Oyizamsii

I struggle for a moment before following after him. He's waiting right outside, giving me no time to try and escape. Like he can hear my thoughts, he chuckles, his hand going to the base of my spine, warming the skin there. He leans down, murmuring in my ear, "I wouldn't. Black is looking for an excuse to rough you up. Don't tempt him to chase you, because when he gets you…well, you will have wished he was as nice as us."

"Do you always threaten people with death and torture over breakfast?" I snap, moving away from his hand.

He laughs behind me. "Of course, it isn't a good morning without at least one death threat or fight."

I stomp down the hallway, noting the other doors for later. It cuts off, opening up into the rest of the apartment, and I stop, gawking. "You're all crazy," I mutter distractedly.

He presses against my back, his heat and hard body making me freeze. I feel his lips at my ear, his breath wafting through my hair. "You have no idea."

I ignore him, too busy staring at the grandeur around me. If I thought that bedroom looked like something out of a showroom, I had no idea…fuck, I didn't even know places could look like this.

To the right are floor-to-ceiling windows, which cover two stories, and there are doors leading out onto what looks like a terrace with a pool and a bar. To the left is the front door with a scanner next to it, and behind that is a floating glass staircase leading up to another level.

Stepping into the room, I stare around further. The whole place is done in gold, white, and black. Marble floor with black accents squeak under my feet, leading to a living area. Sunk into the floor is a huge sofa, and when I say huge, I mean large enough to hold a full rugby team. It's in a square and looks like expensive leather, and, I shit you not, a fucking open fire is in front of it. There's a TV, which covers the whole wall next to me. Behind the sofa is a glass table that runs the length of an entire wall, with flowers and decorations across it and a grand piano.

Next to it is an open kitchen, with a white and grey marble island and black stools with gold legs in front of it. The kitchen is bigger than my whole apartment, equipped with every gadget and gizmo you could imagine. Large, chandelier pendant lights hang down from the ceiling, and the fridge and oven are a shiny black. Gold flowers sit perfectly in a vase. Sylvester is moving around it. "Bin open," he orders, and the bin opens, letting him drop something inside.

Of course they have fucking talking appliances.

There are crystal chandeliers hanging low from the ceiling and art covering the white walls. It's all so clean, spotless, and perfect—and screams money. Every gilded edge, every vase and feature meant to impress.

Fuck, they even have stepping stones into what looks like a pond in a corner. How the other half lives. I shake my head as Jake pushes me forward, and I stumble before whipping my head around to glare at him. He's grinning, flashing straight white teeth at me. "Asshole," I sneer, and turn back to see all of them looking at me now.

I'm so out of place, I feel tiny and insignificant. My clothes are cheap, but fuck it. They stole me, they knew who I was. I tip my head back and give them a haughty look as I stroll over to the table where Alejandro is nursing a mug of what smells like coffee. Black is there too, his booted feet propped up on the glass table as he flips a lighter around in his hand.

Sylvester heads over, placing a platter on the table and sitting down in the head chair, setting a napkin delicately in his lap. He's in another suit today—a grey, pinstriped one with a fucking waistcoat, the material tightening around his impressive thighs as he leans back, sipping from a goddamn teacup.