Lotto Trouble: A Reverse Harem Romantic Comedy (Lotto Love Book 2)

by Ann Denton

  Dammit.

  I glare at the twins, who are currently shoveling Kenneth’s steak with balsamic reduction and feta cheese into their mouths; they look like four-year-olds trying to stuff every gummy bear in their trap before mom sees. And I’m jealous. Because that shit is good. I roll my eyes. “So, you’re gonna starve the prisoners?”

  Suity stares at me a moment as he gulps down a mouthful of food. He jerks a head toward Reval, who comes over and undoes my ties.

  At first, I think that means they’re going to let me eat, but Reval gestures for me to sit in the seat farthest from the food. J2 follows up that invitation with a wave of his gun, so I sit.

  Reval looks at me. And I can see the wheels turning in his head. And some kind of revelation-type thing goes on as he eyes me. Immediately, my hackles rise. I want to live, but this look he’s giving me is weird. It's like the look that women get when they come into the salon and they’re about to change their whole fucking hairstyle—the locks I’ve worked on for six months, highlighting and feathering them to perfection, are suddenly gonna go poof—that look in their eyes means they’re about to request a goddamn pixie cut when they have the squarest jaw in the world. Because they’ve got an itch. An itch that’s leading them to commit hair suicide. Reval has hair suicide face.

  I start to shake my head before he even opens his mouth. I hold up a finger. "No, not gonna do it."

  "I did not say —"

  "Not gonna do it. Whatever it is, it's not happening."

  Unfortunately the twins exchange a look, and I swear to God, those motherfuckers have ESP. Rubin glances over at me with a little bit of hope in in his eyes

  "Heather. We could maybe help you." He holds out his hand.

  As if I'm gonna touch him after everything that's happened. I raise a brow—but not, like, just raise a brow. I mean raise a brow—Jerry Springer, no-you-didn't style. What the fuck to they think? Do they think I'm stupid? Do they think I'm actually gonna trust them after I found out that they are somehow connected to the assholes with guns? Speaking of this connection …

  I turned to Suity McGunpants. "How do you know the double mint twins?"

  "Double mint?"

  I wave off his confusion. I point. "How do you know Rubin and Reval?"

  Rubin nods toward Suity and says, "He works for father. All of them do."

  I stiffen. Father? I specifically asked every guy in this competition about their family. I did not want drama. The twins said they didn’t have a father. That confession of theirs led to goddamn sympathy sex. Sympathy sex—meaning I went all out for the double facial when I hate facials. Oh, I am about to pitch a fit. Those motherfuckers. They are double disqualified. They lied to me so they could get sympathy sex. Then they bring assholes with guns to my island.

  “So, your dad set up this lotto buying scam with Blob—”

  “Boris, was to be the buyer, yes.” Rubin clasps his hands. “When things went poorly … my father sent us to find you.”

  Blob butts in. “They were to get monies back.”

  “But you failed, so he sent guys to shoot me dead?” I shake my head.

  Both twins wince. "Our father is very one-minded when it comes to money. This project was very large.”

  J2 interrupts. “Yes, there was much face riding on it.”

  “But, if you marry one of us then the money is ours by marriage, no?” Rubin tries to sound reasonable. Like he's making some rational proposal. Some business deal.

  I laugh. I fucking laugh so hard my tits hurt from shaking and I have to put an arm around them to stop it.

  Suity’s nostrils flare. He’s offended by the fact that I turned down the twins proposal. "Their offer is most generous. More than we would give. You sign wedding papers. The money their family’s. Maxim pays back what is owed for money people.”

  Andrew pipes up from his spot on the floor, "He has investors?"

  Suity nods. "Yes, these. People who share the monies. Get more back."

  “People invested in the lottery?” I’m skeptical. “That ain’t a thing.”

  Andrew chimes, “Actually, there have been articles citing mathematicians doing it. They wait until the pot is big enough, calculate the total amount needed to buy every ticket available, get investors and tell them they’ll get a guaranteed payout at a certain percentage—”

  BJ whistles. “Well, fuck me sideways. Sign me up for that shit.”

  Andrew cocks his head and studies me. “Most places have made it illegal now.”

