Savage Heir by Jagger Cole

9

“Wait, hang on—the vodka?”

There’s panic-y shrillness to her voice that makes me smirk as I walk into the kitchen. This game of pushing her buttons to see which sour look it elicits on her face, or what gasping sound her soft mouth makes is something I’m enjoying.

It’s an addicting game. A dangerous one, perhaps. But one I have no intentions of stopping or slowing with.

There are two answers as to why I’ve gone out of my way to make sure Tenley Chambers is basically bound to me—why I’ve essentially blackmailed her into staying as the tutor I don’t even actually need.

The first answer is the easy one: because my uncle has asked me to keep tabs on her, because she may leak information about either her own father or Senator North. With the landscape of how our organization does business potentially changing with the new President, that’s information that could be valuable.

That’s the easy answer: that I’m keeping her close to me because the family needs me to. Because the Bratva has asked me, and as its future king, it’s on me to stand and deliver.

It’s the second answer that’s problematic. But that one is just as simplistic as the first: because I like having Tenley near me. Because I enjoy having her twisting under my power over her.

Because just about everyone in Oxford Hills bends a knee to me one way or another. And the fact that she won’t is sliding under my skin like a splinter that won’t go away.

Or because I’ve woken up more times than I care to admit this weekend with my cock rock-hard after dreaming about her.

“Yes, Red, the vodka,” I growl to clear the visceral dreams of her from my head—the ones were those prissy, unamused and uptight lips were wrapped round my shaft. The ones where they were moaning my name while I buried my dick between her legs.

I turn to let my eyes pierce into her. “We’re not studying, today. We’re drinking. And leave that shoe by my front door,” I add as I see her bend as if she’s going to slip it back on.

She stares at me with a look of annoyance tinged with uncertainty. That look says she’s well aware that she’s alone with The Wolf in his very den. Her eyes say that she’s wondering if she’d be safer getting a drink in Hell with the Devil himself.

Her brows knit as she folds her arms over her chest. I do notice she drops the shoe though, too.

“No, we’re not.”

I lean against the fridge. I look at her without blinking until her cheeks burn and she drops her eyes.

“Yes, we are.”

“No, we’re—”

“Did you know Claudette’s niece is about to have her third baby?” I smile thinly. “We were just talking about it today, actually. That and the vacation she and her husband are thinking about taking to Normandy next month.”

The color drains from Tenley’s face. She understands what I’m actually saying here. Smart girl.

“Bribing people is disgustingly unfair,” she hisses quietly.

“No, bribing people is how business works.”

“Yeah, criminal business,” she spits before suddenly snapping her mouth shut. Her face pales a little. “I didn’t—I mean…”

“I don’t think it’s exactly top secret who my uncle is,” I grunt.

“No, but I didn’t mean to suggest—” When she looks up to see the smirk curling the corners of my lips, her apology fades as her eyes narrow.

“Ask.”

“Ask what, Ilya.”

“You’re curious if I’m in the same line of work as my uncle. If the rumors about my Bratva connections are true.”

She shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.”

She swallows and slowly drags her eyes up to me.

“Ask,” I growl.

Tenley’s tongue wets her lips. I can almost see the question hesitating in her mouth. She wants to ask—she wants to ask so desperately that the words are practically forming already on her lips. But she’s afraid of what the answer might be. She’s afraid she already knows the answer.

“Are you…” she squirms. “You know…”

“Am I what,” I hiss quietly.

Her teeth rake across her bottom lip. The air is still.

“Are you in the bratva, like your uncle?”

My eyes narrow. My mind flashes back to the trials by combat. The ceremony in the old Orthodox Church, candles flickering and incense curling through the air. The oaths taken. The ink on my skin.

I’m not in the bratva. I am the bratva.

“Yes.”

She shivers and quickly looks down.

“Does that scare you?”

She shakes her head, not looking at me. “No.”

It should. It really, really should. My eyes slide over her as she looks up, meeting my gaze in spite of the fear clouding hers. This refusal to bow—to take a knee; this persistent defiance… it suddenly occurs to me that it’s not just a prickly attitude or a permanent fuck-you to authority or those in power.

It’s a strength. It’s her armor, and I don’t know if it ever comes off.

I turn to open the freezer, pulling out chilled vodka and then grabbing two glasses from a shelf. I set them on the white marble kitchen island between us and sit in one of the high-backed barstools facing her.

“Sit.”

She reacts to the command about as well as I imagined she would.

“We’re not drinking, Ilya.”

“Then we’re not meeting today, which I do not think will go over very well with the student services office.”

