Page 12 of Heirs of Havoc

Eve's voice carries down the hall as the sound comes rushing back to my ears.

"What are you doing just standing there?" she asks.

Don't let her see him.

"Thought I saw a ghost."

His smirk stays on his face as I move inside my dorm. Slamming the door behind me cuts off any more of Eve's questions. I’ll be in trouble if she sees who sits inside.

The enemy.

Skunky smoke fills the room and a bottle of vodka lays at his Chucks. He balances his guitar on his skinny denim jeans, one beige Converse on Chaya’s purple sheets. The string lights decorating our room make him look like Jesus with buzzed platinum hair as golden as his eyes. But he's far from a saviour. He looks comfortable like he belongs here, but like his friends, he doesn’t. “Where’s Chaya, Feliks?”

He plucks at his strings, ignoring my question. It’s a song I remember. Comforting. Not at all as nerve-wracking as Feliks Ivankov in my dorm. His pale pink hoodie and shell necklace makes him look relaxed, but the dice tattoo on his neck reminds me he’s as unpredictable as his crew.

When he doesn’t answer, my wobbly legs move towards him before pulling the guitar from his hand. “I asked a question. Where’s Chaya?” Boy, am I cranky. He can thank his friends.

Feliks stares at me with hooded red eyes. Like always, he's stoned as fuck. And, like always, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He leans back, sinking his elbow into the bed as he pulls a joint from behind his ear. Knowing Feliks, that’s not the only substance he’s got in his system, but I’m not here to watch him sesh.

“Fine.” The neck of his guitar in my grip, I move towards the door. “I’ll just tell the dean my roommate is missing.”

I don’t even hear him move, but by the time my hand hits the doorknob, a weight pushes me against the door. “Don’t do that again.” The croak of his voice lands in my ear, his warm breath on the thin skin of my neck.

Feliks is taller than the twins and it’s hard to tell the muscle he packs underneath his baggy attire. But the heaviness of his body on my back is an easy reminder. His grip comes to my wrist, a spark shooting through my arm before he twists my hand so the neck of the guitar falls right into his hold.

“That’s mine.” A puff of weed enters my nose as he speaks, blending with his woody scent like a walk in nature. That’s if I'm Snow White and he’s the forest trying to kill me. “And if you leave… Fuck it, you know what'll happen. The guys told you.” His weight lifts off me, my shoulders falling. Turning around, my back collapses against the door as Feliks reclaims his seat on Chaya’s bed. He plucks his chords again. “Chaya’s occupied.”

“And I guess so am I?”

“Do something like that again and I’ll give you something else to occupy you.” That smirk reappears on Feliks’ face and I have to bite my lip from smiling back. His face does that to you. Boyish, smooth-shaven and soft, hiding the hardness within.

“What are you doing here?” I ask the next obvious question, tiredness accompanying my voice. “Are you working with …” My voice trails and I can’t say his name, like the Boogeyman, so I say something else. “The twins?”

“Came back for a job.” Not that he needs it. Feliks and the guys are good for money but Feliks doesn’t know when’s enough. “One of them is keeping my eyes on you.” He tilts his chin to my bed. “Be a good girl and try those on.”

My eyes follow his gesture to my turquoise blanket, matching the walls. “I’m confused.” Lacey lingerie in different colours sits atop dresses with designer labels. All leave little to the imagination, like outfits for a risque music video. “Why would I wear any of this?”

“You ask way too many questions, Bunny. What happened to doing what you’re told?”

“That got me nowhere.”

“Just put them on, will ya?” Glancing over my shoulder, Feliks doesn’t even look at me. Not that he usually makes eye contact with anything other than his guitar, but I’m through taking demands.

“Listen, I don’t know what you guys are planning to do with me.” Turning to him, I fold my arms. “But if you think I’m listening to you, you’ve come a long way to hear me tell you to go fuck yourself.”

Twang!

Feliks’ string breaks, his body stilling, mine with it. And now, the only thing I can hear is my heart.

His fingers hover over the neck, his jaw working before he stands.

The guitar clunks to the ground and with his head tilted down, he takes a step toward me. Taking a puff of his joint, he passes the nightstand before he lowers the needle to the record on the old player. “Dream a Little Dream of Me” by Ella Fitzgerald fills the room.

Shit.

My back hits the wall, my vision board rattling behind me before I realize how many steps I've taken. Feliks stretches his arms behind him, reminding me how flexible his long body is. It's easy for my eyes to drop to the sliver of his ripped abs, something shiny sticking out the side of his waist.

Oh, shit.

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