a challenge.

It was the primary reason he even decided on fencing.

He just hadn't expected him to show up this soon and essentially not in this fencing club.

A hush fell over the club as everyone turned to stare at Landon. He could feel his cheeks burning, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.

He forced himself to keep his expression cool, detached, but inwardly he was seething. He wanted to turn on his heels, walk out, and never look back.

He wanted to scream and rail against the injustice that had been thrust upon him.

He hated the smug look on Vaughn's face.

He hated that the man dared to call him wifey as if they had a say in this marriage.

He hated how he was nothing more than a pawn which was the very reason why he’d tried to step away.

He hated everything about this situation, about Vaughn, about his family.

But Landon was not one to back down from a challenge.

He had always been a fighter, even if he'd always preferred to fight his battles in silence.

But he was a King. He didn’t back down, not from anything, not even the man who was about to imprison him.

He could feel the eyes of the other fencers shifting to him, a curious mix of curiosity and speculation.

He drew himself up, his gaze locked on Vaughn. He wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing him flee.

He hated Vaughn, hated what he represented, but he would not let him see his fear, his anger.

He would not give the man that satisfaction.

He straightened his back, raised his chin, and walked towards Vaughn, his steps measured, his gaze unwavering.

This wasn't going to be easy, no, but it was never something that Landon expected, but he isn't one to back down.

He might be forced to marry the bratva heir, but he would do so with all the pride and defiance he could muster.

He would not be broken.

He would not be tamed.

He would fight.

"Morozov"

He acknowledged, his voice cool, giving no indication of the internal turmoil as he gave Vaughn a formal greeting but that was for from enough for his financee.

"Vaughn, wifey. Surely, you can use my given name, don't make me question if I'm marrying a mute"

Vaughn commented casually as he walked infront of Landon, standing way close to him than he should, as if letting everyone know that they were about to tie the knot soon in the future.

Landon moved past Vaughn and walked further into the club, his steps measured and deliberate as he spoke to Vaughn who followed his steps,

"I am not your wifey you stupid russian asshole"

He stated coolly as he stopped a few feet from Vaughn. He ignored the sniggers of the club members who were now enjoying the sudden drama.

Vaughn chuckled, a low rumble that sent a shiver down Landon’s spine. He moved with a fluid grace that was both captivating and unnerving as he stood infront of Landon.

"Oh, but you are, lyubov moy. We are engaged, are we not? My little wifey"

Landon’s fists tightened, his nails digging into his palms.

He hated being called 'wifey' from this asshole like he was a dainty little girl. He can already hear people talking in the background about it.

He hated the way Vaughn looked at him, like a prized possession, a toy he couldn't wait to play with.

He hated the situation he had found himself in, the shackles he had been forced into all thanks to his family.

Vaughn gave him a playful wink as he asked casually,

"But anyways, What brings you here? Trying to beat me at my own game?"

Landon felt a flare of anger. He hated how easily Vaughn could get under his skin.

He hated that this man had the power to disrupt his life, to turn it upside down with just a few whispered words, a meticulously made plan and a well-timed proposal.

"I'm here to train"

Landon retorted, his voice steely. He was not going to show any weakness. He wouldn’t give give Vaughn the satisfaction of knowing he was rattled by his presence.

"Train? Interesting. I didn’t know you were interested in fencing. You’re more focused on your sculpting all the time"

Vaughn said as he circled Landon, his hazel eyes scanning every inch of his body, eyeing every curve that the tight gear showed as they hugged Landon’s body,

"Or perhaps… you’re training to defend yourself from your future husband?"

The implication was clear, a challenge laid bare. Landon clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to lash out and strangle this man with his bare hands.

"Can't a man practice his new interest in peace? I don't need to be afraid of you or any other thing. I just found a new interest in fencing"

He replied, his voice sharp, each word laced with defiance as he tried to mush up a lie to defend himself against Vaughn's accusation that happened to be almost true.

Vaughn however chuckled, a low sound that sents a shiver up Landon's spine everytime as he commented with a playful smirk,

"Feisty, aren't you wifey? But hey, looks like we both have a common interest, isn't that great Wifey?"

He stepped closer, his gaze locking with Landon’s, a spark of something dangerous igniting in his eyes. Every inch of Landon’s body tensed.

He could feel the power radiating from this man, the weight of his position. He was trapped in a cage of his own making.

And he was about to be locked away with a predator who seemed to find excitement in his discomfort.

Landon wanted to curse and scream, but he maintained his composure in front of everyone.

He may have been betrayed by his family, but he is still a King, and he will show the world that he is more than just a pawn as he commented fiercely.

"I don't know if you are stupid or just plain ignorant but I am not your wifey. I am Landon"

Vaughn’s expression remained infuriatingly amused but the smirk was replaced with a gentleman's smile as he spoke up,

"Yes, Landon. My beautiful Landon"

The bold declaration earned them gasps and mutters from the club, having the people recording them as they found interesting in seeing the 'couple' bickering and bantering.

"And you will be mine."

Vaughn said in a whisper that is only audible to them, his voice laced with an undercurrent of something that sounded a lot like hungered possession and pure twisted desire that make Landon shudder.

"I will never be yours," Landon retorted, his voice sharp and unwavering in the whisper, every syllable enunciated with a cold finality as he stood his ground.

Vaughn's smile only widened. He picked up a fencing sword, twirling it between his fingers with practiced ease.

"Then let’s see, wifey. Shall we settle this on the piste?"

Landon felt a surge of adrenaline, a mixture of anger and anticipation. He had always been taught to face his problems head on.

He would not let Vaughn intimidate him, not here, not anywhere. He met Vaughn's challengingly gaze, a new glint of defiance in his eyes. He wasn't going to give up, not without a fight.

Even though it was his very first day in the fencing club but he will die before admiting that embarrassing detail after they came so far with this bickering.

He was a Lacrosse player for fuck's shake, he knows how to move like a sportman atlist.

"Fine, Morozov. Let's see then"

There was no more backing down. The game, it seemed, had just begun, a game where the stakes were higher than either of them could have imagined.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 5

The scent of burnt roses lingered in the air, a stark contrast to the opulent dining room where the King family and the Heathens, had just witnessed Landon’s dramatic act.

Landon, his face a mask of barely controlled rage, had incinerated the bouquet Vaughn had presented him, a declaration of war more than a rejection.

He’d turned on his heel, ignoring the calls of his family, and retreated to his room, the door slamming shut with a resounding thud.

Vaughn, however, remained unruffled, a picture of composure amidst the chaos. A gentle smile played on his lips as he turned to Levi and Astrid, Landon's parents.

"I apologize if my actions were wrong to offend him"

He said, his voice smooth as silk as if apologizing for the scene he knew he caused all under his wish.

"Perhaps if you could point me to his room, I could speak with him privately? There's no need for anyone to be bothered".

The room was silent, everyone still reeling from Landon’s outburst. Even the notoriously composed Heathens seemed taken aback.

But they were also keenly aware of the dangerous game they had been made a part of, with Vaughn standing at its center, dancing dangerously with Landon.

Nikolai, ever the optimist, gave Vaughn a thumbs up while hugging Brandon, Landon's twin and said,

"Maybe you should vi-vi, your 'wifey' seems very angry on you"

He got hit on the arm by Brandon for that while Vaughn gave him a look that told Nikolai to not call Landon that, the yellow mask Heathen however was lost in eyes of his lotus flower.

While Killian, who never took anything seriously until he saw danger, smirked, his arm protectively around Glyndon’s waist and said,

"Yeah, maybe take some dark chocolates because he looks like he is on his periods"

Glyndon gave him a glare for this but he just kissed her cheeks with a smirk that earned him a glare from Levi and a giggle from Astrid.

Annika offered him a small, cautious wave, and Cerighton, her boyfriend, hugged her close, looking sleepy like he always does.

Gareth, ever the diplomat, gave him a knowning nod as he continued his conversation with Landon’s parents to distract them while Jeremy and Eli, Landon’s older cousin, looked like they wanted to be anywhere else.

Even Aiden and Elsa, Landon's uncle and aunt, couldn't hide the looks of warning they sent his way. Each family member conveyed the same unspoken message – 'be careful of what you do' as Eli spoke up, giving Vaughn the direction he needed to know.

"The fourth room on the right to the second floor"

Vaughn nodded at him with a small thanks, gave them all a final, assessing look, a silent promise of his intention to win over, not just Landon, but his entire family, before excusing himself.

He knew he was walking into a storm, but he was never one to shy away from a challenge, no, infact he was that bison who loved to walk right into the storm. He made his way through the expansive house, his footsteps deliberate, until he reached Landon's door.

Without knocking, he pushed it open, stepping inside.

"You Heathens really have no manners do you?"

Landon said, his back to Vaughn, voice laced with sarcasm as he delicately shaped the wings of the morning star he was bringing to life.

Vaughn chuckled, closing the door behind him as his eyes roamed the Landon’s beautiful abode of a room, filled with unnaturally beautiful and meaningful sculptures, each piece a mystery to decode with their unique construction.

"Common Wifey, soon we will be married. There's no need for such formalities between us. No need for barriers, I mean, we're going to be sharing a bed soon"

He however was meet with pure ignorance from Landon who refused to acknowledge his existence, lost in his statue and finding it more worthy of his attention over his fiancee.

His workshop was Landon’s sanctuary, a chaotic symphony of clay dust, metal tools, and the raw, potent energy of creation. But today, it felt suffocating. He was hunched over his current project, a towering sculpture of Lucifer, the fallen angel, his face a mask of intense concentration.

Every line of muscle, every feather on the sculpted wings, was a testament to his meticulous artistry. He ignored the footsteps that echoed on the concrete floor, the presence of another man in his domain.

Vaughn, however, was not easily ignored. He moved with a quiet confidence that belied the storm he carried within him. He paused before Landon's earlier works, the discarded pieces that stood like silent sentinels of their creator's journey.

The first was an angel, weeping, cradling a sword that looked too heavy for its fragile hands. Vaughn reached out, his finger tracing the contours of a sculpted tear. It looked so real, so raw.

"These are incredibly detailed"

Vaughn murmured, his voice a low rumble that cut through the heavy silence.

"What’s your favorite food, Landon?"

Landon’s head snapped up to look at Vaughn, his dark blue eyes narrowed in annoyance as he scoffed and said,

"Why bother making small talk asshole? You probably already know the answer. Isn’t that what you people do? Dig up every scrap of information?"

Vaughn’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile at Landon’s comment as he spoke up.

