Page 41 of Twisted Little Game

Roman stands up, dusting off his hands, and steps away, immediately running over to find me beside the car.

“Tate. Are you okay?” he asks me.

“What the fuck?” I whisper, my throat dry as I try to speak. “What… the… fuck?”

“I will explain later. These were bad men, Tate. I promise you. You aren’t in danger, and you aren’t going to get in trouble. Just get in the car.”

Some of the adrenaline wears off, but as it does, my hands start to shake.

I get back into the passenger seat of the car, feeling like I just stepped into a dream.

This can’t be real.

But it is, without a doubt.

“Clean up your mess,” I overhear Roman’s other cousin saying to Yegor. “We need to get out of here.”

“Just leave. I’ll handle it,” Yegor says. “Come on, you boring fucks. It was a little fun, no?”

“You are so stupid.”

“Ready, Maks?” Roman says.

“Let’s go.”

Maks loops around to the car. He’s tall and built and kind of looks like Roman, but with lighter brown hair.

Roman gets in on the driver’s side and throws the car into reverse as Maks gets in behind him, sliding into the back seat.

Roman makes no introduction, and no effort to explain what I just saw.

“Jesus Christ, what is going on?” I ask Roman.

“Just breathe, Tate. ”

“Bullshit. Tell me.”

His palm immediately lands on my thigh.

He strokes me, his touch firm and steady, clearly trying to help me relax in the way he’s good at.

He glances over at me, then finally relents, hitting the brake in the car just before the exit of the gravel driveway. “It was just my cousin being stupid. Very stupid. You don’t need to worry, Tate.”

“Whatever,” I mutter, anger rising in me. I turn to stare back into the seat behind me and reach out my hand. “Hi. I’m Tate.”

If there’s one thing that being in a famous family teaches you, it’s how to always make a friendly introduction, even when you feel like your world is on fire.

He gives me a short, firm handshake. “I’m Maks.”

Roman nods. “My cousin who isn’t stupid.”

“And you and your cousins all go around with guns, shooting people?”

“I told you, it was Yegor’s mistake, not ours,” Roman says. “And that’s all the information you are getting, so it would be best if you shut up now, Tate.”

“Fuck you,” I puff out in a bitter breath.

“Excuse me?”