Savage Heir by Jagger Cole

5

The darknessof my bedroom is momentarily banished by the flick of my lighter. The end of the joint lights, burning like a glowing cherry as I inhale deeply. The lighter flicks out, the glow at the end of the rolling paper turns the smoke crimson as I breathe in and sink back onto the couch.

It’s one in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Part of the reason for that is as obvious as the lingering chalky taste in the back of my throat and in my nostrils. But even without drugs, my mind would very much still be whirling right now.

My mind is always whirling. Always thinking. Always scheming or playing chess with itself. That’s the irony of being on “academic probation” this term. It’s not that I’m slow, or that any of the classes here are remotely hard.

At the risk of sounding like a conceited blow-hard, it’s actually the opposite. I’m on academic probation because the “academic prestige” of this fucking place bores me. Because I am much, much smarter than these children of privilege who were born two inches from home plate and act like they hit one over the fences all by themselves.

Some of us bled through the mud to get here. Literally.

My later life, under my Uncle Yuri’s guidance and support, was good. I had everything I needed. I went to the right schools, lived in posh penthouses across Europe, and ate good food. I dressed like a billionaire, drove fancy cars, and played with rock stars and sports heroes, models and actresses.

I didn’t go without, in the slightest. But I am nothing like these other students. The darkness that tinges the corners of my brain make sure I never forget that. The scars, mostly covered by ink at this point, underscore the same mantra.

My life before Yuri was broken and shattered like glass upon a highway shoulder. Wounds heal, but the scar tissue remains. I smile grimly. You could ask Lukas about that if you wanted a peek over the edge into the abyss. There’s a reason his sleeves are always rolled down, and it’s not a fear of sunburn.

Of the three of us, I’m the connection between Misha and Lukas. Misha has known hardship in his own way, and he’s been raised to a man in the ways of the bratva. He too, is not like these other soft students. I’m sure an absent mom sucks. But he hasn’t known true pain.

Not like me, and certainly not like Lukas.

Misha and I connect on the level of both being raised in the bratva, and liking nice, expensive things. We bond over fast sports cars and strong drinks. But Lukas and I connect in the way people connect when they’ve both looked death in the face. We connect because we’re both scarred, inside and out.

And yet all three of us are the dark princes that will grow to be kings together. Misha will inherit his father’s empire. Lukas will someday run the Kashenko Bratva—perhaps alongside Sasha, his toddler of an adoptive brother. And I will one day sit on the throne of the most powerful bratva family in the world and carry on the legacy of the wolf.

I just need to get through one goddamn year of high school without fucking up, first.

I scowl into the darkness. Academic probation I can deal with, tutor or not. I don’t need someone holding my fucking hand or teaching me to read or write. Even calling it “academic probation” is absurd. My grades are exemplary. It’s just the hard partying that landed me where I am.

I don’t need a tutor, which is good, because I’m sure I’ve scared Tenley Chambers off a fucking cliff by now. But that thought sours in me. The hunger from before wells up inside. The heat I felt even just looking into her eyes surges like fire in my veins.

My search history is littered with her since this afternoon. I know about the rumors of her father being George North’s running mate. I’ve seen the pictures of her smiling and holding hands and looking all fucking cuddly with that fucking shit-stain Patrick North.

My lips curl in the darkness. No, I don’t need her.

But I do want her.

It’s not that she threw a drink in my face. And yet, it is. It’s that sweet innocence on her face. That timid and yet defiant look about her. It’s the scared eyes but the determination deep within them to never take the knee—to never kneel for me.

I smile hungrily at the idea of Tenley kneeling for me. Opening her sweet mouth…

The cherry burns hot and fierce as I suck in the smoke.

This isn’t about something as petty as revenge for throwing scotch in my face. This is about me fixating on that goodness within her and wanting to get my filthy hands on it. This is about wanting to corrupt her.

To ensnare her.

A knock at my door has me frowning as I whirl to glare at it.

“What.”

The door opens and a dark shape steps inside. Lukas moves into the light from the moon outside through my bedroom windows. “Drink?” He holds up a bottle of vodka.

“That works.”

He nods, silently moving to one of the chairs across the coffee table from me and dropping into it. I hear the sound of the seal on the bottle of vodka cracking before he raises it up to his lips. He drinks deeply and then passes it my way. I pass him the joint and take a long slug from the freezing cold bottle.

Across from me, Lukas’s face is momentarily illuminated by the glow of the cherry.

“I figured you were still up.”

“If you just put two and two together that cocaine keeps you awake…”

He snickers quietly and puffs on the joint before he hands it back.

“Not that. I mean the girl. Tenley.”

I frown in the near darkness. If it was anyone else, even Misha, I’d ask if they want to turn a light on instead of skulking around in the dark like a couple of fuckin’ weirdos. But even in the darkness, I can tell Lukas is wearing an undershirt. I know he’s more than fine keeping the lights off.

“What about her?” I mutter. I know who he’s talking about.

“I meant what I said earlier about that not being something you see every day.”

I smirk. “Well, remind me to piss off more daughters of heads of states and maybe you—”

“I don’t mean literally what she did, Ilya,” he growls. “I mean what it represents.”

