Page 49 of Heirs of Havoc

The metal door unlocks, light blinding me as it streams in.

“Come on, Bunny.” Feliks appears in the frame in a faded orange hoodie, a joint between his fingers. “Bounce on up.”

“Where are we going?” Pushing off the wall, the smell of skunk fills the room.

Feliks turns, walking up the steps. He leaves the door open. “Sounds like you’ve earned your keep.”

* * *

My feet slow as I enter the mansion.

If I’m supposed to be here, my welcome was far from warm.

Nothing grabs me. No one startles me, but being back in this foyer is startling enough. I can feel the cold seeping into my bones from the marble floor. The dim lights and the ominous paintings on the wall only add to my discomfort.

It’s better than the cellar.

Is it?

"Don't look so scared, Bunny." Feliks moves to the grand staircase. "Make yourself at home."

This is far from home.

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll escape?” I ask.

A puff of smoke leaves his lips as he gets to the top of the stairs. He shrugs, turning towards the corridor, leaving me in the entry.

Should I turn around and get the hell out of here?

Yes. The thing is, after Nicholas, I'll only be in more danger.

But what's more dangerous than Dominik Federov?

Your father.

A Sinatra song comes from the kitchen, cutting off my thoughts as warmth falls over me. “You Make Me Feel So Young.” One of my favourites.

Walking towards the sound brings me to Vlad. And he’s actually… humming.

He mans the stove in nothing but his jeans, his back muscles moving with his intricate tattoos. Grilled steak and peppery spices blend in the air. The way he flips the slab of meat in the cast iron pan makes it look like he’s done this before.

Vlad’s fists slamming into Nicholas come back to my mind.

He saved me.

Thank him should be the move, but I’m too enthralled at what’s in view. “Sinatra and dinner?” Standing in the entry, it's hard to take my eyes off those intense back muscles. So rigid and firm. Just like his ass. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

Vlad's muscles tense, his humming coming to a stop. “You’re not coming anywhere near this stove, Merlo. I don’t like spice.” That day in the kitchen comes back to me in an instant. His hands all over me, his fingers between my legs. My cheeks become as warm as my body.

Shaking the thoughts away, I clear my voice. “But you do like good music.”

“You know good music?” He flips the steak with finesse.

“You tell me, Reznikov. Thought you'd be into heavy metal or something."

“My grandfather raised me on it." Vlad’s hands grip the edge of the stove, the muscles in his back tensing once more. “He was an insensitive prick, but at least he had good taste.”

Pushing off the wall, I move towards the concrete island. The one Vlad had me pressed against. “My father raised me on the same tunes” Talking about music should get my mind off how he makes me feel with his fingers between my slit. Or how I pointed a gun at a man for him. “Guess ruthless people have a thing for smooth music.”

---