"Indeed, I know a great deal about you, Lyubov. All the data available with a little digging, your family history, the art schools you attended before Royal Elite University"

He paused as his hazel eyes shifted to Landon who continued to work on the sculpture as he spoke with an unknown intensity dripping down his tongue.

"But that’s not knowing you, is it? Not knowing you as intimately as I should, considering you're my wifey. I should know everything about you"

He let the word roll off his tongue like a delectable piece of forbidden fruit. Landon bristled at the endearment and the implied ownership.

"Don’t"

He growled, turning back to his sculpture, his hands working the clay with renewed ferocity. He didn't dignify Vaughn's words with an answer.

And Vaughn didn’t press. Instead he surveyed the workshop, his gaze lingering on a half-open box of cherries tucked away in a corner.

His steps took him to the trash can at the end of the room as he pressed the paddle under his leather boots to open the lead and peaked inside, taking note of dried cherry pits along with fresh ones coated with saliva, indicidating that Landon had savored on them not long ago.

They were accompanied by a bunch of cigarette buts and broken sculpturing tools, roughed papers or broken art pieces.

"Let me guess, it's cherries right wifey?"

A genuine smile softened the sharp edges of his features but the knowing look in his eyes were speaking otherwise.

Landon froze. His head whipped around again, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and suspicion as he looked at Vaughn looking up at him with a innocent smile, as if he didn't figure out something in few minutes that took even his family almost a year to figure out.

"How did you…..?"

Vaughn chuckled, pointing to the cherry box by Landon’s bedside as he spoke up,

"I can see them. And that reminds me, my own favorite food happens to be beef stew".

Landon blinked, looking between the box and Vaughn before turning back to his sculpture. He could feel Vaughn’s gaze on his back, a tangible weight as he spoke,

"You are one observant fucker, aren't you? And nobody asked"

Vaughn chuckled again at Landon’s comment, a low, rich sound that vibrated in the small space. He moved on, now stopping before the sculpture of a man kneeling, his face hidden in shadowed hands.

"Yes, I am, Very observant"

He began to pace slowly, his eyes cataloging every detail of Landon’s domain, observing it carefully as he casually strolled around and spoke to words that seem to fall deaf to Landon’s ears.

"Infact, I’ve noticed a few things about you, wifey, in the short time I’ve been here. For example, You smoke when you're stressed, I can smell the lingering tobacco clinging to the air even now"

He paused, circling around another sculpture, this one a soaring Pegasus with beautiful detailed wings of a angel and details of each and every strand of fur created on top of it as he continued to speak,

"You love your McLaren more than you love people, you stayed in middle of nowhere bleeding to make sure it won't get stolen"

He paused again as he looked around the room, taking a brief note of each and every single sculpture as he spoke with a calculated analysis,

"You express your emotions through your sculptures, I can tell the pain and rage in it the lucifer you are working on"

His words send a shiver of danger down Landon’s spine who tried to remain indifferent but the more Vaughn spoke, the more the hair behind Landon's neck started to stand up.

Vaughn turned to Landon, his gaze piercing, focused on the bandage on Landon’s head, covering a wound he caused as he spoke,

"You know flower language. You understand the meaning of the Bouquet I gave you, didn’t you?"

Finally, his eyes flicked to a dressing table across the room, where a bottle of perfume sat, its scent subtly permeating the studio and radiating faintly off Landon’s skin.

"And you have a very distinct scent, a mix of petrichor and sandalwood. Probably from that perfume you are using recently"

Landon’s hands stilled on Lucifer’s wings. He felt a chill run down his spine, a stark contrast to the heat that had been building within him from rage. He turned, his eyes wide with a dawning horror of every detail Vaughn was picking.

"How…?"

Vaughn smirked, a flash of something dark and dangerous crossing his innocent face, behind his glasses as he spoke,

"What’s wrong, wifey? Did I discover something you wanted to keep hidden?"

He took a step closer, his presence filling the space as he stood closer to a statue of the demon that Landon had created last week.

The pieces started to clicked into place.

With each observation, each detail unveiled by this terrifyingly perceptive man, the truth began to form a horrifying picture in Landon’s mind.

The meticulous precision of the Bratva Heir, the calculated strategies, the ruthless efficiency…it all pointed to one man.

And now, looking at the smirk on Vaughn's face, Landon saw the pieces of the puzzle fall into their rightful place.

The forced marriage, the sudden accept from the criminal underworld on their company's good, the sudden fall of the King Empire's shares and their disappeared money......…it was all the handiwork of Vaughn, the man standing before him.

The man who called him wifey.

Landon’s breath hitched in his throat. Vaughn Morozov, the charming, observant, eerily attractive man who had claimed him as his fiance, was not just some heir to a mafia empire.

He took a good look of Vaughn, he was clearly less built than the other Heathens thought much taller, showing that physical fight, altist the raw, brutal one aren't his pluse point.

Those glasses worked to accompany his eyes that had detoriated due to heavy focus on studies or technology probably.

He was the architect of his misery, the puppet master behind his forced engagement, the man who had engineered the complete destruction of everything Landon had known.

His heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. He had been so caught up in his art, so consumed by his grief and anger, that he had failed to see the predator hiding in plain sight, the wolf disguised as a lamb.

The workshop, once his sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Vaughn wasn’t just observing him, he was dissecting him, taking him apart piece by piece.

And the realization that all of this was intentional, calculated to trap him, filled Landon with a cold, gut-wrenching dread.

He wanted to scream, to fight, to lash out, but he was frozen, caught in the web of Vaughn’s carefully constructed game.

He knew, now, that he had been played, and he had been played brilliantly. And the worst part of it all was the horrifying realization of how deeply Vaughn already knew him, far better than his own family did.

How had he fallen for this?

How could he not noticed what is in front of him?

He stared at Vaughn, his mind racing. This wasn't a marriage of convenience; it was a calculated move, a power play.

He was a prize, a trophy, a possession in the hands of a man who saw him not as a person, but as a tool in his grand chess game probably.

Vaughn's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light, at this moment, even Jeremy Volkov looked like a less difficult obstacle and Nikolai Sokolov looked less of a trouble compared to this man who was nowhere near their built, but definitely more intelligent than all of the Heathens combined.

"Cat got your tongue, wifey?"

Vaughn asked, his voice a silken purr that sent shivers down Landon's spine as his Hazel eyes observed ever muscle that twitched in Landon's body.

He had only just begun.

Landon knew, with a sinking feeling, that his nightmare was only just beginning.

And he was trapped, completely and utterly trapped, in the web of the man he was supposed to marry.

However, Landon wasn't the one who gave up before putting a fight to death. He will crawl his way out of this mess if he must.

Landon scoffed, finally turning to face Vaughn completely and abandoning his sculpture, fury blazing in his eyes.

"You orchestrated this, didn't you?"

Vaughn raised an eyebrow at him, his amusement evident as he took a step towards landon.

"Orchestrated what, exactly?"

He was met with a annoyed snarl from the living greek god everyone in the Brighton Island flawed over.

"Don't play coy with me, Vaughn Morozov"

Landon snapped, stepping closer with his fists clerged tightly from anger, veins popping from the adrenaline.

"You are the one who stole more than nine billion dollars from my grandfather’s empire. You were behind the Bratva’s seizure of those cargo ships. You hold more than thirty percent of my family's market shares"

Landon’s eyes twitched as venom dripped down his lips that could burn the world down.

"And this…......this marriage? You were the one who proposed it"

He finally stood infront of Vaughn, being slightly shorter than the other so he had to tilt his head up a little to look at the future Pakhan as he accused with hundred percent accuracy.

"You planned all of this"

Vaughn's composure faltered for a split second as Landon spoke those words. He was honestly impressed. Landon had pieced it all together, and so quickly, too, not even his fellow Bratva heirs could do it so quickly.

He allowed a unhinged, predatory smirk to creep onto his face, finally showing Landon the Bratva heir hiding in the mask of a innocent finance as he didn't even deny it.

"You are astute, my little wifey. How did you deduce all that?"

Landon crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw clerged as the sound his teeths gritting inside his mouth was audible in the room, his gaze sharp on his fiancee as he spoke.

"The timing of it all was too perfect. The King empire almost collapsing, the fall starting right after i had first put your psycho doctor on his place, the Bratva swooping in to save us, not with money, but with…....marriage, yeah, like you guys are that kind"

His blood boiled inside his veins at the sheer audacity of this man to not even deny any of this, just standing in his room casually, relaxed and smiling at the volcano of emotions boiling inside Landon.

"It was too convenient. And then there are my siblings and cousins and their…....love for Bratva heirs. I get it now......You did it so that they would all be bound to the stupid mafia heirs they love, and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it"

Landon took a step closer, grabbing Vaughn’s tie and tugging on it harshly to bring the two of them closer as his deep blue eyes pierced into the hazel ones while he asked,

"Right?"

Vaughn let out a low whistle, admiration for Landon's sharp wit completely clear in his eyes as he spoke up,

"You're right, Wifey. You truly are a genius. And yes, I did do it to make sure my bratva brothers and sister got what they wanted – to be with their Kings without you being a thorn in their side"

Landon scrowled, holding back the urge to punch this man squeeze on the face and causing a trouble for his entire family and their empire by angering this fucker's father,

"So, why me?"

Landon asked, his voice taking on a dangerous edge and showing to have no patience to beat around the bush as he spoke up,

"Why did you go to your father, the Pakhan, for this marriage of all things? Why not just let me play the field with Mia?"

Vaughn’s smile turned sly as he shrugged casually and dropped the bomb as if they were talking about weather.

"Niko and Kill didn’t want you dating their precious sister and cousin, so here we are"

Landon rolled his eyes and really held himself back from going downstair and punching those two barbarians who have their hands all over his younger siblings as he spoke up,

"So, it's alright for your Heathens to date mine, but not me? How hypocritical is that?"

Vaughn laughed, the sound rich and genuine but the words contrasted his tone as he spoke up with sarcasm dripping down his lips,

"We’re mafias, we don’t play by the rules. Isn’t that what we do wifey? Dig out all the dirty information and do whatever we want to do?"

Landon’s spoke back, his voice was drenched in sarcasm to shoot it right back at Vaughn as he tsked,

"And that’s it? That's the only reason the future Pakhan wants to marry me? To keep me away from one of the Bratva Princess?"

Vaughn took another step closer, his proximity making Landon's breath hitch. Up so close, he could smell Vaughn’s aftershave still lingering on his skin along with his cologne that smelled heavy of a scent he couldn't pin-point, probably some strong russian perfume.

