Savage Heir by Jagger Cole

2

Someday, you will be king. You will be Caesar.

I smile wickedly as my eyes survey the scene in front of me. A brunette whose name escapes me laughs as she pulls her head away from another girl’s bare tits. Her nostrils are rimmed in white, and the chemical glow to her cheeks is both alluring and boring.

Beside them, a guy who I also don’t know drunkenly pushes his way into the topless girl’s cleavage. There’s no coke there anymore, but he doesn’t waste the opportunity to sloppily suck on her tits like he’s looking for some anyway. She laughs and playfully slaps at him.

I just glare.

Greedy little shit. I make a note to find out who he is and make sure he doesn’t disgrace another of my get-togethers this year. My penultimate, final year of glory at Oxford Hills.

You will be Caesar.

My uncle means for me to be the Caesar. As in, Julius, like him. Wise, grounded; a leader and a bastion of strength and levelness.

My lips curl into a smirk as I suck slowly on the spliff between them. I watch the topless girl get up and pound a shot of something. More lines of blow are being tapped out on the pool table behind her. In a corner, a girl is sitting astride the lap of a guy from the rugby team, gasping into his mouth as his hand works under her skirt.

And they’re all here because of me. To bask in the glory of my kingdom. To revel in the hedonism of my rule. I’m not the Caesar, but here at Oxford Hills, I’m still very much a Roman Emperor. Caligula, maybe; the hedonistic demigod who drowned himself in wine, woman, and debauchery.

You will be Caesar. So I need you to start acting like one.

The smirk drops from my lips. It’s the last part of my uncle’s words that does it. Those final words echo through my head, even as I try and push them into the murky darkness towards the back.

I hear them. I just don’t want to. I understand what they mean, but for now? My eyes drink in the chaos and debauchery around me. I smile to myself as I draw in another lungful of smoke.

For now, I will revel in my kingdom. For now, I will be a Caesar. Just maybe not the Julius Caesar that my uncle wants and needs me to be. Responsibly can come later. Today is about forgetting everything.

I turn away from the scene before me to the window. The hit of weed and tobacco exhales slowly through my lips. It curls against the glass, fogging over the gray rain pelting the other side of it.

The buzz of the cocaine I’ve just put up my nose a minute ago is beginning to take hold—electrifying my senses and clarifying everything around me in that bullshit way coke only pretends to do.

Start acting like one.

I scowl. He’s not wrong. And my uncle is a wise, good man. My willingly choosing to recklessly ignore his words is a disrespect he doesn’t deserve. Nor is it me trying to spit in his face or anything like that. My uncle Yuri has been both father and mentor to me, for most of my life. He brought me into the ways of the Bratva. He showed me what being a man is and gave me the strength to channel the rage that burns inside of me into power.

And yet, here I am diving headfirst into rock-star hedonism.

I came close to nuking my future last year. I play hard. All of us—the sons of men like my uncle and others like him in the Bratva life—do. But last year was…too hard. Too debaucherous. I crossed a line last year. And it’s only my uncle’s money—and perhaps the academy disciplinary board’s fear of him—that kept me here at all.

You would think a Bratva king needs no schooling but the strength to rule. But business is still business. Graduating Oxford Hills Academy with high marks is a golden ticket to any college and then business school in the world. Perhaps in generations past, sitting on the Bratva throne my uncle sits on was solely about smacking skulls together and rigging poker games.

Now, it’s as big and as ruthlessly competitive a business as any tech giant or multinational conglomerate.

Yuri and his right-hand man Maksim can teach me everything they know about fighting, and leading, and being the sort of man that other men obey unquestioningly. But the business side of things will require actual schooling.

There are lots of eyes on me. Not just those of my uncle and others in the upper echelons of the Volkov organization. But our enemies, too. Our allies. Our business partners, or would-be partners.

I sigh, exhaling smoke against the window again. My mood darkens like the rain outside.

“You’re killing my buzz, you know.”

I turn at the voice. The guy my age standing before me has his shirt unbuttoned all the way, showing off the labyrinth of tattoo ink covering his entire muscled chest, stomach, shoulders, neck, back, and arms.

“You emo little fuck,” Misha smirks, his icy blue eyes glinting as he passes me a tumbler of something brown. “You over here composing suicidal poetry or some shit?”

