Page 4 of Heirs of Havoc

My hands grip his brawny forearm wrapped under that black soft cashmere. A contradiction to his rough exterior. He squeezes, his thumb against my pulse. The smell of ginger and cinnamon twists my insides. Sharp with a chilling comfort.

Lev Reznikov.

My feet lift off the ground. “Going so soon?” His deep voice vibrates through me, his blue eyes piercing into mine. They're so blue they beg me to escape in their depth. To be honest, I want to escape anywhere but here. “What? You don’t wanna have fun? I thought you love being a toy.” A pain rips through me when my body slams against the hood. Another classic plays from the car. “Call Me Irresponsible" by Bobby Darin. “Looks like we caught a little mouse, bro. What should we do with the vermin?”

“Nothing she won’t like.” A firm voice comes from beside me, as stern and dominant as Vlad Reznikov always sounds.

“You wear this for me, Little Mouse?” Lev’s eyes drop to my tits in my sports bra. “What a good little—Fuck!” My foot to his groin gets the pressure off my chest. As he keels over in pain, I take my chance.

Pushing off the car, I make a run… right into another stiff set of pecs. Looking up, another set of blue eyes meets mine, this one a little darker. A little more menacing. Vlad and Lev are twins. They’re almost identical, but you can tell them apart. At least I can. One’s thirstier for blood.

"Listen." My voice shakes when I speak. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Oh, there’s plenty you can do.” A shiny piece of metal comes from his waist, the smell of cinnamon and coffee coming off his red sweater. These guys smell sweet, but they’re far from it. “Open that pretty mouth for me so I can tell you.”

Cold metal lands on my lips, my heart hammering against his chest. My mouth sealed shut, I shake my head, trying to still the tremors in my bones.

Click.

He cocks it.

“Don’t think that was a question, M&M,” Lev tsks. That nickname brings goosebumps to my arms, but I’ll blame it on the night air. “Unless you wanna test him and, if you’re asking me, I don’t think you should. He didn’t eat dinner.”

What’s worse than an angry Reznikov brother? A hangry Reznikov brother.

The minute my lips part, Vlad pushes the gun in my mouth, walking me back until my ass hits the hood of their car. He pushes my back on the warm metal, sliding the barrel deeper into my mouth. He pulls it out, then back in again, a smirk coming to his face. Vlad's body against mine, something hard presses against my stomach. A throb beneath his denim. It’s not his gun. That's in my freaking mouth.

Is it weird that I push into him, though? For a second, comfort washes over me with him this close. It brings me back to a better place. A safer place. But they’re not safe anymore. They’re the opposite. The enemies. And this proves it.

A melody plays from my phone. Lesley Gore’s “You Don’t Own Me.”

My eyes widen. Vlad’s brows lower, too observant for my liking. If I know Vlad, he’s already clocked my change of demeanour. “Lev,” he calls behind him. “Check the phone.” Told you.

Shaking my head, my words muffle against the metal, the barrel of his gun still between my trembling lips.

Don't let them answer it!

“Who’s William?” Lev asks.

He can’t know I’m here.

You’d think that anyone else would be better than facing these two, but believe me. Answering that call isn’t worth it.

“What’s that, Little Mouse?” Vlad asks. Shaking my head again, he holds out a hand to his brother. “I don’t think she wants us to answer it, is that right?” He pulls the gun to the tip of my lips.

“D-don’t.” I rarely say this anymore, but… “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“You sure?” The stretchy fabric of my sports bra wraps around his wrist as he lifts me to my feet. He pulls me against his chest before another hard chest slams into my back. Double the cinnamon. Double the bite.

The Reznikov twins have me sandwiched.

The phone comes to my face, confirming who's on the other end.

William Romano.

“You don’t wanna answer that?” Lev asks, his voice in my ear bringing a cold tingle up my back. Call it fear, but don't you dare tell them that. Something hard presses against my ass, adding to the hardness against my chest. I’m in a cage of muscle, and while they’ll ruin me, whatever’s on the other end of that line is worse.

Steadying my voice, I beg again. “Please don’t." I hate how weak I sound.

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