His eyes met Landon's, and there was a spark there that wasn’t entirely amusement, but something darker, more intense and twisted than anything else Landon has ever seen.

"No, Landon. I don't want you as my other half to keep you away from some bratva princess. I want you."

For the first time since they met, Vaughn said his name and it send a visible shiver down the sculpture's spine. He tried to hide the shudder of his shoulders and but failed as Vaughn seemed to notice it, a smirk tugged in his lips for getting this reaction from Landon.

He placed a hand on Landon’s cheek, his thumb caressing his jawline and smuging some clay sticking to his face across the sharp cut of his face as he spoke up dangerously,

"Landon King, the man who can single-handedly trouble all the Bratva heirs and walk away unscathed. The arsonist who walked past all of Heathens's security and set the mansion on fire. Who kidnapped not one but two Bratva heirs for getting tangled with his siblings and walked unhindered into their den to declare his interest in their princess........I want that Landon by my side. I want you, the chaos, the unpredictable storm, to rule with me, over Bratva one day"

The words were spoken like a vow.

Like a unhinged universal fact.

Like a declaration of of a emperor that can't be denied.

Vaughn, for all his veiled words, spoke these ones with so much rawness that they took away the the air from Landon's lungs.

"I want your chaos to control Bratva one day, Wifey"

Landon stared into Vaughn's eyes, feeling a strange mix of fear, intrigue, and something akin to excitement.

He was left speechless for a second, searching Vaughn's hazelnut coloured eyes for any tint of deception and he found nothing but the naked, confident truth in his words.

Landon was taken back, for having the world reject him for his chaos, it was a first for him who tossled the universe around to have Landon’s chaos.

For people trying to calm Landon’s storm, this was the first time who wanted Landon to unleash the full strength of his strom.

Landon had always been a whirlwind. A beautiful, destructive cyclone of brilliant ideas, impulsive decisions, and a heart that beat so loud it threatened to shatter his ribs.

He’d grown used to the world recoiling, to people wanting him to temper his edges, to quiet the storm that brewed within. He was a masterpiece of chaos, and for most, a masterpiece that needed reining in.

He was taken aback. The world had always sought to tame him, to mold him into something more palatable, more predictable.

Yet here he was, this man who will forcefully hold his hand for the rest of their life, wanting him with every chaotic, fractured piece of his being.

It was a first for him, a universe he had tossed into a frenzy, now embracing him in his rawest form. Vaughn didn’t want the calm after the storm; he wanted the storm itself.

Landon found this situation so fucking unbelievable and so ironic that he couldn't help it, throwing his head back and laughing.

His eyes wrinkling as he laughed till his stomach hurt, clutching on his stomach as the genuine laugh that echoed through the room while Vaughn just stared at him.

When he finally calmed down a little, he looked up at Vaughn, meeting his lion like eyes with his own that held the depth of ocean in them as he smirked, a unhinged devilish smirk that everyone in the Brighton Island feared as he spoke,

"Careful to-be-pakhan, you don't want to open the pandora's box to unleash a plague on humanity now, do you?"

Vaughn however returned his smirk with his own devilish one, stepping closer and leaning near Landon’s face as they held a unbreakable eye contact with their smirks never leaving their lips as he spoke up,

"As a matter of fact wifey, I am really eager to open the box. You see, I am a very curious man and a very selfish one who cares less about the world and more about himself"

Landon stared into Vaughn eyes silently for a brief second, taking note of how his pulips worked before stepped back, turning around to go back to his sculpture.

The smirk however never left his face as he spoke up a challenge very smoothly,

"Then you'll have to win me, future Pakhan, because Landon King belongs to no one."

Landon invited Vaughn on a dangerous dance of manipulation and domination.

And act of annihilation and destruction.

A rhythm of pure chaos with his demons that he ruled.

And Vaughn’s smirk widened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he stepped on the dance floor where their genius minds will clash and dance together in a fiercity that can burn the world down.

"Game on, wifey"

The tension in the room was thick, a magnetic pull between two powerful forces.

This was no longer a forced union, a calculated move on a chess board - it was a battle of wills, a dangerous dance of desire and ambition.

And Landon, despite his anger, found himself drawn into the game, a willing participant in the chaos that was about to explode. The scent of clay and burnt cigarettes still hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the fire that had just been ignited.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 4

Landon stared at his reflection in the dusty mirror, the faint outline of the bandage on his temple a stark reminder of the disastrous week he'd endured. He ran a hand through his clay-dusted hair, a far cry from the polished image his family expected him to present.

Landon looked like a beautiful mess in a simple grey shirt and trousers. His fingers itched to get back to the sculpture, a grotesque gargoyle that was finally starting to take shape. A bandage plastered to his temple didn't fail to be a grim reminder of the bastard who was supposedly his fiancé, was the last thing he wanted to see.

The thought of going downstairs, of facing the orchestrated chaos that awaited him, made his stomach churn. His three siblings, bless their hearts, were officially dragging their 'lovers' into the family fold tonight, dressed to the nines for a family dinner that was essentially a pre-engagement announcement, made his stomach churn. He was dreading this night. He wanted to be anywhere but here. And while Landon was usually all for a little drama, tonight was supposed to be about him. About him meeting his 'unknown' fiancée.

The infuriating, unbelievable irony wasn't lost on him. His fiancée was the same bastard who'd decided to test the structural integrity of his McLaren against an oak, then casually shot him, had a bizarre, almost flirty conversation while Landon was bleeding out, and then, then, just rode off on his bike, leaving Landon stranded in the middle of nowhere. Inconsiderate, to say the least. He could have at least asked if Landon needed a ride, or better yet, taken him home, not that he actually wanted to go with the idiot, but it would have been a nice gesture. Landon had spent three agonizing hours waiting for a tow truck, the wound on his head having ample time to fester. The bandage was now a symbol of that idiotic night, a tiny flag of defiance wrapped around his head in a statement that he didn't care what tonight was supposed to be about.

A sharp rap on his door broke his thoughts. Remington, his friend and frequent companion in artistic debauchery, leaned in, his dark hair unusually neat.

"They're here, Landon. All of them. The Heathens, I mean. You know, your brothers and sisters'....."

Landon waved a hand dismissively, a gesture of utter disinterest. Finding his unfinished sculpture more interesting than the group gathering downstairs.

"I don't care, Remi. Let them eat and be merry. I'm busy"

"Busy covered in clay and dressed like you're ready for a construction site? Landon, everyone's waiting. Your fiancée is waiting"

Remington said, his voice laced with exasperation and dramaticism as he looked up and down at his good friend, judging him and his taste.

"Oh my bad, let me quickly go and put on my magical gown to meet my prince charming"

Landon spoke with pure sarcasm dripping down his lips as he turned to look back his sculpture of a fallen angel, of lucifer to be exact as he is banished for heavens.

Remington however rolled his eyes and spoke up, interrupting him from picking up his tools and going back to work,

"Don't be an idiot. Everyone, including 'him', is waiting for you. Your parents are practically vibrating with anticipation for your arrival"

He knew Remington was right. His parents, Levi and Astrid, were sticklers for tradition, especially when it came to the bussiness ones, because that's what this is, a business meeting to him. He was stuck with this forced betrothal and there was no way to escape it.

Landon swore under his breath. This was exactly what he was trying to avoid. With a sigh, he grabbed a cigarette from the pack on his workbench, lighting it with a snap. He needed to brace himself for the onslaught. With a frustrated groan, Landon taking a long drag of his cigarette and speaks.

"Fine"

He grumbled, pushing past Remington to just get over this. As he walked out of his studio, descending the stairs, the sight that greeted him was like a scene from a lavish, if slightly deranged, period drama. The foyer had been transformed into a ballroom, his family dressed in their finest, as if they were royalty.

He walked down the grand staircase, the scent of expensive perfume and aftershave hitting him like a wall. The scene before him was, as he expected, sickeningly perfect. His siblings, usually a chaotic mess, were practically radiating smugness as they clung to their chosen ones.

Brandon, his younger twin brother, was practically one with Nikolai, the latter a mountain of a man with a surprisingly gentle face. His brother, was practically being devoured by Nikolai, the giant of a man clinging to him like a particularly possessive vine.

Glyndon, his sister, stood beside Killian, a man whose eyes held a chilling glint that made Landon want to gore his eyes out, and Gareth, his brother was reprimanding Killian, trying to make sure he was behaving for their parents. Glyndon stuck to Killian, the man whose eyes held a certain untamed spark that made Landon want to stay as far as possible from his creepy self, had a smile plastered on his face, looking unusually docile tonight

Then there was Annika practically vibrating with excitement next to Cerighton, his cousin, beaming at each other while Annika's brother, Jeremy, chatted with Cerighton's brother, Eli about something as the oldest of their respective groups.

Landon couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy; they all looked...happy. They were all wrapped up in their little groups, a picture of domestic bliss that Landon found nauseating, not that he wasn't happy for them, he was just not ready yet.

He took another drag of his cigarette as he moved to the bottom of the stairs. As if on cue, everyone stopped talking. Their eyes turned to him, a silent expectation hanging in the air. Landon, in his mud-caked trousers and simple shirt, felt like an anomaly in a room of perfectly tailored suits and gowns.

But all of them faded into the background the moment he reached the bottom step. All eyes turned to him, the cigarette clamped between his lips, his clothes covered in clay, and the bandage stark against his skin. His gaze landed on the man standing in the center of the room, talking to his parents.

Vaughn.

Standing in the middle of the room, talking to his parents. He was like a dark flame, his presence drawing the eye, a captivating magnetism even Landon couldn't deny; which was irritating, to say the least. It was almost impressive how well he managed to look presentable even after what Landon did to his car and more so his head.

As Landon reached the last step, Vaughn pushed off from his conversation with a charming smile and slowly made his way towards him.

He was even more infuriatingly handsome than Landon remembered. Impeccably dressed in a dark suit, his dark hair was styled perfectly, and his hazel eyes were so sharp that it sent shivers down his spine. Vaughn turned, a flash of that dangerous smile on his lips, and approached Landon, holding out a bouquet of tightly wrapped flowers.

He held out the bouquet of flowers infront of him, an elaborate arrangement that screamed 'extravagant'.

"Landon"

He said, his voice a low rumble, as if they were meeting for the very first time.

"It's lovely to officially meet you. These are for you"

He said it with such polite calmness, like he hadn't slammed Landon's precious McLaren into a tree, shot him, and then just rode off into the night.