I roll my eyes, sucking on the joint before I pass it back in exchange for more vodka. “You’re getting philosophical. There’s no hidden thing here. She acted like a bitch, and I scared the living shit out of her for it. Rightfully. She threw scotch in my fucking eyes.”

He says nothing as he puffs on the joint in the darkness.

“She’s new. She hasn’t figured out how it works here.”

“And how does it work here?”

I glare at him. “Sorry, I’m having trouble breathing since I’m drowning in the irony of you deciding to play therapy with me right now.”

The cherry of the joint glows just enough for me to see the tick of his jaw tightening. Fuck. I just stepped out of line, hard.

“I didn’t mean that.”

His lips curl. “It’s fine, dickhead. Give me that.”

He tugs the bottle out of my hand and drinks, heavily. Then he looks at me again in the darkness.

“I just need to get through this fucking year, Lukas,” I growl quietly.

“Might I suggest a pause on pretty much everything I saw you partake in today, then?”

My jaw sets. “Suggest away.”

“You know what they say about your own worst enemy?”

“Yeah, thanks, I get it. I’m my own worst—”

“Were,” he grunts. “You were your own worst enemy?”

“Are,” I correct. Lukas’s English is usually flawless. Even his accent is fairly blended away these days. I attribute the tense lapse to the day of drugs, drinking, and debauchery we just had. I’m actually about to ask if he ended up fucking that dark-haired girl from before when he shakes his head.

“I know how to speak English, jack ass.”

I frown, trying to make out the look on his face without lights.

“I do mean were, past tense. You have always been your own worst enemy, Ilya. Ever since I met you, and from what I gather, from long before we met.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear I’ve turned a corner,” I mutter sarcastically.

“You didn’t.”

I glare at him as smoke curls around the corners of my narrowed eyes. “I’m not sure I’m in the mood for mind games, asshole.”

“You didn’t change, Ilya. You just finally managed to find an immovable object to counter all that force behind you.”

My brows knit. I think I understand what he’s talking about, he’s just wrong.

“You’re joking.”

He shakes his head.

“Her… you think that frail, timid little thing throwing a drink in my face is now my greatest enemy?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re far more fucked up from today than I thought you were. Exactly what the hell did you and that dark haired girl from earlier get up to. Jesus Christ.”

Lukas just smiles. He puffs on the joint once more and then passes it to me. I scowl as I pluck it from his fingers, watching as he picks up the bottle of vodka and stands.

“I’m going to bed.”

“She ran,” I hiss as he turns for the door.

He shrugs, but he keeps walking.

“I scared the fuck out of her. She ran like I was chasing her, Lukas.”

“Okay.”

“She’s not my fucking worst enemy!”

He pauses at the door and glances back at me. “Then why the fuck are you yelling at me?”

He leaves, shutting the door behind him.

“Fucking head case,” I mutter to no one as I sink back on the couch and glare daggers at the moon.

The door opens again. I smirk as I hear footsteps approaching the couch from the side.

“Unless you’re here to swallow that bullshit you were just spouting, go psychoanalyze someone else, dipshit.”

A pair of lace panties fall into my lap. I slowly turn and drag my eyes up to see a blonde girl who’s name I don’t know wearing a smile, and nothing else.

“I was hoping there was something else I could swallow.”

I should be tempted. I should be far more than tempted, actually. I should already have her on her back with her ankles over my shoulders and that smirking mouth begging for more.

But I’m not. I’m not even remotely interested. I’m not even hard when my eyes drink in her flawless, tight body.

“Misha’s room is two doors down the hall. He’s probably open for business.” I turn back to the window, puffing on the joint.

She says nothing. The silence just ticks me off. I turn back to her, narrowing my eyes.

“In case I wasn’t clear, that means I’m not.”

She swallows, looking confused. “Um, are you serious?”

“Do I look like the fucking comedic type?”

She awkwardly backs away and then bends to pull a dress off the floor. She glances back at me with a darkened face as she quickly shimmies it back on.

Maybe last year, this would have gone down differently. Maybe it would have gone differently last week, or yesterday.

She’s walking to the door when I clear my throat. “Don’t forget these.”

I use the elastic on her panties to fling them her way. It’s too dark to see her blush, but I do watch her quickly snatch them off the floor, glance back at me, and then bolt from the room.

I do actually feel bad for her. Sort of. Kind of. Maybe.

It wasn’t a shot in the dark, her coming here like that. A younger version of me would have kept her in here until I’d had my fill before kicking her out in probably this same fashion.

But somethings different, and it pisses me the fuck off.

I don’t want blonde and cultured. I don’t want painted lips and pedigreed family.

I want red hair tangled in my fist. I want defiance staring back at me.

And I hate that Lukas is right, even if his argument was silence.

Tenley Chambers may have run, but she’s still here; tempting me, torturing me, refusing to bow before me.

But conversely, though she may have run home, she hasn’t gotten away from The Wolf. In fact, I’m just getting started. Fuck getting my act together. Fuck who her father is. Fuck Patrick fucking North.

When I’m through with Tenley Chambers, she’ll be ruined for any other man.

I am a reigning dark prince. I am The Wolf.

And woe unto those that cross me.