Savage Heir by Jagger Cole
38
“So, you must be very excited.”
I stab at my shepherds pie aimlessly. There’s a gnawing ache in the pit of my stomach that’s been there for two weeks. Needless to say, I’ve barely had an appetite.
But eating, these last two weeks, has turned into the same mindless, scripted routine that everything else has. It turns out, leaving the UK to fly to France, when your father is going to be the next Vice President, raises some red flags. That’s how Patrick and his father found out about all of that, and why my life is now a walking prison.
My entire life is now outside of my control; a glimpse of my future at Patrick’s side for the cameras. My Plan? Who knows. It seems, for now, that I’m still going to Columbia next year. But after that, it’s looking grim.
I wake early, to do press interviews over Skype. I dress in my school uniform, but it now comes with an America flag pin, and another of the red, white, and blue logo of Senator North’s campaign. There’s no way political buttons are part of the dress code here. But when the future President of the United States says jump, even the board of Oxford Hills says, “how high.”
I go to classes, but they’re staged now. There are cameras there to capture me—sitting in the front row of course—posing as if answering questions or solving problems.
It’s eye-rolling.
There’s no wiggle room in this new schedule. And no time off. I’ve barely seen Charlotte for the last two weeks. And I’m sure it’s no accident that I don’t even catch a glimpse, even between classes, of Ilya.
“Tenley?”
I frown and slowly raise my head from my reverie. Malik is smiling at me curiously from across the elite table in the dining hall.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said you must be very excited; for your trip, I mean.”
My mouth thins.
“Yes, very excited,” I recite like a robot. Next to me, Patrick snarls under his breath. His heel kicks the leg of my chair, jolting me.
“I mean, yes, Malik,” I gush. “I’m so thrilled.”
“The trip” is a trip home in two weeks for Patrick and I. We’ll be paraded around Washington and various news outlets as the hottest political couple since JFK and Jackie.
To the rest of the elite members of the snob-mob, it’s going to do wonders for “my brand,” as Yoon put it. Ainsley is actively jealous of me and mean about it.
I would rather stick my head in a fire-ant colony.
“You are so going to be on Vogue,” Ainsley says. But her smile says she wants to kill me in my sleep to take my place. I’m tempted to scream at her that she’s welcome to take my place. But it’s like even thinking that draws the fierce ire of Patrick—who is always near me, now.
“Oh now won’t that be fun,” I say dryly.
Patrick clears his throat and glares daggers at me before he smiles at the table.
“Actually, we are in fact scheduled for Vogue on day two of the tour.”
Ainsley says how exciting that is through clenched teeth. Carl Yoon high-fives Patrick. As the table buzzes about our stupid fucking trip, Patrick turns, still grinning. But his eyes are dark, and there’s a small snarl at the corners of his mouth.
“Stay in line, Tenley,” he snaps quietly. “I mean it. Your dad keeps his career, you keep your fucking plan—”
“Oh, do I?” I hiss back.
His eyes narrow. “Watch it,” he grunts. “You keep a new version of your plan.”
I roll my eyes.
“You agreed to this, Tenley. And don’t think for a fucking second that I’m ever going to let you back to of it.” He leans close, grinning. “You’re fucking mine now. My dad’s going to be two terms. You know that. And after that, I’m looking at a Senate race. You poll very well for both of those things.”
I tense, the color draining from my face.
“What, you’re going to keep me as your fake girlfriend for a decade, Patrick?” I snap quietly.
“No.”
I roll my eyes.
“You’ll be my fiancé, and then wife.”
I stare at him. “That’s not happening.”
“Oh, yes it is.”
He smiles thinly. “The political power my father wields now is formidable. When he’s President, and after?” He smirks. “There’s nothing he won’t be able to do.”
I slowly shake my head. “You’re a fucking lunatic.”
“That your way of telling me you’re going to fuck me?” He leers at me. “Since mentally fucked up psychopaths seem to be what gets you wet—”
I slap him, hard, right across the face. And something in him snaps.
Patrick lurches at me. My face pales as his hand grabs the front of my blouse and his lips curl into a snarl.
And right then is when the doors to the dining hall kick in. Four guys from the private security firm that guards Oxford Hills stride in. They’re accompanied by about ten people wearing the uniform of the local police force. And they’re marching right for us.