The audacity. The utter gall of the man.

The air seemed to crackle with the tension that only the two of them could feel. From the corner of his eyes, Landon could see the expressions of shock and surprise on the faces of the other Heathens, clearly they had no idea that Vaughn's involvement was so personal. Landon maintained a deadpan expression, accepting the bouquet with a tight nod.

As he took the bouquet, the weight of it a stark contrast to the lightness in Vaughn's tone.

He took the cigarette from his mouth, the tip glowing with a fiery orange, and blew a stream of smoke directly onto Vaughn's face, not caring about the gasps of horror from his family. Then, without missing a beat, he pressed the lit end of the cigarette against the decorative paper wrapping of the bouquet.

The paper instantly charred, releasing a thin wisp of smoke. He watched as the paper caught slowly, and then he dropped the burning bundle onto the floor with a soft thud, right between his feet and Vaughn's.

The smoke curling upwards as the paper started to smolder while he examined the design. He understood it well because he had learnt flower language for Mia's shake and her obsession with her plants.

Vaughn probably had intentionally picked this bouquet from mia's greenhouse only for this moment.

Twelve blood red roses, their velvety petals screaming "you will be mine," sat amongst deep purple rhododendrons, announcing a stark warning - "beware, I am dangerous," and five-leaved cloves, its pungent scent adding a final flourish, a statement of "I will be your bad luck."

They were a perfect representation of the idea Vaughn held for his 'fiancée' and the warning it came with.

He let the bouquet burn on the floor between them, the smoke rising, mingling with the scent of burnt paper and wilting petals. He met Vaughn's eyes, his own gaze flat and cold and devoid of any warmth.

"I don't need your stupid flowers"

Landon said, his voice low and dangerous, ignoring the collective gasp rippled through the room. The Heathens exchanged bewildered glances, a mix of confusion and amusement etched on their faces, revealing they had no idea this engagement was in the works, let alone who their future pakhan's 'wifey' was.

Landon's siblings sputtered, a symphony of scolding and protests. His parents stared, their expressions a mix of disappointment, suprise and mild exasperation.

Vaughn, however, simply smiled. A slow, infuriatingly amused smile that spread across his lips, making his eyes sparkle with a hint of mischief.

"Oh, come now, wifey, that's no way to treat the man who is going to be spending the rest of his life with you"

He chuckled, that low rumble of a voice sending a not-so-pleasant shiver down Landon's spine. The way he said it, with a teasing chuckle that immediately set Landon's teeth on edge.

All Landon wanted to do was to strangle him.

He was so tired of it all.

Landon's hand clenched into a fist, the desire to wipe that smug look off Vaughn's face was almost overwhelming. The way he said 'wifey', like it was an established fact, like Landon was some object he owned, made Landon's blood boil.

He wanted to scream, to lash out, to get as far away from this man as possible. But he was stuck. Forced into this farce of a relationship with a man who he knew, with every fiber of his being, was going to be nothing but trouble. He was trapped, and the infuriating smile on Vaughn's face was proof that the bastard already knew it.

The nickname, the casual disregard for the chaos he'd just ignited, the smugness that radiated from him. It all combined into a red hot rage that Landon had been hiding all week. He really, really wanted to punch him in the face, and not kiss him everyone expected him to like this was some sort of romcom, his inner thoughts screamed at him.

He might just do that.

He raised a brow, a challenging smirk playing on his lips, the fight for control can go two ways. Vaughn might have the upper hand, but Landon will take the control back soon enough.

He spoke while ignoring the world around them and all the stares that focused on them,

"Don't. Ever. Call me that. And don't think that just because we are engaged, I'll be your little pet."

He hissed, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else, something almost like... dare he say, a spark of interest that he hated as much as the man in front of him. He was really a lost cause, him and his love for chaos will take him down one day.

But the thought of ruining Vaughn came and it refused to go, the idea being very tempting on his lips.

Vaughn's smile only widened at his declaration, as if he didn't feel threatened at all by the man who singlehandedly troubled each and every mafia heir of the Bratva.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, wifey"

Landon glared at him, his mind already plotting the myriad of ways he was going to torture Vaughn for just that name alone.

This was going to be one hell of an engagement.

But well, he is known as the Devil Lord for a reason.

He will be the one rule this hell and making the future Pakhan regret his decision of even daring to cross paths with him and ripping him away from his interests and freedom.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 3

Landon slammed the mahogany table with his fist, the sound echoing jarringly in the opulent dining room.

"No!"

The word was a thunderclap, sharp and decisive, the same one he has repeating for hours now probably, from morning to almost sunset now.

"I refuse! And that's it!"

His family stared back at him, their faces a tapestry of exasperation, disappointment, tiredness and thinly veiled anger. He could practically taste the air turning thick with disapproval.

Landon’s chest tightened, each breath a struggle against the suffocating pressure of their expectations. He could sacrifice anything for this family but this? This was out of his legacy. Being married to a man, he would rather choose death over this.

"Landon, PLEASE, think of his"

His auntie said, her voice laced with a plea, begging for his approval to this disastrous proposal

"This is about the family. Our whole bloodline's security"

Landon scoffed, incredulity warring with the urge to scream at all these people he loved from the depth of his heart.

To make them stand in his shoes and see if they will respond with a yes that they are expecting from him.

"Our security? Is that what you call it? Selling me off like a prize calf? I’m not even gay!"

His father, a man whose word was usually to understand his son, sighed heavily as he tried his best to put it out nicely.

"Landon, you know we've been courting Mia for you. This... this is different. It’s necessary so please"

'Necessary'

Landon thought, the word a bitter pill on his tongue. Necessary to sacrifice his happiness, his life, on the altar of their insatiable need for security and their own inability to protect their empire.

He had been courting Mia for months, a not so gentle dance of shared interests and quiet understanding that had begun to grow into something more.

Now, that future was being ripped away from him, replaced with the cold, hard reality of a forced marriage.

"I am not a sacrifice"

Landon said, his voice low and dangerous. He spoke out his heart, in no way could he accept this marriage.

"I’m not a pawn in your little game that you can just push forward"

His siblings chimed in then, their voices a chorus of disapproval and strained tireness laced with fear of losing their own lovers. His sister, Glyndon, whose wedding was probably going to be the first, a joyful affair of white lace and whispered promises in her dreams spoke up.

"Can you stop being so selfish Landon?! It's not about you! It's about our entire family!"

Landon only stared at her for her to take her gaze away from him and hide in their father's arms. There she goes being comforted after stabbing his heart with a bloody knife.

She, who was getting to marry the love of her life, couldn’t understand his vehement refusal. Landon could feel the bile rising in his throat.

How dare she?

She didn't know the feeling of being shackled, of having her future decided for her.

She can getting to marry the man she loved, yet he couldn't even date the woman he found interesting.

But she was only the beginning as Cerighton spoke up from the coach, facing his back to Landon with a hung low head as he spoke up.

"Just get it over with, Landon. Marry the guy, secure the deal, and go back to being the womanizer you always were. Who cares? You for sure don't"

Landon bristled at his harsh words. Yeah, maybe he was 'womanizer' but he wasn’t that bad. He dated many, yes, but he’d never been careless or cruel with them in the relationship. He freed them from himself if he fell out of interest.

The thought of cheating, of betraying the trust of someone he had given his word to, even if by force, was anathema to him. Creighton's casual dismissal of his principles only added to the growing sense of betrayal.

But he seemed least bothered as he hugged the pillow, only thinking of his Annika and how he couldn't live a day without her.

But it was his twin, Brandon, who landed the most devastating blow.

"Landon.....please......You’re a narcissist, Landon"

Brandon said, his eyes cold, devoid of the warmth they usually held but they did hold the guilt of the words he was saying.

He knew his words will hurt Landon, didn't he? And yet he choose to speak them up because apparently thd sheer though of having to leave his Niko was more terrifying than hurting his own twin.

"A sociopath......You’re incapable of feeling love the sense of love anyway

......you always say that, so.....what's the big deal?"

Brandon looked away as he said those words, as if realizing what he said. Wishing he could take those words back but it was late, too late.

The words spoke can’t be taken back.

Landon’s heart shattered into a million pieces. To hear those words, from the one person who knew him best, who he shared a bond with so intrinsic, cut deeper than any of the others' accusations.

So just because he said he is incapable of feeling love, everyone believed it?

Everyone, his family gave up on trying to make him feel love?

His family gave up on the idea that he can ever find love?

His twin, his other half, gave up on the idea that he can fall in love one day?

He’d always felt things deeply, perhaps too deeply. He just didn't know how to handle or process them so he shut them dowm. The thought that Brandon believed him incapable of love, of genuine connection, was like a knife twisting in his gut.

How ironic that he was about to ask these very siblings to give him empathy lessons so that he can feel love and process them.

But apparently that's fruitless already because they believe that he just can no feel love.

His parents and his aunt, all echoed the same sentiment.

'Just agree, marry Vaughn Morozov, and let the Bratva protect our empire.'

They spoke as if Landon were a mere commodity, a tool to be used, traded, for their benefit. They looked at him and saw nothing but a means to an end, his emotions, his desires, completely irrelevant.

Because since he can't feel emotions, he is not worth fighting for.

Only his uncle Aiden remained silent, his gaze heavy, his expression unreadable. Aiden, who had always held a quiet respect and affection for Landon, now seemed to be giving him a choice he didn't possess.

He could see the inevitability in his uncle’s eyes; Landon would marry Vaughn, whether he liked it or not. His eyes offered Landon the little comfort he needed but with the stab wounds from his siblings, they provided very little salvation.

The weight of their collective pressure, the suffocating feeling of complete powerlessness, finally broke him. Landon could feel his resistance crumble, his fight draining away, leaving him hollow. He was drowning, and there was no one to save him. Even when his family was right here.

With a strangled yell of the depth of his throat that echoed out in the hall way, he voiced.

"FINE! I will do it!"

He pushed away from the table, the scrape of his chair against the polished floor echoing the turmoil within him. He stormed out of the mansion, not bothering with goodbyes, his mind reeling, his heart a bruised mess.

"LAN!"

He heard his twin brother yelling but he didn't bother to turn around to the traitors who gave up on him.

Who gave up on him for their love lives and made him give up on his love life for them.

He needed to get away, to breathe, to try and make sense of the chaos that had engulfed his life.