I shrug with a hard smile. “No, just wondering how desperately your mother would beg me for it.”

His face is cold and neutral. Until slowly, the grin cracks across my friend’s face.

“Well, if you find her, tell her she owes me about eighteen fucking birthday presents.”

He pats me heavily on the back as he clinks his glass to mine. Misha is the son of Boris Tsavakov, one of the wealthiest, most bratva-connected oligarchs in Russia. And that is saying something. There’s hardly a construction project in the entire country, from a goddamn sun porch to a new hotel, that he doesn’t have his fingers in.

In completely unsurprising news, he and my uncle do lots of business together.

Misha and I have known each other since we were five. It might be poetic to say we bonded over his lack of a mother, and my lack of any parents at all. But it’s mostly just that we were both devious little fucks who liked to fight, take what we wanted, and command others to do our bidding.

Not a lot has changed in that regard in the last thirteen years.

Oxford Hills Academy is filled with the offspring of world leaders, royalty, and some of the wealthiest men and women in the world. There was a time long in the past when this fine institution required proof of aristocracy to grace its halls.

They fucked up bad getting rid of that. Because now they’ve got insidious little shits like me, Misha, and Lukas darkening their doorways. We’re princes in our own rights. Richer than the children of CEOs and hedge fund billionaires.

But we’re here because we—or our families at least—beat the system. I sincerely doubt the founders of Oxford Hills Academy envisioned the sons and daughters of Bratva Kings and criminal oligarchs prowling their halls. But here we are.

And woe unto those that cross us.

“Come on,” Misha drapes a muscled arm over my bare shoulders. He nods with his chiseled chin across the upstairs billiards room of the manor that he, Lukas, and I call home while at school. Why on earth do we live here, in what was once a Lord’s estate, and then the Academy President’s house, and not one of the cottages like the other students?

Fear. Money. Power. All three? Take your pick. But as I said, here we are.

The tilted scale makes us kings of this campus. It makes some hate us, yes. But mostly, it makes the rest of them idolize and worship us. When I follow Misha’s gaze, I’m reminded exactly which gender that idolization skews towards.

The two blondes and brunette smile coquettishly at us. The dark haired one, who for some reason I want to say is named Roxanne, crooks a finger at us.

“They were, uh, hopping to take this party somewhere more private with you and I.”

I groan. All three of us are animals in our own right. But Misha takes the cake, by a mile. I actually think I’d be hard pressed to find a girl at this party who hasn’t seen exactly where the ink ends deep under Misha’s waistband.

And yet, as hot as the three girls across the room are… I roll my eyes. Maybe last year, I’d have followed my friend into a whatever rock-star-level pussy-party he’s clearly about to jump head-first into. But now?

No. For some reason, the idea bores me. Maybe it’s knowing deep down, though I’m trying to ignore it, that my uncle is right. I do need to get my shit together this year.

Thanks for the cock-block, Uncle Yuri.

“I’m good,” I shrug, patting Misha on the back. “Maybe see if Lukas is into the idea.”

Misha rolls his eyes. “Doesn’t matter if he is. He probably scares the shit out of them. It’s like having Freddy Kruger for a fucking wingman.”

A smirk teases the corners of my lips as my gaze drags across the room to our other friend. Lukas might be one of my best friends. But to be fair, he’s a stone-cold motherfucker.

Four years ago, Lukas was on the streets of Montenegro going through a hell I quite honestly cannot imagine. Then, he was rescued by a business associate and Bratva ally of my uncle: Viktor Komarov, who helms the Kashenko Bratva in Chicago.

Viktor and his wife Fiona also run the Free Them Foundation, which tracks down and eradicates child trafficking across the globe. A lot of the kids they rescue are young. Others, like Lukas, have been through hell and back before being pulled out of the darkness.

Viktor and Fiona ended up officially adopting Lukas themselves, though. Since then, he’s been raised in the ways of the Bratva, like Misha and I. He’s been a fast learner. But it’s because he’s fueled by a darkness inside that not even I can fully grasp. And me and darkness go way, way back.

Lukas is like a brother to me at this point. But Misha isn’t wrong: the guy is terrifying. It takes a special kind of girl to want to dive into that black hole. I almost pity the girl trying to chat him up right now. The black-haired, doe-eyed little beauty is either wasting her time. Or else, she may regret sleeping in the Lukas Komarov bed she’s so hell-bent on making.

