“Listen,” I sign. “I’m old enough to choose who I spend time with and who I don’t. I appreciate your protectiveness and I adore you more than you’ll ever know, but you don’t get to tell me who I talk to and who I don’t. Bran did nothing to you or anyone in the Heathens. So this animosity is uncalled for and I won’t allow you to hurt someone innocent just because of his last name.”
Nikolai’s eyes narrow to threatening slits, but his face soon returns to its normal grumpy expression as he grabs my shoulders. “I don’t like the secrecy in whatever you’re doing lately.”
“Everything is okay.” I stroke his arm like Mom used to do whenever he got too into his head. “Trust me.”
He narrows his eyes again. Thankfully, I catch a glimpse of Maya, who must be boring Kill to death, considering his near-murderous expression.
I wave them over.
As soon as they’re within reach, I jump on Killian’s back and headlock him in a not-so-friendly greeting.
He elbows me and when I get back to the ground, he ruffles my hair. Not to brag, but I’m probably his favorite Sokolov, maybe even more so than Niko.
“I was talking, Mia.” Maya gives me a look and taps her shoe on the floor and hikes a hand on her hip. She’s done that since we were toddlers and it’s never changed.
“About insignificant fashion topics that could result in someone’s accidental suicide,” Killian says.
“That’s rude.” She glares at him.
“What’s more rude is your indulgence in these shallow topics that make you look like an airhead.”
“Hey,” I sign to him.
Maya’s never really cared about Killian’s—or anyone’s—opinion of her. She’s a diva and wears it like a badge while flipping everyone the middle finger.
And yet her face reddens. “I’m not an airhead.”
“Then develop more interests that aren’t confined to some boring Paris catwalk show.” He pauses. “Considering our blood relation, your clear tendencies of being a stereotypical brain-dead blonde reflects badly on my perfect image.”
All psychos are arrogant assholes who think the world revolves around their inflated egos.
However, I’ve never felt resentment toward Killian. Granted, he’s never hurt me or my siblings. Even now, he’s not really being malicious to Maya. He’s just trying to provoke her on purpose or something.
“Try harder, Kill.” She flips her hair. “Your arrogance used to rival mine, but I’m only looking at you through the rearview mirror now. It would reflect badly on my goddess image.”
“Stop drooling. Your bullshit is splashing on my fifty-grand shoes.”
“More like your bullshit is polluting the air around my special edition LV dress.”
I get between them and look at Niko so he’ll help break up the verbal fight.
My jaw nearly hits the floor when I see him sprawled out at the bottom of the stairs, eyes closed. I didn’t even notice when he left the scene.
Truth be told, Nikolai has never been good in these situations. Not that he can’t break up fights, but if it doesn’t involve his fists, then he loses all interest.
Thankfully, Gareth walks in, recognizes what’s going on right away, and joins me in breaking up the two most volatile cousins—in the ego department.
“You’re officially blacklisted from my next birthday party,” Maya tells Killian.
“Be right back. I’m going to cry into my pillow.”
Gareth and I manage to take each of them to the dining room. Then I go back to wake up Nikolai so he’ll join us.
He still looks at me weirdly, and for some reason, I can’t suppress my fear for Bran’s safety. Maybe I should warn him just in case?
The problem with Niko is that he appears aloof and only interested in violence, but, in reality, he can be secretive and impossible to read if he chooses to.
The five of us sit down for dinner, with Maya and Killian still bickering like children.
“Where’s Jeremy?” she asks as the food is served and points a fork at Killian, who’s taking Jeremy’s usual place at the head of the table. “I certainly didn’t come for your face.”
“Desperate doesn’t look good on you.” He smirks. “Besides, is it really Jeremy you’re asking about, blondie?”
“W-who else would I be asking about?”
All of us, aside from Niko, who’s busy eating, look at her.
“What?” she whisper-yells.
“You just stuttered,” Killian taunts. “I would’ve sworn you didn’t know how.”
“I did not.”
“I’m afraid you did,” Gareth says.
“See? Even Mother Teresa’s lost son agrees,” Killian replies and makes a show of smearing a piece of meat in blood.
Maya, a vegetarian, scrunches her nose at him and then focuses on Gareth. “Jeremy?”
“He said he has something to do.”
“Without me?” Nikolai finally gets into the conversation.
“Who knows?” Gareth lifts his shoulders. “Tried checking your phone?”
Nikolai does just that and his eyes light up. “I’m out of here.”
“Where are you going?” I sign.
“Nowhere you need to worry about.”
“I thought you insisted we have dinner together.”
“Dinner finished.” He gulps his glass of beer and kisses the top of my head. “Stay out of this, Mia.”
He kisses Maya’s head as well. “Don’t cause any trouble.”
Killian stands up as well and I meet his gaze with my questioning one.
He smiles a little. “Not your scene, baby Sokolov.”
And then they’re out the door, leaving the three of us alone.
“Were you left out, Gaz?” Maya asks with a dejected tone as she stabs her salad over and over again.
“I opted out. I have exams coming up.” He chews leisurely, not even bothering to check his phone.
I have a bad feeling about this.
We put on Maya’s favorite movie, Clueless, but I barely focus on it. I contemplate going to the haunted house, but Lan is probably entertaining his band of posh Elites.
Wait. What the hell?
Since when did I start to call him Lan?
This is so hopelessly disturbing.
By the time the movie ends, Maya is already fast asleep on the couch. Gareth offers to carry her to one of the guest rooms, but I shake my head.
She’ll wake up and will find it hard to fall back asleep.
So I cover her, sit on the floor, and continue staring at my phone.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Lan, it’s that he doesn’t know how to take no for an answer. It’s not in his DNA, vocabulary, or code of conduct.
The fact that he didn’t send any other texts or threaten to barge in doesn’t sit well with me.
He won’t do anything stupid, right?
22
LANDON
Due to the noticeable absence of my newest favorite toy, I had to content myself with beating up her brother.
What?
It’s not my fault she’s exceptionally bad at reading the room and keeping my beast satiated. It’s no secret that the situation morphs into absolute carnage whenever he’s left to his own devices.
His weapon for the night is undiluted violence. While it’s not particularly my favorite method, it does get the job done, and for a long time, it could’ve been compared to the physical climax shagging holes provided.
Small problem, though. I’ve been going at this for about ten minutes, and I’m closer to dozing off than any form of climax.
I’m being beaten up all right since, well, Nikolai is this huge motherfucker with a grudge about a certain incident that I might have caused.
Don’t expect me to keep track of all the chaos my superior brain conjures. I’m under the obligation to archive those files to allow my neurons space to create worse anarchy.
Nikolai Sokolov, the eldest in the Sokolov family, that fucker Killian’s cousin, and, most importantly, Mia’s older brother. They look nothing alike except for a faint resemblance due to their sibling blood. They do, however, share some aspects of a brute persona, the need for violence, and the thirst to cause trouble.
Must be because of the Russian mafia blood running through their veins.
There’s one major difference, though. Nikolai has the type of face that’s begging to be beaten. Mia’s face, on the other hand, is the definition of an aphrodisiac.
Lately, the situation has become so dire that just imagining her naturally pouty lips and the blue wildflower color of her eyes is enough to make my cock jump like a fanboy.
Ah, fuck. I’m getting a hard-on in the middle of a fight. Well, the referee just called a break, but I still glare down at myself.