'I never gave up on them and yet, they gave up on me long ago'

He reached his McLaren, the sleek, metallic form a familiar comfort in the storm of his emotions. He slid into the driver’s seat, the scent of leather and the hum of the engine a small solace. He ignited the ignition, the powerful roar a release of the frustration that had been building inside him.

With a sharp turn of the wheel, he sped out onto the winding road, the manicured lawns and imposing architecture of his family’s estate disappearing in his rearview mirror.

'Because giving away the black sheep of their family is the best option for everyone's happiness'

The wind tore through his hair, and the speed blurred the scenery into a kaleidoscope of colors. Landon gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white, trying to outrun the crushing weight of his reality.

He knew, deep down, that no matter how fast he drove, no matter how far away he got, he wouldn't be able to escape the impending marriage, the loss of his own agency. He was a prisoner, not of physical bars, but of his family's situation, his own heart screaming in rebellion.

He had been stripped of his voice, his desires, his future. All that was left was the cold, bitter truth of his situation: he was being sold, traded, for power and security.

'I am going to be sold off like some prized doll'

Landon had always prided himself on his choices, on the life he was building. Now, all of that was gone. He was an unwilling participant, shackled to a fate he hadn't chosen, a life that wasn't his.

And the thought of being forced to marry a man he had never met, a man who represented everything he despised – power, control, ruthlessness – sent a chill straight through to his bones.

He drove for hours, seeking a solace he couldn't find. The sunset painted the sky in hues of orange and purple, a beautiful spectacle that meant nothing to Landon in his despair.

His life, once filled with possibility, now stretched out before him, bleak and desolate, like a barren wasteland. He had said yes, but the word was a hollow echo in his mind, a surrender to a fate he was not ready to accept.

And as the darkness enveloped the road, Landon knew in his heart that this was not the end, but the beginning of a new battle, a fight to reclaim his life, even under the shadow of a forced marriage. The fight, he knew, was just starting.

'I don't know what the fuck I am going to do now'

The low thrum of the McLaren’s engine was usually a balm to Landon, a rhythmic counterpoint to the chaos that often swirled around his life. Tonight, however, it did little to soothe the simmering rage that boiled within him.

He gripped the wheel, knuckles white, trying to outrun the suffocating reality of his situation – a forced marriage to a man he’d never met, a deal brokered between families and ancient grudges. He needed air, needed space, needed to escape the gilded cage of his life, even if only for a few fleeting moments.

'Should I just disappear and start a new life somewhere?'

He pressed harder on the accelerator, the sleek lines of the sports car eating up the winding coastal road. The wind whipped past, a tangible force, yet it couldn’t extinguish the burning resentment that coursed through his veins.

Marriage.

The word tasted like ash in his mouth. He'd always imagined love, a connection that resonated deep within your soul after seeing his parents, not some arrangement that stripped away his agency.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed a flash of emerald green in his rearview mirror. A Kawasaki Ninja, its rider hunched low over the handlebars, was gaining on him with alarming speed.

Landon frowned, his grip tightening.

It was unusual to see anyone on this stretch of road at this hour, let alone someone driving so aggressively. His unease sharpened as the motorbike drew level, then veered to his side.

Before he could react, a sharp crack echoed in the night air. His car lurched violently, the steering wheel wrenching in his hands as the back end of the McLaren began to fishtail. He wrestled for control, but it was futile.

The punctured tire had thrown him off course, sending the car careening toward the edge of the road. He slammed on the brakes, the squeal of tires a jarring counterpoint to the roar of the engine, but momentum was against him.

The McLaren slammed into a sturdy oak tree, the force of the impact throwing him forward against his seatbelt. The air bags deployed, a rush of pressure saving him from a serious injury.

For a moment, Landon sat stunned, the acrid smell of gunpowder and the ringing in his ears a disorienting combination.

Then, his fury ignited.

Who dared?

Who had the audacity to attack his car, his person with such brazen recklessness?

He unbuckled his seatbelt, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and shoved open the driver’s side door.

He was out before he could think, legs shaky as he stepped into the cool night air. That’s when the second shot cracked, this time much closer than the first.

He felt a searing pain along his temple, a hot rush of blood trickling down the side of his face.

The bullet, he realized, had barely missed his head, its trajectory ripping a shallow wound along the side of his skull before burying itself into the tree trunk beside him.

Landon’s hand flew to the wound, fingers coming back crimson. He felt a surge of pure, unadulterated rage.

With a guttural growl, he reached behind his back, pulling his own gun from the holster hidden under the waistband of his pants.

He didn't hesitate. He fired one sharp shot, the bullet aimed instinctively, striking the rider’s helmet with a dull thud. The helmet, clearly reinforced, didn’t shatter, but the impact was enough to send the attacker reeling back.

He hissed in pain, the shock of the near miss and the throbbing of his head compounding his fury.

Through narrowed eyes, Landon watched the figure approach after parking his bike by the road side, still holding on to his rifle gun.

"Sniper"

He growled the word, his voice thick with anger laced with pain. He was already plotting his counterattack, ready to show just how dangerous he could be.

But before he could utter another word, the rider reached up, unlatched the helmet, and pulled it off in one smooth motion.

Landon's breath hitched.

It wasn't some faceless thug.

It was a man.

A handsome man, with sharp, sculpted features that were framed by dark, wavy hair. A pair of metal-rimmed glasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, doing little to mask the unnerving glint in his hazel eyes.

And then there was the smirk that played on his lips, a predatory curve that sent a shiver down Landon’s spine, despite the pain.

"Wifey"

Hhe man said, his voice laced with a thick, unmistakably Russian accent. The word rolled off his tongue like a promise, or maybe a threat.

Turning the dangerous situation to the famous trend on internet apparently.

The world seemed to tilt on its axis. Landon stared, processing what he was hearing, what he was seeing. The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place with terrifying clarity.

The forced marriage.

The looming spectre of his arranged future.

And now, the man standing in front of him, glasses askew, smirking like a devil.

Vaughn Morozov.

The man he was forced to marry.

Landon’s hand tightened around his gun, the metal cold against his palm. He had been ready for a fight, ready to defend himself against a nameless enemy. But this?

This was a different kind of battle, one that was just beginning. He looked into those piercing hazel eyes, and for the first time since the crash, felt the weight of his situation truly press down on him.

This wasn’t just anger; this was fury. Fury of the power this man held over him, the chilling possibility that he wasn’t just forced to marry him, but that this man would actually try to own him.

Vaughn took a step closer, his smirk widening. He reached up, his gloved hand hovering near the wound on Landon’s head that he was pressing on.

"You’re bleeding"

He stated, his voice low and husky, laced with a hint of dark amusement of the damage he has caused.

"Such a shame, Wifey. You’ve ruined my first impression"

Landon flinched back, shaking his head. His anger was still there, a burning fire in his gut, but it was now mixed with a strange sense of bewilderment. He lowered his gun, but he didn't put it away.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

His voice was a low growl, strained with pain and disbelief. Today was already stressful enough for him, he really didn't need to meet his 'fiance' right now and have him be this asshole.

"Trying to kill me?"

Vaughn chuckled, a low rumble in his chest, and let his hand fall back to his side with Landon’s blood staining his gloves

"Killing you, Lyubov? No, no. I wouldn't do that. You’re far too interesting for me to let that happen. But perhaps"

He paused, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief and he placed his rifle over his shoulders and spoke with a smirk.

"Perhaps I was just trying to get your attention"

He took another step closer making Landon take a step back. The overwhelming scent of rum and sandalwood emerging from the man's body was hitting Landon’s nostrils in a calming way that it shouldn't.

"Did it work, Wifely?"

Landon was speechless, anger and confusion battling within him. He was being toyed with, he could feel it, and it only fueled his rage. This wasn't how he'd imagined meeting his 'betrothed', it wasn't how he had imagined being treated, but then again, nothing in his life ever went as planned.

He wasn't sure what to make of Vaughn.

Was he reckless, psychotic even, or just playing a deadly game? What Landon did know, was that this was just the start, and the marriage that awaited him was going to be a very long rollercoaster.

"Oh it did you russian asshole"

He hissed out with venom dripping down his lips that only caused Vaughn to smirk.

The night air hung thick with tension, the silence punctuated only by the gentle rustling of the leaves. The engine of his McLaren still ticked, reminding him of the life that he was trying to escape.

A life that had just taken a very violent and unexpected turn, all thanks to the man standing before him, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched him, with an unknown future ahead of him as he was now bound by a commitment to this man.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 2

The sun-drenched shores of Brighton Island, usually a haven of relaxed luxury for the King family, were suddenly invaded by an unexpected flurry of activity.

Levi and Astrid King, along with Aiden and Elsa, appeared as if out of thin air, their faces etched with a worry that contradicted the paradisal setting.

The sudden arrival of their parents, a quartet of impeccably dressed individuals whose usual stomping grounds were boardrooms and private jets, painted a different picture entirely. Their arrival caused a ripple of surprise amongst their children, who were enjoying a rare peaceful day.

Glyndon, ever the affectionate one, was the first to react, throwing her arms around her father Levi.

"Dad! What are you doing here?"

Levi spoke up, his voice strangely strained, as he returned the hug. His jaw set with a gravity that usually preceded a major business deal, strode forward, enfolding Glyndon in a tight hug.

"We need to talk"

Similar greetings were exchanged, Astrid, usually a picture of composed elegance, held Brandon, her embrace a mix of warmth and worry.

Elsa, her eyes mirroring a deeper concern than usual, squeezed Creighton, while Aiden clapped Eli on the shoulder, his smile strained.

Once the initial shock had subsided, they gathered in the opulent living room, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Levi, his usual jovial demeanor replaced with a stern gravity, began to explain.

"It’s… it’s bad, kids. Really bad"

He paused, as if choosing his words carefully to frame it to them.

"The mafias, various syndicates from across the globe, they’re targeting us. The King Empire is under attack".

The initial surprise of their unexpected visit quickly morphed into unease as their parents’ explanations unfolded. The words tumbled out, painting a grim picture of their once-impregnable empire, the King Empire, teetering on the brink of collapse.

Astrid elaborated, her voice trembling slightly as she tried her best to explain the grim situation to her children.

"Our cargo ships are disappearing, vanishing into thin air. The companies that own them are demanding compensation for the losses. It’s a financial nightmare".

Aiden took over, his gaze serious with the intensity of the situation as he continued.

"And that’s not all. Over nine billion dollars have been siphoned from our accounts, without a trace, and the ones who’s money it is are now demanding it back. We’re hemorrhaging money".