He’s private about his bedroom activities. But, Misha and I have both heard… rumors.

Misha groans as his gaze drags back to the three girls already eye-fucking him.

“Don’t make me do this alone.”

“Kicking and screaming, I’m sure,” I grunt. I want to kick myself. When both the blondes grin and turn to press their lips together, I know I should want to kick myself twice.

And yet, it doesn’t interest me. Or, even if it does, that goddamn voice in the back of my head pulls me back.

“Alright, well, suit yourself. I’ll have one of them scream your name for you.”

I roll my eyes. But I say nothing as I drag on my spliff. Misha grabs a bottle of vodka from the bar and saunters over to the trio waiting for him. I turn to sink into a leather Eames chair by the window.

“Hey.”

Fuck. Even with the party raging around us, and downstairs with the rest of the people here, I’m dying for some solace. I want to sit here and smoke my spliff and be alone with my thoughts. Which is of course, exactly when Julianna chooses to strike. As usual.

I slowly turn my head towards the blonde with the runway model legs and the very, very expensive tits practically falling out of her top. Julianna McCreed is the daughter of a member of parliament; a lord, which I guess makes her a duchess or something.

It also completely does not interest me.

I’m also reasonably sure she’s had Misha’s dick in her pretty mouth. But that’s not why she doesn’t interest me. She doesn’t interest me because she’s so obvious about wanting me. It’s cringy. It’s boring.

At Oxford Hills, they call me The Wolf. You don’t throw cooked hamburgers to a wolf. You let him hunt.

“What is it?” I grunt with disinterest. Julianna laughs and drapes herself into my lap. I roll my eyes and scowl out the window.

“One of these days, Volkov,” she purrs. “I’m going to get what I want with you.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Why, got something else I can hold?”

Jesus.

“Is there something you need?” I growl as I pull on the smoke between my lips. I exhale, feeling stoned and bored as I puff curling rings up to the ceiling.

Julianna starts to grin. But I stop that shit short.

“I’m not interested,” I grunt. “I’ve made that fairly clear.”

I’d almost feel sorry for her if she wasn’t so fucking persistent with me. She’s a pretty girl. She’s smart—money and power aside, Oxford Hills doesn’t let morons in. She’s got the family connections, wealth, and prestige. By any normal metric, Julianna McCreed is a catch.

But I’m not normal. I’m lost somewhere between “fucked-up-ville” and “cold-hearted-bastard-town.”

She sighs, restraining herself. “Fine. There’s this girl downstairs at the door who wants to see you.”

I frown. “What?”

“Yeah, she…” Julianna’s lips curl. “She’s new to school I think. And I guess she’s trying to get cool or whatever, because she says she’s here to fuck you or something?”

My brow furrows as I growl to myself. For fucks’s sake. All I want is to lord over the debauchery alone with my thoughts. I don’t want to go bang groupies with Misha. I don’t want to deal with Julianna’s constant and completely devoid of subtlety come-ons.

And I sure as shit don’t need Oxford newbies trying to star-fuck me into popularity.

With a snarl, I shove Julianna off my lap. “Tell her to—”

My eyes narrow. I stand. A dark, devious idea bubbles into my subconscious.

Why not kill two birds with one stone? Get rid of the star-fucker, and get Julianna ticked enough to leave me the fuck alone?

“I’ll deal with it.”

I turn to storm over to the stairs.

“Do you want a shirt on or something?” Julianna calls after me.

I turn with a thin smile. “I won’t be needing my pants in about five minutes. Why the fuck would I need a shirt?”

Her smile fades into a harsh glare before she whirls and storms off.

Good.

I toss the burned-out end of my spliff into someone’s drink and pull another from the little silver case in my back pocket. I slip it between my lips. A guy I don’t know quickly pulls a lighter out to ignite the tip as I pass.

I shoulder through the crowd and the thudding music to the front door of the manor. I grip the handle, twist, and yank it wide as smoke billows around my nostrils, like dragon fire about to incinerate this stupid little star-fuck—

My thoughts jumble. My pulse thuds in my ears. My eyes lock onto the soaking wet, bedraggled, small, frail, and utterly gorgeous redhead standing before me.

