Page 7 of Spearcrest Prince

I can’t be bothered with any of it.

Iakov, on the other hand, is always good company on a night out. Iakov does everything hard. He drinks like a fish, dances like a madman, has the highest pain tolerance of anyone I’ve ever met, and will probably end up in some seedy club in Croydon, glassing someone or getting glassed. Probably both.

It’s just how he is. More animal than man.

Iakov heads straight for the bar and orders hard liquor from the top shelf. Luca is at his side, leaning back with both elbows resting on the bar. His cold, dead eyes sweep the club, no doubt looking for tonight’s victim.

Becausevictimis the only word I would use to describe Luca’s sexual partners.

“How’s things with the fiancée?” Iakov asks when I stand next to him to order my drink.

“Not even met her yet.” I shrug.

Luca turns to look at me, an enigmatic smirk curling his lips.

“It’s been two weeks,” Iakov says, raising an eyebrow—the most emotion I’m going to get out of him.

“And?”

“And,” Luca says suddenly, “we want to know whether you’re going to fuck her or not.”

I throw him a look. “Why? Are you waiting to get in line?”

His smirk widens, but he says nothing. It wouldn’t surprise me if Luca tried to sleep with the little Nishihara heir just because she’s engaged to me. He stole Giselle right out of Evan’s bed before, and he even plucked Seraphina Rosenthal off my arm before I could even get into her pants.

Something inside Luca is dead and broken, and the only way he feels anything is if he thinks he’s inflicting pain on someone. We’re lucky enough that with us, it’s indirect. Girls—not so much. But after he slept with her, Seraphina Rosenthal had a red mark around her neck for so long she was wearing Chanel scarves for a month straight.

“Who’s getting in line for what?” Evan’s American accent reaches me from over my shoulder.

He and Zachary approach the bar. Evan’s already glassy-eyed—he’s a total lightweight compared to the rest of us—but Zachary’s gaze is sharp and amused.

“Fucking Sev’s fiancée,” Luca says.

“Nobody is fucking her.” I give him a dirty look.

“Fuckher?” Zach raises an eyebrow, ignoring me. “But does she meet the standard for such a thing? What was your rule again, Sev?” He starts counting on his fingers. “Pretty face, pouty lips, perky ti—”

“Not pretty face,” Evan corrects. “It’s perfect face and pretty pu—”

“No it’s not,” I snap. “Don’t be such a dick.”

“And the personality, of course—we wouldn’t want a robot, right?” Zach smiles sardonically. “What was the personality again? Powerless and pitiful?”

Iakov lets out a single low bark of laughter.

I glare at Zach. “It’s polite and placid, actually.”

He and Evan laugh out loud, but I don’t care. It might be a shallow list, but I’m not ashamed of having standards. And this particular list of rules has kept my encounters with women short, pleasant and plentiful.

They can laugh all they want. At least I’m getting laid, which is more than the two of them are capable of achieving these days.

“Well, how many of these does the fiancée tick off, then?” Evan asks.

Zach nods. “Yes, Sev, how does she live up to your standards? Is she polite with perky tits or placid with a perfect face?”

I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to throw my drink into both of their faces. Why are they so interested anyway? This situation is so entertaining to them, but to me, it’s just a source of endless irritation.

“I don’t know, alright?” I snarl. “The little shit hasn’t even bothered introducing herself to me yet.”

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