Elsa added the final, chilling piece of the puzzle with a calm worry as she looked at the four children and spoke up calmly

"And, most worryingly, over thirty percent of our shares in the open market have been bought up, and the holders refuse to sell them back at any price".

The room fell silent, the enormity of the situation sinking in. The King Empire, their legacy, the foundation of their lives, was crumbling at an alarming rate.

Eli was the first to speak, his voice laced with concern for their lineage as he stood up with experience and spoke.

"We need to do something. Tell me dad, uncle what I can do? Should we use family funds for help?"

Levi shook his head, his eyes showing the depth of their desperation while Aiden sighted and spoke up,

"Your grandfather, Jonathan, approached the Pakhan of the New York Bratva for help, knowing that each of you is involved with the bratva’s heirs".

The King siblings stared at their parents, their faces mirroring the mounting dread that filled the room. It was like a meticulously built sandcastle being systematically eroded by a relentless tide.

It was Jonathan, their grandfather, who had sought help, their parents explained. He had approached the Pakhan of the New York Bratva, knowing his grandchildren were dating three of their heirs.

They had assumed, at first, that the Pakhan had refused assistance but as their parents explained, he had agreed. But with preconditions.

"He is willing to help, but under certain conditions"

Levi stated, his eyes locking with Glyndon's and Landon’s as he spoke up.

"What kind of conditions?"

Creighton asked, his brow furrowed. He was already planning to propose to his girlfriend, the only daughter of the Volkov family in next few months. This better not be any kind of marriage proposal.

"Your marriages will be held immediately after graduation with your respective partners"

Astrid said, her gaze moving from one solemn face to the next.

A beat of silence followed. Then, Creighton, Brandon and Glyndon exchanged glances. It was perfect, wasn’t it? They were already planning to take the next step. They beamed at their parents and nodded.

"He is fixed on not letting your relationship be any kind of dynamic or fragile one"

Aiden spoke up as a wave of relief washed over Glyndon, Brandon and Creighton. They once again glanced at each other, their eyes sparkling with anticipation. They were in love and they were going to get married.

Levi explained further to confirm their theory

"So, Creighton, you will marry your girlfriend Annika, the Pakhan’s niece, the only daughter of the Volkov family. Brandon, you will marry your boyfriend Nikolai, the only son of the Sokolov family who is also one of the pakhan's nephew. And Glyndon, you will marry your boyfriend Killian, the younger son of the Carson family as he is also the Pakhan's nephew."

The room buzzed with the excitement of three siblings, the realization of their long-held dreams now materializing.

"That’s it? That won’t be a problem for us"

Creighton said smiling while thinking of his little purple and her smile.

"Yes, we are getting married after graduation anyways!"

Brandon smiled at his mother while holding her hand tightly as he thought of his dangerous sunshine.

"It's perfect!"

Glyndon added, a dreamy smile gracing her face, grinning at her parents. She could already see herself in a white dress walking the aisle towards her boyfriend, Killian, the younger son of the Carson family.

But the celebratory atmosphere quickly evaporated, replaced by a heavy, foreboding silence as Elsa sighed, her expression turning grave as her words brought the threw out of their dreamland.

"It’s not that simple, you three. The Bratva has four powerful families who rule it. Each of you has to be married into one of them to solidify the bond between us and them"

The siblings exchanged confused glances. Aiden continued, his tone firm as he explained the situation.

"The Pakhan wants a single, unbreakable alliance with the King family. If all of you are married into each of their families, they will back us against any threat without question"

The siblings looked at their parents, a sense of dread crawling up their spines as Astird continued further.

"To fully secure the alliance, the Pakhan wants one of our children to marry his heir, the only son of the Morozov family, Vaughn Morozov himself"

The air crackled with unspoken tension, each sibling searching the others for any acknowledgment of understanding at what their parents were implying as Levi spoke up with tenses eyebrows.

"He said it's either that, or the three of you will have to leave the Bratva heirs".

And there he said it, the worst nightmare of the three of them. Knowing that their lovers will always be powerless against their pakhan's orders as they gasped collectively.

Glyndon immediately gripped on the coach's arm, hoping it was Killian sitting besides her to comfort her that he won't leave her under any circumstances.

"No! I can't leave kill!"

She yelled out while Brandon bit his lips in worry, hanging his head low and trying to not imagine a world without his Niko, which is just absolute dark and a abyss for him.

"Please no mom.....dad. I.....I can't live without him"

He voiced while Creighton hugged a pillow on his lap, hoping it was his Annika instead of anyone else in his arms. He looked up, speaking firmly,

"I am not leaving my little purple"

They all declared their refusal for the last option, of leaving the archors of their lives for anyone's order or wish, may it be the Pakhan of the New York Bratva himself.

The room fell silent except for the faint splash of the waves against the shore. The air grew thick with tension. What had begun as a grim business briefing had now mutated into a personal sacrifice of the highest order.

"The Pakhan is adamant"

Elsa explained, her voice soft but firm to explain the situation to them.

"He loves his Bratva brothers, but he won't take a decision based solely on the fact that his niece and nephews are dating the King heirs. He needs a full binding. A King heir marrying his son ensures that we are entirely in this together. For lifetime"

The King siblings stared, their faces a mixture of shock and unease. The reality of the situation hit them. This wasn’t just about saving an empire, it was about their lives, about them and about their futures.

"Your Grandfather refused to sacrifice Eli"

Astrid continued, her eyes meeting her children's and Eli's who was almost ready to offer himself for the shake of the empire.

"He’s too valuable to the Empire according to the bussiness council, and he is…....well, too old for Vaughn Morozov apparently"

The dawn of the impossible task layed before them shined that to save their Empire and their Love Life, they had to convince the one person who didn't care about anyone but himself, the second oldest of the King bloodline.

Landon King.

"Which leaves Landon"

Aiden finished, his eyes fixed on the staircase as he cemented the doubts in their minds to reality.

All eyes turned towards the staircase as a loud crash echoed through the room. It was the sound of something ceramic shattering against the floor, and the source was quickly apparent.

Landon King stood halfway down the staircase, his face a rare mask of shock and disbelief as the pieces of his new sculpture lay scattered at his feet.

The silence that followed was deafening, the weight of the unspoken decision heavier than any physical burden. Landon, the genius artist, the devil of the family, was suddenly the focal point of their desperate situation, the linchpin in a complex web of power, love, and duty.

His eyes, wide with a mix of fury and confusion, met his family's gaze. He had just become an unwilling pawn in a game that could save their empire or crush it completely. And the decision layed solely on his shoulders.

Landon King had always been the center of attention in his family, his life a loud existence defined by his artistic pursuits and chaotic plans. He was the observant yet executive sibling, content to watch the world unfold before him as a actively participate in all of it's chaos.

But he was as much home with clay and canvas as he was in a boardroom or a power play.

Why?

Because that's him.

He is Landon King.

He does what he likes.

All eyes turned towards the top of the stairs, where a faint sound of shattering ceramic echoed through the stillness had just echoed.

The new sculpture, painstakingly crafted by Landon, lay scattered in pieces on the floor. Landon stood there, frozen, his eyes wide and filled with a mixture of disbelief, raw panic and anger as he spoke up firmly,

"No. Just no"

But will his refusal truly mean anything in this situation?

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Chapter 1

The wrought iron gates of the Heathens' new mansion loomed, a dark silhouette against the bruised twilight sky. Vaughn pushed them open, the heavy metal groaning in protest as he entered the grounds.

His boots crunched on the gravel path as he approached the imposing structure, built in a stark, modern style that screamed power and wealth.

The heavy oak door of the Heathens' newly acquired mansion swung inward as Vaughn entered, his presence immediately filling the space.

Inside, he found Nikolai and Killian in the main hall, their faces tight with a barely contained fury, their expressions a volatile mix of anger and anticipation, turned to face him.

"We were just discussing,"

Nikolai began, his voice tight as he wasn't in his usual jolly mode, no, he was standing as the punisher of the Heathens.

"how we're going to take Landon King down. We have a plan."

Killian's fist clenched, the psychotic doctor wanted nothing more than the blood of his lover's brother to pain his hands.

"We'll make him pay for what he did. For what he did to all of us"

Vaughn tilted his head, observing them with a detached air as he stated, his voice steady, almost dismissive while he raised a hand, silencing them.

"No"

He stated, his voice calm, yet carrying an undeniable weight as their future leader.

"You won't"

The word hung in the air, thick with dissent. Nikolai’s eyes narrowed, the icy blue of his irises burning with fury.

Their anger flared, incandescent. Nikolai’s fists clenched, the muscles in his arms bulging.

"What do you mean, no? This is what we’ve been planning!"

Killian stepped forward, his body tense with adrenaline as he added, his voice laced with venom.

"He needs to be punished, Vaughn. He needs to suffer."

Vaughn met their gazes, unflinching.

He remained unfazed by their outburst. He knew their pain, understood the burning need for vengeance. But he had a different plan, one far more meticulous and devastating.

"I know he does. But not like that. You will act as if you are completely indifferent to Landon King for now"

Confusion warred with frustration on their faces as they looked at the second youngest among them and their group.

"Indifferent?"

Nikolai scoffed, one know for never letting someone escape unharmed after hurting him or his family was not having it.

"That’s not what we want!".

However the young leader honed to lead the Bratva with a iron fist remained unshakeable as he spoke,

"You will not touch Landon King"

He repeated, his voice unwavering, dripping with a strange possessiveness.

"You will, however, very soon, be in a far more intimate position with his siblings without a hiderance"

Their confusion was palpable, replacing the rage that had been bubbling a moment before. Nikolai frowned, his brow furrowing.

"What are you talking about?"

Nikolai and Killian exchanged puzzled glances with each other, completely lost at Vaughn's sudden declaration.

Vaughn's lips curled into a slow, knowing smile that could send shivers down anyone's spine.

"Patience, my brothers. You will have your revenge, and it will be far sweeter than anything you could have imagined"

He paused, letting his words sink into the two muscle heads minds as he spoke up again.

"You both will be having your Kings with you soon without the devil to interrupt you"

Their eyebrows shot up in unison, their minds struggling to catch up with his words.

"What?"

Killian whispered, the first victim of Landon King and the one yearning for revenge the longest.

"You, Nikolai"

Vaughn said, his hazel eyes glinting with amusement as the pointed at the youngest of the Heathens and then at the one older than himself.