  I roll my eyes, “But of course—backwoods Oklahoma is behind the times.” I sigh.

  “It only works if you get every ticket.” Andrew shrugs.

  I run my hand down my face. “And of course, my one singular ticket—”

  Blob interjects. “You cause many problems.” His hand smacks down on the table hard enough to make their plates jump with a clank.

  Rubin holds up a hand to stop him. “But, fate is good, is it not? Without this issue, we would not have met Heather. She is the one.”

  Oh, no I am fucking not. But I smile, because what the fuck else am I gonna do right now.

  Reval stands from his chair and wipes his hands on a napkin, before walking over to me. Unlike the rest of us, who are still naked, the twins have at least wrapped pool towels around their waists. “Heather. Beautiful, Heather. Marry us. Either one, no hard feelings.”

  “Yes hard feelings,” Blob interjects with a snicker. “Dick is hard feelings, yes? Marriage has many hard feelings.”

  No one but him laughs at his lame joke.

  I put a hand on my hip and stare from twin to twin. They actually think this is possible. Do they have that kind of pull with their father? Ugh… I’m not sure why I’m even listening to them. They’re idiots. "I don't see the benefit in this marriage thing for me. You're basically forcing me into an even worse marriage than the one I just had, and then taking all my money." I push it back on them.

  BJ speaks up for the first time in a long time. "Don’t be a selfish bitch. Ever occur to you that if you do this—maybe they’ll let us live?"

  I narrow my eyes at him. Backstabbing Brooklyn fucker. Cares more about living than the fact I’d be selling myself into virtual slavery. But he has a point. It might be the only way any of us get out of this alive. I’m kind of annoyed by that. “I have to think about it."

  “This is good deal, no?” Suity turns to BJ.

  “Great deal. But, women,” BJ shrugs like I’m being unreasonable.

  The twins nod.

  I almost walk over to J2 and tell him to shoot me now. I’m done with these sexist ding-dongs.

  But Andrew calls me over. I walk away from the table, swiping some water bottles as I do. I toss a water bottle to Jeremiah and crack one open for Andrew and I to share.

  “Hey!” BJ protests.

  I just flip him off.

  Behind me, Blob tells the others he's going back to the helicopter to check on Sasha. I don't know who the hell Sasha is, I'm just fucking glad to have one less crazy ass gunmen here with us. I do a quick head count. My team versus the baddies. It's Rubin, Reval, J2, and Suity Mcgunpants versus me, Andrew, BJ, and Jeremy. I’ve been untied. I reach down and loosen Andrew’s ropes subversively as I try and weigh the odds of what might happen if we straight up fought. The twins have muscle but they don't know how to use it. But the guns … now I motherfucking wish I had done what Andrew had said. I wish I had taken that gun. Then I wouldn’t be here hemming and hawing. I’d go Annie Oakley on their ass.

  Andrew says in a low voice, "Heather you should really think about this marriage offer. I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss the twins. Right now, they still want you. That's a bargaining chip.”

  I cross my arms under my breasts and that momentarily distracts him, as usual. I know Andrew's right. But it chuffs me to think I might have to stoop to that. I don't ever want to be married again. That was part of the point of this whole trip. But I don't really want to see these three poor guys (or Ka
tie and her guys) get shot down either. I close my eyes and pray for the strength to be a martyr.

  Then I put my fingers to my lips and whistle. Every head turns toward me. "I need some time to think about the damn marriage thing. But I'm not getting married without a goddamn dress or flowers. And my hair and makeup sure as hell aren’t gonna look like this.”

  It takes a minute, because those twins really are goddamn slow. But when they understand what I said, both of them wear shit-eating grins. They think they've won. The superior-ass dicks.

  I turn away from them. I turn away from Andrew and my guys, too. Because I don't know how long I can fake being reasonable. That's just not in my nature. The only reason I said those words at all was to give myself time to come up with a fucking plan. Because I am gonna stick it to those sons of bitches if it's the last thing I do.

  Chapter Nine

  Katie

  "You're lying!" I scream at Peter Brown. He knows the guy on the ground. He has to!

  Peter cringes away from me. “The guys I owe are from Jersey! The Warlock’s Motorcycle Club.”

