Page 31 of Heirs of Havoc

Something cold comes around my neck and when Dom moves back, I fall forward, pulled by whatever’s around my throat.

My hands catch my fall against the concrete floor, my coils falling over my face. Dominik makes a clicking sound with his tongue and when I look up, he has a silver chain in his hand that leads right to my neck. My hand comes to my throat, a collar wrapped around it.

This psycho has me on a leash.

“You wanna eat? You’ll work for it.” He yanks again and I’m pulled forward. “Be a good girl for me, yeah?” He doesn’t care that I can hardly stand. He’s ruthless with his tugs, the chain choking me the harder I pull back. When I gag, he chuckles. “I missed that sound.”

“Dom, take this off. Let’s talk about—Oof!” My feet lift off the ground before my back hits a brick wall in what looks like some sort of vestibule. Dom holds me by my collar, my toes touching the ground. My eyes bulge, but the look in his eye tells me he’s enjoying this. The bite of his plump bottom lip. The glimmer in his wolfish eye.

“Got somethin’ to say?” Shaking my head, he loosens his grip, leaning against the wall like we’re having a casual conversation. “I’ll make sure of that. You wanna yap like a little bitch? I’ll treat you like one, but here’s the thing, Mia Mouse. I know your bark is bigger than your bite.” He sings the end like it's a twisted nursery rhyme.

Like a maniac.

Feliks steps down the small set of stairs, handing him what looks like another collar, except there’s a bar attached to the front. A gag. My wide eyes plead for Feliks not to hand him another device to give him power over me, but Feliks doesn’t even look at me.

“Open up.” Dom's hand lands between my legs, cupping my mound. Tingles erupt on my skin when I gasp and that gives him what he needs to push the gag inside my mouth and tie it around my head. I’m silenced, my tongue ring against the bar. “Good girl,” Dom growls, that grin stamped on his face. “I knew you’d come back into my life, Mia Mouse.” Dom hauls on my collar, showing off his strength. His power. “Just didn’t think you’d be so stupid to let it happen so soon.”

Dom pulls me up the steps as I stumble over my sneakers. I’m not sure where I’m going and it’s not like I can ask. He leads me back into the spacious foyer but I’m way too disoriented to make out my surroundings. Way too scared, but I won’t tell him that. My school uniform feels more like a prison outfit with the way Dom has me collared and gagged. The white blouse hangs open, most buttons popped while my kilt stays as ruffled and twisted as my shirt.

Loosening the grip on my leash, Dom shoves me into the kitchen. My eyes dart around the room as I steady my stance.

It's much more lavish than the dorms. Vintage appliances shine in dark metals. A large concrete island sits in the middle with brass pendant lights hanging above. It’s fitting for these assholes. Glamorous yet industrial. Bitter and sweet. Except Dominik Federov is far from a treat.

“We’re hungry,” Dom says. “So you can eat too, but you’ll make your own food. This isn’t the fucking Ritz.” If it wasn’t for this gag, I’d let Dom know it looks exactly like The Ritz. At least a fancy restaurant inside it. There’s even a big round table with tufted velvet chairs playing into who Dominik thinks he is. A king. “You have thirty minutes.”

Turning around, Vlad appears at the entrance to the kitchen as Dom leaves. He leans against the wall in nothing but a pair of dark denim jeans, his spiralling tattoos on full display. It's easy to make out the demon filling his torso, skulls hanging off him. That makes me wonder how many skulls of his own Vlad has under his belt.

Vlad eyes my outfit before he tilts his chin to the room. “Better get to it, Merlo. And don’t worry, we took all the knives.” My brows knit but Vlad reads my mind. “You'll figure it out.” When I glare into those dark blues, he glares right back.

Did they really try to run me over just to be a slave? Is this his revenge? Is this what Dominik wants or is he only getting started?

“Move, Merlo!” Vlad barks, my shoulders rising to my ears.

Taking a deep breath, my eyes scan the island. Bags of chips clipped closed sit on top, along with empty beer bottles.

That won't do.

Moving to the fridge, I can feel Vlad's eyes on me as I pull open the door. A pile of leftover takeout sits on one shelf, more beer and vodka on another with tomatoes and condiments to the side. The top shelf holds a large crate of eggs.

My shoulders drop. This place is luxurious but these guys don’t eat like it, so I pick the simplest option. The pasta machine decorating an open shelf next to the fridge solidifies it. Looking in another cupboard, a large bag of flour stands towards the back. It won’t take me that long to make some linguini. It’s a meditative process. It can relax me. As relaxed as I can be in a house of wolves.

Before closing the cupboard, my eyes land on a bottle of hot sauce and that gives me an idea. Linguini with a twist.

Glancing behind me, Vlad eyes me like someone who owes him money, and I definitely owe them a hell of a lot more than that. Shifting to the side, I block the view as I grab the bottle along with the rest of the seasoning I’ll need.

Is this a bad idea?

Likely.

Will it be worth it?

Absolutely.

Game on, motherfuckers.

Chapter Thirteen

Tony Bennett on the stereo isn’t enough to soothe me.

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