She jerks up, both her fists balling and a vein in her neck popping with tension.
“Sit down before I decide that after her very public humiliation, I’ll also fuck her and post the video for the world to see.”
She lifts her fist as if she can punch me, but I continue staring her in the face. “Sit the fuck down, Mia.”
Her lips purse, but she slowly lowers herself, even as her tiny frame shakes with her attempts to camouflage her reaction.
“What do you want?” she types on her phone.
“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure yet. All I’m certain about is that I do want something in return for my nonconsensual blood bath and the punch that endangered my aristocratic nose.”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re an arrogant prick with not a decent bone in your body.”
“I appreciate the unnecessary opinion, though it’s pointless when I lack the fucks to give. Also…” I grab her hand that’s holding out the phone, my fingers snaking over her tiny wrist. “You might want to stop calling me names and provoking me for sport, because you’re starting to look very much like a challenge, and that’s the last thing anyone wants to be when facing me.”
My fingers glide up her bare arm, and I can feel the shivers that break out on her skin, whether involuntary or not, I have no clue.
Usually, I only touch women with the intent of seducing them into my blood-favored world. I don’t intend to do that with this wild card.
Her destiny will see her broken against my edges. When I’m done with her, dust will be all that’s left of her bull-like determination and troublemaking confidence.
Deep powder-blue eyes spark with fire. If I were petrol, I’d be burned on the spot.
She holds my gaze the entire time. When I channel my malicious, intimidating energy, people usually cower away after a second or two.
Even though I wear the charming mask so well, it’s still a mask, and when I drop it, revealing the true entity of destruction lurking inside me, others avoid it—my family included.
Not Mia fucking Sokolov.
She stares me in the face with nothing short of a “Fuck you, how dare you threaten me?”
I seem to have forgotten that she is a mafia princess. She was probably fed pride, arrogance, and power in her baby formula.
All three will be smashed to pieces by yours truly.
The moment comes to an end when she snatches her hand away and types, “Show me your worst, asshole.”
My dick twitches against my trousers and I grin. Wide. So wide that Mia’s lips purse.
Lips that would look divine wrapped around my cock, trembling as I fuck her throat before I eventually smear them with my cum.
Well, well. I’m officially turned on by the little troublemaker.
“Are you sure? My worst can’t be stomached by the majority of society. Also…” I move my rook forward. “Checkmate.”
I stand up, and before she can study the board, where I already blocked all her exits, I’m beside her.
She smells of subtle magnolia imitating a breeze in the aftermath of freezing winter. I sink my fingers in the mass of her platinum blonde hair and ribbons, then push it aside to reveal her ear.
I lean forward, my lips finding the shell of her ear before I bite harshly, to the point that she jolts.
My dick thickens further, appreciating her reaction a bit too much. He’s known to be whorish, but not this much. Besides, I’m not usually attracted to someone who poses a direct threat to me.
Another first. Interesting.
I release the shell of her ear and whisper, “Better close your windows at night. You never know what might crawl through them.”
6
MIA
A week later, I’m sitting with Bran in the game room in the Elites’ mansion.
My relationship with this space is complicated at best. I love the vibe, but I’m not a fan of how big it is. Low red lighting casts a glow on our faces and around huge screens on the wall.
The chairs are comfortably massive, and sometimes, we opt to use the sofa so I can hit Bran whenever we’re playing opposite each other.
He’s competitive, but he’s not a sore loser.
Me? I don’t have sportsman spirit whatsoever. What? I don’t take well to losing.
Bran, however, is a total angel, which is why it’s no fun to win against him. It’s impossible to penetrate his walls or talk shit to him.
Then again, it’s easier to lose against him since he doesn’t really rub his win in your face.
He’s usually the only one who comes to this room since, I believe, he’s the sole gamer in the house.
After numerous visits, I’ve come to the conclusion that many men live in this mansion—Bran, his two cousins, his friend, and, most importantly, the devil himself.
My blood roars at the thought of that bastard and his gloating “Checkmate” before he left me stunned in the club. But none of that was as horrifying as the absolute skin-crawling sensation I felt when he touched me.
Not only did he touch me, but he also bit me like some freaking dog.
The shell of my ear is still in flames from when his teeth sunk into it like a starved monster.
It hurt, damn it.
But the pain paled in comparison to the pure terror that shot through my veins.
Even the thought of him now makes my spine jerk and goosebumps erupt on my skin.
I don’t succumb to threats, but his were different. His included a vibrant image of my sister being used for his revenge. Worse, my sister would be used as his response to my hotheadedness.
Maya didn’t initially agree to the plan of giving the bastard a pig blood makeover, but she’s also my ride-or-die and refuses to let me go on these sorts of missions alone.
I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if she were in danger because of me. Over the past week, I’ve been trying to protect her and told her to be careful, but she has little to no self-preservation skills and can’t be left to her own devices.
Maya and Nikolai take so much after Mom’s go-getter personality. They slam in headfirst—either they get their way or they die trying.
I’ve always been like my dad. Silent but deadly. Appears sophisticated but could kill you with a smile.
That sense of confidence, however, seems to have left the building since my ill-fated encounter with Landon.
Not only have I been over-the-top paranoid, but my sleep has been plagued by malicious nightmares from a time in my past that I can’t seem to forget.
I haven’t spoken to Mom and Dad for a while out of fear that they’ll see right through me.
And it’s all because of the bastard who hasn’t made a move.
Every night, I’ve been staring at my window, expecting him to jump through and murder me.
But people like Landon don’t murder. They prefer to leave you hanging, waiting, and scared for your life. They prefer the mental torture and looming threats.
“Are you sure he’s not here?” I show the typed words to Bran as we sit down for a dinner break.
He’s opposite me on the sofa as we dig into Thai food takeout.
We’ve both been playing since we finished our afternoon classes. We’re worlds apart in majors—he’s an art student and I’m studying business management since I’ve always wanted to start something that only belongs to me. Not my parents, not my legacy. Just something that’s purely mine.
Bran says he should be in the art studio, but he’s been succumbing to ‘one more game’ for the past two hours.
He chews on the mouthful of rice and shakes his head. “He’s out wreaking havoc and ruining someone’s—or some people’s—lives. Why are you asking? Are you scared?”
“He should be the one who’s scared after my pig blood episode.” I don’t even feel the confidence as I show him the words.
Bran merely sighs. “I told you it’s not wise to get on his bad side.”
I wince and throw a piece of tomato in my mouth to mask my reaction.
Bran did warn me when I asked him stuff about Landon’s Elite party that night.