Her mouth thins. Her eyes narrow at me.

“Oh? I wonder what they’d have to say when I mention why exactly we didn’t meet today.”

I open the vodka and pour a splash into both glasses in front of me. “As I said, I don’t think it’s much of a secret who my uncle is.”

She swallows, glaring at me. “I’m not going to let you threaten me, you know,” she hisses quietly.

“Who’s threatening?”

She sneers. “Fine, you want to go there? Your uncle might be a gangster. But my father is going to be the Vice fucking President.”

She smirks triumphantly at me. Like that’s her big “check mate.”

“And if you think necklaces are the extent of my generosity to the administrative employees of this fine educational institution, you are sorely wrong.”

Tenley glares at me.

“I’m hardly asking you to jump off a fucking bridge, Red,” I grunt. I nod my chin at the chair face me. “It’s a drink. Call it an ice-breaker, like in business.”

“Drinking vodka with you in your kitchen at three-thirty in the afternoon is not a business meet-up.”

“It’s three-fucking-fifty. You were late, remember?”

I can see how badly she wants to roll her eyes at me. But she holds back. Barely.

“Why are you doing this?”

I shrug. “In Russia, they say you do not know a man until you drink with him.”

“That sounds incredibly enabling. And besides, I don’t want to know you,” she adds with a thin, sneering smile.

“I was talking about you.”

“I’m not a man.”

“I’m trying to be inclusive.”

Tenley’s brow furrows. “No, you’re trying to ruffle my feathers.”

She glares at me. I glare right back.

“I have shit to do, Tenley.”

“Yes, like tutoring—”

“So if you’re just here, late, to waste my time…”

She purses her lips.

“One drink,” she hisses. “And then we’re doing the tutoring.”

“I don’t actually need the tutoring.”

“You being on academic probation suggests otherwise.”

My jaw ticks. Even here, even alone with the wolf in his very den, the defiance is still there.

“Sit.”

She swallows and eyes me.

“Let’s skip the formalities today. You do not need to actually teach me or tutor me or do anything today except sit and have a drink with me. Then you can run back to dear Patrick.”

“And the student services office?”

“I’ll tell them you were the best tutor in the history of tutoring.”

Tenley’s tongue darts out to wet her lips.

“Fine. One drink, Ilya. And then I’m leaving.”

She reaches down for her shoe.

“House rules remain.”

She glances up at me with a withering look. “Seriously?”

I nod.

She sighs and takes a step into the kitchen. But with one shoe off, her gait is lopsided. With a groan and a grit of her teeth, she kicks off the other flat and walks in her knee-high socks over to the counter.

She sits in the high barstool across from me, her small hands balled into fists on the counter in front of her.

“Here.” I slide one of the tumblers towards her. Tenley eyes it warily.

“What?”

“I’m trying to see if you poisoned it or something.”

I roll my eyes. “You just watched me pour it.”

“Then you won’t mind if we trade glasses, then.”

I glare at her. “You’ve watched too many movies. Here.” I push my glass towards her and take hers.

“Wait, switch again.”

My teeth grit. “What?”

“Switch back. You switched ours way too quickly.”

I laugh coldly. “What do you think I did, Red, poison my own drink because I’d seen the future and knew you were going to want to switch.”

She shrugs. “You’re the criminal mastermind here, Ilya.”

“Maybe I’m such a mastermind that I put the poison in yours, knowing you’d think I’d put it in mine, so you’d switch. But when I switched too eagerly, you’d get suspicious and go back to yours, the poisoned one.”

A smile actually curls at the corners of her lips. “I’m beginning to see why the Cold War lasted so long.”

I smirk and lift the glass in front of me… whichever the fuck one it is. She eyes her own glass before taking it in her hand. She brings it to her nose and sniffs before wrinkling her face in disdain.

“Eww.”

My brow furrows. “You’ve had vodka before, haven’t you?”

She frowns. “I’m eighteen.”

“And?”

“The legal drinking age in the US is twenty-one?”

I stare at her. “Have you honestly never drank before because the law says you can’t?”

Her lips purse. “That’s what laws are there for. At least for those who live in a law-abiding society,” she snaps.

“And you always follow the rules like that?”

“I’m going to be a lawyer, and then a judge.”

My brow arches. “Really.”

“Yes, really,” she says icily.

“May our paths never cross later in life, then.”

She smirks. “Why, cause I’d lock you up and throw away the key?”

“Ahh, yes, there’s that blind, impartial justice…”

Tenley sneers at me.