“Patrick North!” a man in a trench coat holding a badge barks as the policeman swarm us.
Patrick stares at him. “Excuse me?”
“Patrick North,” the man mutters as two men in uniform grab his arms. “You are hereby under arrest. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defense if you do not mention—”
“Do you have any fucking idea who I am?”
“—When questioned something which you later—”
“Hey!” Patrick roars. “Do you know who my fucking father is?”
The cop smiles. “Yes, son, I do. Let’s go.”
Patrick laughs. “I’m going to have your career fucking ended. Understand me? I’m going to—”
“Gonna smack me around, boy-o?” The cop growls viciously. His eyes narrow. “Like you did to all them girls in Manchester?”
My stomach drops. I stare in horror at Patrick, who’s face is ashen.
“My sister lives in Manchester,” the cop snarls into Patrick’s face. “And me mum, and my brother’s two daughters you cocksucker.”
He nods at the cops holding Patrick, and they start to drag him out. But suddenly, he whirls on me.
“You!” he bellows. “This is you and Volkov trying to fuck—get off!!”
With a roar, Patrick yanks his arms free and suddenly lunges at me. The scream catches in my throat as I watch the policemen move in slow motion to stop Patrick.
And then suddenly, he’s wincing as a fist crashes into his jaw. Patrick groans and hits the ground with a thud. I turn with wide eyes. My jaw drops when I see Lain standing there, glaring at Patrick as the cops drag him from the floor.
“Wanker,” Lain spits. He looks up at me and smiles shyly. “Us gingers have to stick together, after all.”
I throw my arms around him, hugging him tight before I pull away. “Thank you, Lain.”
He shrugs. “He always was a right prick.”
I turn as they start to haul a screaming and kicking Patrick from the dining hall. Unsurprisingly, the entire school is emptying out with them to see where they’re taking Mr. Golden Boy.
The rush of people leaving the dining hall turns into a tide. Like it or not, I’m swept up with them all—carried up the few steps to the main doors.
The courtyard outside the dining hall is bathed in swirling blue and red lights. The crowd is flowing like the river it is from the doors, down the steps, and over to where they’re pushing Patrick into the back of a car.
But slowly, I’m aware of the crowd parting; like a river hitting a massive stone. Like ants swarming around a boot.
Like sheep, parting for the wolf.
When those green eyes stab into me, even from twenty paces away, I’m stopped cold. My heart thuds. My breath feels like it’s being squeezed from me. The tips of my fingers tingle as I stare right back at him.
“I don’t do girlfriends, Tenley.”
His voice booms across the divide as he starts to move towards me.
“Ilya—”
“I don’t do corny dating shit, or long walks, or—”
“Stop, please,” I hiss. My chest tightens as he steps closer, the crowd of students still surging past us.
“Ilya, is this you?” I gesture past him at the cops shoving Patrick into a car. “I mean did you do this?”
His jaw ticks as he moves closer.
“I don’t do white knight shit. And I don’t do missing someone when they’re not around or thinking of the ways you could have been less of an asshole to them,” he grunts.
Suddenly he’s right in front of me, looming over me with his eyes burning like green fire.
“I don’t do boy meets girl, Tenley,” he hisses. “But I know I could do being in love with you.”
My heart stops beating. The world stills. My eyes lock onto him. And for the second time, I see the mask fall. I see the real Ilya Volkov.
And then I realize the words he just said, and my jaw drops.
“Ilya—”
“If I wasn’t me, and you weren’t you,” he growls quietly, staring hauntingly into my eyes. “Would that change anything?”
“Yes.”
His brow darkens. But I reach out, and my hands find his. His fingers entwine with mine.
“Because if you weren’t you and I wasn’t me, I might not love you too.”
The corners of his lips curl. My heart begins to thud. He pulls me against his chest and reaches up to cup my cheek.
“Careful, Red,” he grins. “Your normal is showing.”
“Careful, Volkov,” I whisper back. “You’re starting to sound dangerously human.”
“I’ll try to dial it back.”
I grin as he lowers his mouth to mine, and the world fades away around us.
The sirens whoop as they drive off. The crowds thin and then disappear around us. But we remain.
Red and the Wolf.
Together.
Finally.
