Page 139 of Twisted Little Game

Tate’s brother rounds the corner with a big open box of liquor bottles in his hand, setting it down near the bar at the edge of the room.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Luke says, smiling at Maks.

“Luke, this is my cousin, Maks,” I say, introducing them. Luke’s friend Logan Stone is at the edge of the kitchen counter, too, and his boyfriend Chase has his arms wrapped around his waist. I introduce Maks to everyone, and as usual, he plays it cool.

Luke Landrey is one of the most famous football players in the world, and Logan Stone plays a football pro on his TV show, Yard Line. Maks knows who both of them are, but one of the best things about my cousin is that he treats everyone the same.

Soon, Tate recruits Maks into helping him roll out more pie crusts, and for the first time in my life, I feel like I’m part of a happy family. Tate is incredibly cute when he bickers with his brother, and it reminds me of how I’ve always been with Maks.

It’s been two months since Maks and I cut ties with the rest of our family. The worst thing is that no one even tried to convince us to stay.

My other cousins have been radio silent.

My own father couldn’t even pretend to care.

I expected something from him. Maybe anger, maybe bargaining. But when I told him I was out, he stared at me for a few moments, then nodded, walking over to his front door to lead me out.

There had never been a stronger sign that I was making the right decision.

Maks did the same, a few days later, and we haven’t heard anything since. I have no idea if my family holds ill will toward us. Maks has told me he’s worried, and that at some point, they may try to make our lives hell for it. He thinks my father may be planning something.

I have no idea if he’s right.

I had barely spoken to my father during all of my years at Crimson to begin with. Ever since my mother died, at Sunday dinners I just felt like a ghost.

My father didn’t want me anymore.

The loss of Maks probably hurt him even more.

But if they do come after Maks, threaten him, or try to force him to do anything for them again, I will be ready and fucking waiting to make sure they never succeed.

“You’re good at that,” Tate tells Maks, watching him firmly roll out the pie crust. “Those Petrov muscles.”

“Yo, you guys have muscles, too,” Logan tells Tate. “Landrey muscles.”

Maks grins. “Thanks, guys. Pounding out this pie dough is definitely the most action I’ve seen in months, so I appreciate it.”

“Not fucking possible,” I tell him. “Six months ago, you told me you were… what, drowning in cum?”

“Drowning in dick,” Maks corrects me. “Jesus, Roman. You’re so graphic.”

“Cum is not more graphic than cock.”

Everyone else in the kitchen is snickering and laughing at us.

“Okay, show of hands,” Maks says. “Who thinks talking about drowning in cum is more explicit than saying drowning in dick?”

To my horror, I watch every hand in the room go up.

I wave my hand through the air. “Bullshitters. All of you.”

Tate blows me a kiss. “Sorry, my love.”

I cross over to the other side of the island to whisper in his ear. “Remind me to punish you later. Extra hard. Think you can take an extra finger next to my cock in your ass? While your wrists are chained to your bed.”

“Stop,” he murmurs. “Do not make me hard while I’m baking. That’s a fast track to a bad pie dough.”

The rest of the guys get distracted by the big-screen TV on the far wall for a while, watching replays of old Thanksgiving Day football games while Luke analyses the plays.