“What’s the legal drink age in Russia?”

“I only lived in Russia for small periods of time,” I grunt. “But there isn’t one.”

She furrows her brow. “Where did… never mind.”

“Paris, New York, London, Moscow for some time.”

She rolls her eyes. “So, typical Oxford Hills childhood then, it seems?”

A shadow crosses my face, like the tiny shards of shattered windshield glass cascading over it. Like the squeal of tires on slick road. The screams of death.

“No, Tenley,” I growl quietly. “I am nothing like these other assholes.”

Her mouth purses, and she swallows thickly.

“Okay, fine,” she mumbles.

I raise the glass. “Drinking age is eighteen in the UK. So no you’re not off the hook.”

She eyes her glass. With a sigh, she reluctantly lifts it as well.

“Na Zdorovie,” I grunt, clinking mine to hers. I knock my drink back. Tenley brings hers to her lips as if to sip it.

“Be bolder.”

She glares at me, purses her lips, and then slugs the vodka back. Instantly, her face turns red as she starts to cough and sputter.

“Oh my God!” she gasps, her eyes watering. “What the fuck!”

I eye her with some amusement as she composes herself.

“Are you going to make it?”

She glares at me. “Can I go now?”

“No.”

Her mouth falls open. “We said one drink, and then—”

“We have half an hour left of our allotted tutoring time.”

“No, I said one drink, and then I’m leaving—”

She scowls as she catches her own trap. She said one drink and then leaving. I did not. And she’s seeing that now.

“I’m not having another one.” Her cheeks are already flushed from the first.

“Then don’t.”

I pour myself a drink, my eyes locked on her. I pour a splash into her empty one, and she scowls.

“I said—”

“Then don’t,” I grunt. “I am merely being polite.”

I bring the glass to my lips. I may not have grown up throughout all of my formative years in Russia. But the smell of vodka still smells like home. It still makes me think of cold Moscow nights and roaring fireplaces, sitting by my father’s feet. Or later, by Uncle Yuri’s feet.

“How long have you and Patrick been dating?”

She eyes me. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because I’m making conversation. You should try that instead of glaring at people sometime. You may find you might even make some friends, Red.”

Tenley rolls her eyes. “I have plenty of friends here, thank you.”

“Patrick’s friends.”

Her lips purse. “Who are also my friends.”

“I’m curious. Does he pay them, or are they pro bono like his little interns that run around this fucking place?”

Her lips curl into a grin before she can hide it.

“Why are you with him?”

She frowns. “I beg your pardon?”

I sip on my vodka. My eyes pierce into her. Rattling her, as intended.

“Why. Are. You. With. Him.”

Her brow furrows. “Because we… because I’m… well, because we just are. We click.”

“Uh-huh,” I mutter dryly.

“I’m sure you have a hard time understanding intimate human connection, Ilya. But it’s a fairly common occurrence.”

“And what makes you think I don’t understand human intimacy?”

“Because you’re a psychopath?”

Her mouth clams shut as soon as she says it. Her eyes go wide.

“I—I’m sorry, I think that drink…”

I smirk. “It’s fine.”

“I really didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” I smile thinly. “And I don’t need to have a parent on a presidential ballot to understand how politics work, Tenley.”

“That… no, Patrick and I…” she stammers, frowning before she glares up at me. “It’s really none of your business.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

Her mouth purses. “Well, how would you like to be grilled with questions?”

I shrug and take a sip of my drink. “Do your worst.”

“Why are you on academic probation?”

I smirk. “That was your worst?”

“No, it wasn’t. But I’m curious. Claudette keeps calling you one of Oxford Hills’ ‘finest, brightest, and more academic highest achieving students.’”

“Did it occur to you that she might be slightly influenced by my bribing her?”

“I did. But she didn’t say it like it was bullshit. And then when I went back to…” she frowns. “To double check about this situation, I looked over the counter at your file she had open.” Tenley frowns and looks at me curiously. “Your academic record here is flawless.”

“Evidently not.”

She smirks. “So, what happened?”

“Puberty.”

She blushes. “Uh-huh,” she drolls. “I’m sure.”

“Maybe I just don’t test well.”

Tenley rolls her eyes.

“Very professional.”

She blushes again. “No, it’s just… never mind.”

“Speak.”

She bites her lip. “When people say they just don’t test well, it’s like saying your a virtuoso, but, damn it if you just can’t seem to play a single note when you have to actually sit down at the piano.”

My lips curl. “I’m smart until I have to prove it, you mean.”

She grins. “Yes, exactly.”