"will have Brandon King, the golden boy of king family. And you, Killian, will have Glyndon King, the little princess of King family"

He paused for effect, letting his words hang in the air think with tension

"I have ensured it. Right now, the poison is spreading."

Nikolai and Killian exchanged puzzled glances with each other, completely lost at Vaughn's sudden declaration.

"Poison?"

Nikolai echoed, his voice laced with confusion of his young self.

"What poison? What is going on?"

He however saw the flicker of disbelief, then a spark of understanding in Killian's eyes who nodded in approval.

"It seems you know kill, now"

Vaughn continued with a small smirk on his lips

"The poison is already in motion. In a matter of days, the King Empire will crumble from the inside out".

Vaughn waved a hand dismissively, as he spoke up

"That however, is a story for later. First though, call Jeremy and Gareth. I need them to be here."

A few minutes passed, and soon, Jeremy and Gareth joined the group, their expressions mirroring the bewilderment of the first two. The room filled with a tense silence as the last two arrived, the anticipation palpable. Vaughn pulled his laptop forward, his fingers dancing over the keys.

Vaughn waited until they had all settled, before turning to his laptop, its screen reflecting the muted light of the hall. He swivelled it to face them and his grin widened, revealing a spreadsheet filled with bank account codes, each with a staggering balance.

"Observe"

He commanded, his voice low and smooth. The screen flickered to life, displaying a spreadsheet filled with numbers, each more astronomical than the last. Multiple bank account names were listed, each one with a staggering balance.

Over twenty accounts, all in different names and coutry origins, each with sums that seemed impossible.

They stared, their breath catching in their throats as they tried to comprehend the enormity of the wealth displayed.

"Over nine billion dollars"

Vaughn announced, his voice smooth with a smirk.

"All mine."

The four men stared, their mouths agape in disbelief.

The room erupted into a cacophony of disbelief and shock. Gareth's jaw dropped, even he couldn't imagine something like this as the hacker of the group.

"How? How is that possible?"

Vaughn smirked, his gaze sweeping over their stunned faces as he began.

"Over the last seven months, since I first heard of Killian's kidnapping at the hands of Landon King, I've been quietly dismantling his precious empire.”

His fingers tapping lightly on the laptop's edge as he let his words sink in until his hazel eyes looked up at all of them with a smirk that sent shivers down their spines.

"You were focused on their leader, I went for their core"

He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping over their stunned faces. He tapped a few keys, bringing up a series of complex financial charts.

"I started small at first, with the transactions. A few dollars here, a few there. But soon, I escalated it to sums of millions and then billion"

He chuckled, a low, predatory sound.

"Every payment they made, every transfer they initiated, it went to my accounts. Their partners, their allies, their customers – all were left in the dark, angry and confused because the money vanished even though they provided it, never reaching the intended recipient's accounts"

Vaughn switched the screen to a series of images - displayed satellite maps showing various cargo blurred photos of cargo ships vanishing into the night, warehouses filled with goods that bore the King Empire's insignia.

"Then I moved on to resources. Their goods, all the cargo ships that carry them – gone. They are now in our Bratva’s warehouses, all under the guise of other mafia organizations. The King family must be in a complete state of confusion, wondering who is behind all this. Which group to fight against."

He switched to another tab, this one showing share market data and stock market. A smirk played on his lips as he zoomed in on a section.

"And lastly, the part that hit them the hardest. Along with everything else, I bought 32.74% of the King Empire’s shares on the open market. And I refuse to sell them"

He leaned forward, looking at them all with a smirk on his face as lastly he switched to the last tab that displayed the latest Instagram post of Landon King, showing that Vaughn was following him with a fake account and his most recent story about a sculpture in progress.

Landon sat besides it sculpture, dressed in a simple shirt and covered in clay as he posed with a peace sign in one hand while holding a sculpture tool in the other.

"You see, I didn't want to just hurt their leader physically, that just makes us mobsters, I wanted to cripple them and him in the process. And I did"

The silence that followed was deafening. Their eyes darted between the laptop screen and Vaughn’s face, trying to grasp the scale of his operation.

The silence was heavy, broken only by the hum of the laptop. The Heathens were speechless, their minds struggling to comprehend the sheer scale of Vaughn’s deception.

They had been fixated on Landon King's personal destruction, but Vaughn had targeted the entire empire. He had taken away everything the King family held dear - their wealth, their resources, their reputation.

Nikolai was the first to find his voice, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and awe of the one just few years older than him.

"You… you did all of this? All alone?"

Vaughn shrugged, a flicker of pride in his eyes of his achievement.

"It was a necessity. It's the only way to achieve what I want. A more impactful way".

Gareth added, his gaze admiring Vaughn and having a new found respect for him.

"While we were thinking of revenge against Landon."

Jeremy finally whispered, his voice filled with awe of his young future pakhan.

"You weren't going after Landon King. You were going for the entire King Empire."

Vaughn inclined his head, a predatory gleam in his hazel eyes that resembled his mother's.

"Indeed. Landon is just a symptom. The disease is the King family"

He leaned back, his posture radiating confidence, his gaze sharpening as he spoke,

"Precisely. Now, in a few days, Jonathan King, the patriarch, will receive an offer. A lifeline to save his crumbling empire. And the price?"

He placed a finger over his lips as he spoke up with his bone shivering smirk,

"It's a surprise for everyone"

Killian stared at him, a mix of trepidation and admiration flickering in his eyes.

"You’re…insane".

Vaughn chuckled, the sound sending a chill down their spines, and making them see their current pakhan in his son sitting before them.

"Strategic"

He corrected them very smoothly.

"not insane. Insanity is merely a lack of understanding. I understand all too well"

A shiver ran down their spines at the sheer audacity of his plan, at the cold ruthlessness behind his words. They had always known Vaughn was formidable, but this... this was a different level. Landon King, once the powerful leader, would be reduced to nothing more than a prize for Vaughn, his life a constant testament to his failure.

He looked at them all, his gaze intense as it went back to the two victims of Landon's abduction.

"And don’t worry, Kill and Niko. I have no intention of taking Glyndon or Brandon from you two. They are, after all, your prizes"

He then turned towards them, a cruel glint shining in his eyes. A smile stretched his lip, cold and devoid of warmth.

"So, my dear brothers, Landon King is my prey now"

The Heathens were silent, their minds reeling from the revelation. They had been focused on a single act of vengeance, while Vaughn had been orchestrating a symphony of destruction that would bring a powerful family to its knees.

They were both scared and awed, at their future leader's strategic prowess. He had been playing the long game, and they were only just beginning to see its full scope.

The respect they had for him, already considerable, grew tenfold. The meticulously laid trap for Landon King, the slow and silent implosion of his world, was more terrifying than any direct confrontation.

It was a masterclass in calculated cruelty, and they were all witnesses to its unfolding.

And a slow, predatory smile began to mirror on their lips too, a shared anticipation blooming in their hearts as they watched their pakhan patiently ready Landon King for his hellish fate.

Killian, his initial anger replaced by a sense of profound awe, finally found his voice, his eyes never leaving Vaughn's face.

"You have already won"

Vaughn’s smile turned predatory than it already was.

"Not yet. But I assure you, it is only a matter of time"

He closed his laptop, turning his attention to the four men in front of him who will one day be his four pillars.

"Now, let us discuss the next steps. You all have roles to play in this masterpiece".

The Heathens were both terrified and exhilarated. Their future Pakhan was a force of nature, a mastermind who had orchestrated a coup of epic proportions. And they, his loyal soldiers, would follow him anywhere.

The trap was set, and Landon King, along with his entire empire, were walking right into it. The only question was, how long could they keep from breaking apart the empire before the plan was set into motion.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

PROLOGUE

The rhythmic thud of leather against padded wood filled the cavernous gym in room. Vaughn Morozov, sweat plastering his dark hair to his forehead, moved with the fluid grace of a panther, his strikes precise and powerful.

He was a man forged in the crucible of discipline, destined to lead one of the most powerful Bratva families in the world. Yet, tonight, his mind wasn't entirely focused on the task at hand.

Instead, it drifted to the whispers carried on the wind from Brighton Island, tales spun by his friends during their rare calls.

The name that echoed most often, the one that seemed to ripple through every conversation like a rogue current.

It was Landon King.

Landon King, a name that seemed to be a synonym for pure, unadulterated mayhem, had become an almost mythical figure in Vaughn's mind. He was the wrench thrown into the perfectly oiled machine of the Bratva’s heir apparent’s lives.

Landon King. The name was practically a legend within the Bratva circles of Brighton Island. He was the antithesis of everything Vaughn had been taught to respect - control, restraint, and calculated action.

King was chaos incarnate. A whirlwind of unpredictable energy that seemed to delight in disrupting the carefully constructed world of the Sokolovs, Volkovs, Carsons and their allies.

Vaughn had heard the stories, pieced together like fragments of a shattered mirror. Killian, the resident psycho and usually the most unpredictable of them all, actually kidnapped by King, for the simple offense of dating Landon’s sister. That alone was impressive, bordering on absurd.

The audacity alone made Vaughn's lips twitch.

And then there was Nikolai, their human weapon, the man whose loyalty and obedience were legendary, targeted for a mere glance at King's twin brother that apparently was a great offense.

Vaughn had even heard the story of Annika, their sharpshooter, forced to shoot her boyfriend, a revenge plot so convoluted it bordered on theatrical.

And Creighton — the boyfriend, was a cousin of the said king — because of some family vendetta. Vaughn shook his head at the audacity of it all and quietly at the stupidity of the people he is suppose to lead the bratva with in the future.

This Landon King apparently had managed to get in nerves of each and every Heathen in Brighton Island, including Gareth who almost lost his life in a break failure that is suspected to be caused by Landon, though nothing exactly is confirmed.

The stories didn't end there. Vaughn sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.

Jeremy, typically reserved and focused, was boiling in anger of the fact that his 'Silver Angel' Cecily was blindly in love with King to see his love.

And said Cecily, usually as sharp as a tack according to Jeremy’s description, had been manipulated into giving King access to the Heathens Mansion security system, which he then used to burn the place to the ground.

Vaughn almost questioned if Landon King had any mafia links to be this precised and cruel but the anger came to be no.

Only that he was 'a Sociopath and a Raging Narcissist' in words of the Heathens.

And the most recent tale was of King brazenly declaring his intentions to court Mia Sokolov, showing up uninvited at her birthday, the sheer audacity of it enough to make even Vaughn pause.

Because the man really has some nerves to walk into the Lions den and put his hand in their mouth with a confident smile.