This is not what I was expecting. I was expecting a Julianna clone—another blonde, leggy little princess or duchess with tits that daddy paid for.

But not this. Not her. She looks like little red riding hood in that raincoat. And here she is, face-to-face with The Wolf himself.

Her eyes drag up to mine. Her mouth falls open with a look of shock and fear. And something else I can’t quite place.

Just the same, my mind is set. I’ve already started this little game in my head. And like it or not, she’s playing, too.

I have no intention of fucking this girl. But I do—especially now, after seeing how frail and frozen she looks—have every intention of scaring her off.

She wants to fuck The Wolf? She’s about to learn this wolf has fucking claws and teeth. And I highly, highly doubt she’s prepared to play with that.

My cold gaze sweeps over her. I like that I can see her shiver.

“Well?”

Her teeth drag over her bottom lip.

“Well… what?”

“Well are we doing this outside in the rain or in my room?”

“I… uh, your room would be good?”

I chuckle to myself. She’s so far out of her depth it’s almost comical.

“Look, if you’re in the middle of something, I can always come back later—”

“I’m ready right now.” I smile coldly at her. She’s so innocent looking. And yet so weirdly… tempting. So corruptible.

I groan to myself as my pulse thuds.

But no. Time to crush this where it grows.

“We could go right there on the floor in the middle of it, if an audience is your thing.”

Her face blushes. “I’m sorry, do you know who I am?”

Mine,I think to myself.

“I know what you want, and that works for me just fine.”

“I—” she stammers. “I’m Tenley.”

“And I’ve got shit to do, Tenley,” I mutter.

Here comes the one-two punch before she runs screaming and I can go back to playing Roman Emperor upstairs.

“So if it’s a shag you’re so desperate for, why don’t you turn around, lift that skirt, and say please.”

She looks like I just slapped her in the face. I resist the urge to laugh.

“Excuse me?!”

I grin, puffing on the spliff.

“I said to be sure you said please—”

The glass in my hand suddenly isn’t. I blink when the scotch dashes against my face, stinging my eyes and drenching my smoke.

Little Red Riding Hood looks like she’s about to have a stroke. She pales, looking horrified. I stare at her.

For all of my bullshit. For all of my poisonous deviousness, not a single person has ever crossed me this way. I almost want to be impressed. But before I can stop myself, the beast inside of me takes over.

I snarl as my hand shoots out. I grab her jacket at the throat and yank her almost off her feet into me. Her hood falls back. Her big blue eyes stare into me in horror. And yet, even with my hand by her throat and a snarl on my lips, there’s defiance there.

There’s fight in her. And it should not get my heart pumping this fast. It shouldn’t make my cock this hard.

The seconds tick by. Like each of us is waiting for the other to make the first move. But slowly, I lean close, my eyes boring into hers.

“Run away, little red,” I snarl quietly. My hand twists, tightening the neck of her coat around her pretty throat. “Run away, before I eat you up.”

I shove her back and let go. She gasps, staring at me. I almost can’t tell if she wants to cry or slug me.

Her eyes lock with mine—full of defiance, fear, anger, hatred, and maybe… maybe something else.

But then she whirls, and she bolts back out into the rain, away from The Wolf’s den. And yet my eyes follow her until she’s out of sight. My thoughts stay with her long after she is. And that is very, very confusing.

“Well, that’s not something you see every day.”

I turn. The rest of the party suddenly becomes very interested in looking at anything but me with booze dripping off my face. All of them except for Lukas.

He’s standing with a drink in his hand and his customary long-sleeved shirt rolled down to the wrists. He eyes me quietly.

“What, exactly,” I growl.

“The future American Vice President’s daughter tossing scotch in your smug face.”

I blink. “The what?”

Lukas nods past me. “That was Tenley Chambers.”

The name gives me pause and rings a bell somewhere in my drug-fogged brain. Until suddenly, it clicks.

She wasn’t here to fuck me. She was here to tutor me. I make a note to spread a rumor about Julianna having genital warts as I grind my teeth.

But then I turn and stare into the rain where Tenley was just standing.

Glaring at me. Standing up to me. Defying me.

My lips curl into a thin, hungry, smile.

“Run away, little red,” I whisper into the rain. But there’s no place she can run. No place she can hide.

The Wolf has caught her scent.

And now, I’ll fucking devour her.