I watch, saying nothing as she picks her glass up and sips, almost absently. When the vodka hits her tongue, she blinks quickly, like she’s just realized what she’s doing. But she doesn’t spit it out or anything. She swallows, wincing slightly. But she does it.

“The dark side tastes alright, doesn’t it?”

She rolls her eyes, blushing.

“So what’s next in our question-for-question game.”

Tenley frowns. “You never answered mine. Why are you on academic prob—”

“Because I like to have fun,” I growl.

“Too much fun, it seems,” she murmurs thinly.

I shrug. “My turn.”

She nods, sipping her vodka.

“Are you a virgin?”

Her smile drops and her lips purse tightly. Her face reddens as she glares at me.

“Go to hell.”

I smirk. “So, yes.”

“We’re not doing this, Ilya,” she hisses. She suddenly stands from the barstool, glaring at me across the counter.

“Doing what?”

“This banter while you try and feed me alcohol? You trying to be charming and all cute, like I’ll fall for that bullshit?”

My eyes narrow.

“I’ve seen that movie, Ilya,” she snaps. “And I am not that girl.”

“No?” I growl as I stand too. “Then what girl are you?”

“The one who’s leaving.”

She turns and marches towards the front door. But I’m faster. She gasps, whirling just as I get to her. Her hands come up, but with a growl deep in my chest, I pin them against the wall, trapping her.

Her breath catches. Her eyes widen.

“Ilya—”

“You’ll leave when I say you can leave,” I grunt.

Her gasps are halting and shaky, her body trembling as I lean close to her—and then closer, until my mouth is barely three inches from hers. But those three inches feel like a mile—the demilitarized zone between both Koreas. The no-fly zone.

And I know crossing that three-inch divide would explode my entire world.

Tenley swallows thickly, her big blue eyes wide as she stares up into my fierce gaze.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers. “Why me?”

I could lie. I could lean on my reputation as a cold-blooded psychopath. But I don’t.

“Because you will not bend at the knee,” I growl thickly. “Because you defy me, Tenley.”

Her lips quiver—enticingly. Temptingly. But they purse as a dark cloud washes over her face. She glares at me.

“You’re not a king, Ilya.”

“No,” I growl. “But I am The Wolf.”

“I’m not scared of wolves.”

“That will be your undoing.”

She trembles, shivering against my hard grip.

“You’re…” she swallows. “You’re too close,” she whispers hoarsely.

“Am I?”

She doesn’t answer. Her eyes just lock with mine. I can feel her pulse thudding in her wrists against my fingers. I can smell the vanilla and citrus scent of her hair. I see that fire and the defiance in her eyes, and I want it.

But I also see something else. Past the sneer. Past the defiance. Past the coldness… it’s buried there.

Curiosity. Aching, forbidden curiosity, pulling at her like a loose string.

“You’re curious what it would be like,” I say quietly, my voice hard.

“What what would be like?” There’s a quaver in that angry tone, and it gives her away. As does the heat blooming in her cheeks.

“To be wanted,” I hiss.

Tenley trembles, biting her lip. “I—I have a boyfriend—”

“I know.”

Her pulse thuds. “And that doesn’t tell you to back off?” she hisses quietly.

I shake my head.

“No, that tells me I’ll enjoy this.”

Heat creeps up her neck and over her face.

“Enjoy wha—” she gasps as I lean right into her, my lips brushing her earlobe as my pulse throbs inside of me.

“Taking what isn’t mine.”

The room stills. You could drop a pin in here and it would be deafening. But Tenley and I just stare at each other, inches apart, her pinned against the wall.

Suddenly, I hear shrieks and giggles from outside by the pool. One of the French doors open, and the sound of girls laughing and Misha’s voice flood in.

My hands drop from Tenley’s wrists. I slowly pull back.

For a second, the look in her eye looks like she wants to slap me. But then it morphs, changing into something I can’t quite decipher. Her lips purse as her face blushes. And then with a whirl, she’s yanking the front door open and bolting.

“Who was that?”

I turn, glaring at Misha.

“What?” I snap.

He smirks at my moodiness and nods his chin at the front door. “Who was that?”

“No one.”

He shrugs. “Whatever, man.” He starts to turn, but then he stops and frowns at the floor near my feet. “Well, ‘no one’ left her shoes here.”

He eyes me.

“In case you were interested.”

I’m not. I’m not interested in a single thing about Tenley Chambers.

Except, I could say it a hundred times, and it wouldn’t change the fact that nothing about that statement is true, at all.