A strange, almost grudging admiration began to take root within Vaughn. This Landon King was a master of disruption, a force of nature who managed to get under the skin of some of the most dangerous individuals Vaughn knew.

He thought of the carefully laid plans, the strategic moves he’d been taught, and then of King’s pure, unadulterated chaos. Something about it was… fascinating.

It was like watching a master chess player deliberately scattering all the pieces, just to see how the others would scramble.

Vaughn found, much to his own bemusement, that he admired this Landon King. It wasn't a comfortable admiration, not like the respect he felt for his mentors. It was a grudging, curious admiration for the sheer, unbridled audacity and the meticulous planning that went into each of his chaotic acts.

This man seemed to possess a unique talent for undercutting the Bratva heirs, those powerful, untouchable figures who Vaughn knew better than anyone, and finding their most vulnerable spots.

So, when Nikolai, his voice tight with frustration, called him from Brighton Island, Vaughn was already several steps ahead.

"He’s courting Mia, Vaughn"

Nikolai had growled, the words laced with barely contained rage as he spoke about the devilish twin of his beloved lotus flower,

"We need to make him disappear"

Vaughn smirked, a slow, predatory smile that didn’t quite reach his hazel eyes.

"Don’t worry, Nikolai"

He said, his voice calm, the contrast to Nikolai’s rage quite stark from the other side.

"I’m coming to Brighton Island. I have a plan"

A plan far more refined, more intricate, than any simple kidnapping scheme Nikolai and Killian could conjure up.

The flight to Brighton Island was a blur of anticipation for Vaughn. He spent the time meticulously replaying each story he'd heard about Landon King, searching for patterns, weaknesses.

He was a hunter preparing for his prey, and the thrill of the chase was starting to bubble beneath the surface. He would make this Landon King his personal project, his final test in the art of manipulation and power. He wanted to see the chaos for himself, study its roots, and then, he was sure, he would bring it under his own control.

He wasn't going to play by the rules, he never did. This wasn't just about removing Landon King; this was about bringing him to heel.

His plan was more comprehensive than the typical “make him disappear” Bratva method. He wouldn’t just threaten, he’d break. He’d dismantle every piece of Landon's meticulously constructed chaos, leaving him with nothing to rely on but the very people he’d so skillfully tormented.

"Let's see how you will handle me, малышонок1"

Vaughn whispered to himself as his private jet landed on the Brighton Island.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

"You have ruffled the wrong bag of feathers, King" — Vaughn Morozov, The Future Pakhan

"You have messed with the wrong person, Morovoz" – Landon King, The Devil Lord

GOD OF CONTROL

"Sniper" Landon spoke with venom dripping from his tongue.

"Wifey" Vaughn spoke with amusement rolling down his lips.

The shadows whispered of a king, Landon, they called, a twisted thing.

His mind a maze, his heart a stone, He played his games, utterly alone.

The Bratva seethed, their fury grew, Each heir he mocked, each insult flew.

Then they called on him, from New York's harsh gleam, A future pakhan, fueled by a vengeful dream.

Not to destroy, but to possess, To bend the King, to his distress.

With soft words and eyes of burning coal, He schemed to claim Landon, body and soul.

A dance of power, yet to play, Where cunning met a twisted sway.

The Bratva's heir, with plans untold, And the King, in a cage of his own cold.

Would love bloom in this battle of might? Or just ashes by the end of this dark night.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Guys, how about A Vaughn Morozov x Landon King fic? 👀

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

RUSSIAN LESSONS

The worn pages of the Russian dictionary lay open, a stark contrast to the sleek phone resting beside it. Landon’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his tongue peeking out between his lips as he meticulously scanned the Cyrillic characters.

Jeremy watched, a playful grin playing on his lips, leaning against the kitchen counter, a silent observer to Landon's dedicated attempt at language acquisition.

"Okay, I’m ready"

Landon announced, his voice a mix of determination and trepidation. He looked up at Jeremy, his eyes sparkling with a mix of anticipation and a hint of frustration.

"Just say something simple, okay? Nothing complicated".

Jeremy chuckled, pushing himself off the counter and sauntering over to the table where Landon sat perched like an eager student.

"Alright, профессор,"

He replied, using the Russian word for ‘professor’ with a teasing lilt. Landon’s cheeks flushed slightly at the nickname, but he held his ground.

Jeremy leaned in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He cleared his throat, his accent thick with an American drawl as he said,

"милый."

Landon’s eyes darted down to his phone, his fingers flying across the screen, typing the foreign word into the translation app. When the English equivalent popped up, his cheeks turned a vibrant shade of pink.

"Cute?"

He muttered, his voice a mix of sheepishness and amusement. He playfully slapped Jeremy’s arm.

"Stop it. I’m trying to learn, and you’re being ridiculous".

Jeremy just grinned, unfazed. He knew that beneath Landon’s serious exterior was a soft heart that loved being teased, even if he pretended otherwise.

"Okay, okay"

He conceded, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"How about… кролик?"

Landon sighed, but dutifully went through the same process. The translation popped up: 'rabbit' He stared at Jeremy, his eyes narrowing.

"Are you… are you calling me a rabbit?"

He asked, a touch of incredulity in his voice. Jeremy chuckled in amusement.

"Maybe"

He teased, wiggling his eyebrows at his boyfriend.

"Or maybe it just popped into my head".

Landon huffed, his fingers already poised over the virtual keyboard.

"Okay, fine. Next one".

"кукла"

Jeremy offered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Doll"

Landon read from his phone, his eyes widening this time. He stared at Jeremy, a slow realization dawning on his face. He knew Jeremy had a tendency for using strange pet names, but to hear them in Russian was a whole new world of adorable madness. The next few words only confirmed his suspicions.

"Китти"

Jeremy said, his voice smooth as honey.

"Kitty"

Landon mumbled, his gaze fixed on the phone.

"сонный медведь"

Jeremy continued, his smile growing wider as Landon’s frustration grew.

"Sleepy bear"

Landon read out loud, finally connecting all the dots. He threw his hands up in the air, his frustration finally boiling over.

"Are you serious?!"

He asked with rosy cheeks from his frustration.

"You’ve been calling me all these nicknames? In Russian?!"

Jeremy, who was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter, finally released it and howled. He couldn’t help himself at Landon’s reaction. He’d been waiting for this moment all day. Landon launched himself toward Jeremy, trying to wipe the smirk off his face with his hands. But Jeremy was faster. He caught Landon in his arms, trapping him against his chest, his arms wrapped firmly around his waist.

"What’s wrong, кролик?"

He teased with his deep voice.

"Don’t like your nicknames?"

Landon struggled for a moment, but eventually gave up, settling against Jeremy’s chest as he grumbled.

"You’re impossible"

Jeremy nuzzled his face into the crook of Landon’s neck before speaking, this time a new Russian sentence flowing from his lips.

"мне кажется, ты маленький кошмар".

The translation was immediate: 'I fancy you, little nightmare' Landon huffed, pulling back slightly to glare at Jeremy.

"See? You’re annoying, I want you gone"

Landon jokingly said, his voice carrying a hint of affection that was a fraction of what he held for Jeremy in his heart. Jeremy placed his chin on Landon’s shoulder, holding him even closer. Using Russian once again, he said, his voice tinged with a seductive drawl,

"нет, маленький художник, ты будешь моим мужем скоро и ты не сможешь избавиться от меня".

Landon’s breath hitched. 'No can do little mouse, you will be my husband soon and you can’t get rid of me' the translation said, making his face turn a shade of red that rivaled the roses in their garden. He felt a surge of warmth rush through him as he heard the words spoken in Russian by Jeremy, his American twang making the language sound even more sensual.

Jeremy, feeling Landon’s reaction, lifted his head slightly and gently kissed the spot just under Landon’s left eye.

"мне нравится родинка под твоим глазом"

He murmured against his skin with his hot breath hitting Landon’s skin.

"I love the mole under your eye"

Landon whispered to himself. He melted against Jeremy, all pretense of frustration gone, finally succumbing to the whirlwind of emotions that Jeremy always seemed to evoke in him. He buried his face in Jeremy’s chest, inhaling his familiar scent he muttered.

"Okay, I’ve had enough Russian for today. My brain is tired"

Jeremy chuckled softly, his arms tightening around Landon. He gently guided them over to the sofa and sat down pulling Landon down with him. He positioned himself so Landon could snuggle up against him.

"как пожелаешь пупсик"

Jeremy whispered softly to his lover

"ты выглядишь красиво, когда спишь у меня на руках".

'As you wish sweetheart, you look beautiful when you sleep in my arms'

Landon understood with delight. He nestled closer, his eyes already fluttering shut. He couldn’t remember a time when he felt this safe, this loved. Jeremy was his anchor, his chaos, and his home, all wrapped into one. Jeremy shifted, settling Landon more comfortably on his chest, his fingers stroking gently through his hair. He whispered softly, his voice filled with affection.

"ты мой любимый человек"

Landon, his voice thick with sleep, whispered back in broken Russian he had learned from their few weeks of silly lessons just for this infuriating man he loves more than anything in this world.

"я тебя люблю"

Jeremy smiled, his heart swelling with a love so profound it brought warmth to his entire being. He tightened his hold on Landon, kissing the top of his head. In that moment, curled up on the sofa, with Landon’s sleepy weight pressing against him, he was the happiest man in the world.

The Russian lessons, the silly nicknames, the stolen kisses – it was all a part of their messy, beautiful love story, one that he couldn't wait to write a new chapter of with Landon beside him. He closed his eyes, content in the knowledge that they had each other, and in their own unique way, they spoke the perfect language.

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Since there isn't Enough Jeremy Volkov x Landon King in this world,

I have decided to contribute because God they could have been the best Enemies to Lovers ever and such a dark but beautiful couple but since we can’t have it, our imagination it is!

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Someday

In some world, we would always be bestfriends.

But for now, in this world,

someday, you will come back,

And I will be there to recieve you.

Someday, we will again be the soulmates,

We always were once.

Someday, it will come when I am waiting for you,

You are waiting for me,

We are waiting for our reunion,

Not for the hate and revenge we once held,

But for the love and friendship.

Someday it will happen,

And I am waiting for that someday.

[I lowkey love them and ship them, they are one of the best enemies to lovers trope I have ever seen]

[dashinhfuzzydeer]

Present you the wimpiest villain of all time.

Oh Taekyeong

Bro could literally have sent some people to kill his enemy while he is participating in a illegal gamble but no, he only chose to steal the diamonds.