  I roar and then shove that slimy little shit. Even though he’s twice my size, he stumbles back. “Don’t mock me! Don’t make fun of me right now!” I rage. “I can’t deal with it.”

  “I’m not! Geez! Really, I’m not.”

  “You expect me to believe there’s some fucking wizard gang?”

  “That’s their name! Shit!” Peter rubs his chest where I shoved him and then starts scratching at the bites there.

  “Stop that, you’ll make it worse,” Kenneth tells him. “You don’t want to open up any more of those bites.”

  How is he able to be reasonable right now? I almost want to shove him for it. I’m so pissed I don’t even think I have color vision right now. Everything is black and white. And Peter’s a black-hearted smear who needs to be erased.

  “Die here or die there,” Peter Brown mumbles. “Here’s better than there. You don’t know what they’d do.”

  “Why, would they cast a spell on you?” Danny mocks.

  If I wasn’t so freaked out, I’d high five him. Wizard fucking gang. Bullshit. The financial dark net dude I messaged didn’t give me a name for whoever Peter Brown owed… dammit all. But Jersey sounds more likely than Russians.

  “How big are the Warlocks?” Alec asks. “How many people?”

  “Shit. I dunno. They’re in a couple states.”

  “How many people in the gang you borrowed from?”

  “I’ve seen maybe twenty.”

  Alec nods and puts his hands into his sopping suit pockets, thinking.

  I don’t know why he’s wasting time asking questions about the Warlocks. It’s not like they matter. They aren’t the ones here. Dammit! I pace, rubbing my palms together. I'm not sure what to say or think or do. Did we just waste over it half a day coming up here for no reason? If these guys with guns have nothing to do with Peter Brown, then why the hell are they here?

  I march over to Sports Coat and start kicking him. Not hard enough to seriously hurt him, but hard enough to get him to wake the fuck up.

  “Katie—” Kenneth reaches for me, but I shrug him off and keep kicking.

  “Don’t,” I growl. And for once my voice doesn’t go all thin and reedy and uncertain. It’s as dark and dangerous as I feel.

  Sports Coat grunts and groans, and finally comes to. His pale eyes blink up at me and he stares around us, dazed. He probably has no idea where the hell he is. One second he was on the ground by his chopper, now he’s by some forest pool. But I could care less about how he feels right now. My empathy is gone. I am only composed of a burning need-to-know in this moment.

  "Who are you?"

  He doesn't answer; he simply groans. When he realizes he can't move his arms, his jaw drops and he lifts his head to look down at his body. I take a second to admire our twine handiwork as it freaks him out. Then I get back to questioning. "Why did you come to this island? Who are you looking for?"

  He opens his mouth to speak, but his throat is so dry that all that comes out is a half-hacking wheeze.

  The guys have to help him up and lead him over to the water so he can get a drink. He sips the at the edge of the pool, using his tongue to lap since he can’t use his hands. My guys join him and cup the water in their hands, wiping down their faces and refreshing themselves after our hike. We are all exhausted and tired, operating on no sleep, a massive crash after the adrenaline burst last night; we’re also wallowing in disappointment. My throat aches too, but I'm too frazzled to stop and drink with them. I can’t just kneel down next to Sports Coat and drink water, like ‘no big deal.’

  I’m amped. I’m freaking out. I chew a hole in my lip as I pace. I chose wrong. I chose wrong. Who knows what’s happening to Heather right now because of this choice? My choice! I'm so fucking relieved that at least we followed Alec’s advice and disabled the helicopter. Otherwise, these guys with guns could've flown her away. To who knows where. Because if these guys aren’t here for Peter, who the hell else on the island has a skeleton in their closet?

  After another tense minute, Alec jerks Sports Coat’s face away from the water. I crouch down low so that I can look this asshole in the eyes. "Who sent you? Who are you here for?"

  "No English," Sports Coat gasps.

  I lean back inch and share a scared look with the guys. "No English. What the hell does that mean?"

  But, even as I ask the question aloud, an eerie feeling creeps into my chest. There are only two guys on this island that are not native English speakers. And the very first time they got off Alec’s plane I wondered what the hell was going on. But instead of injecting my normal Katie paranoia, I let it go. I was busy, so I let it go. They were never supposed to be eleven guys on this island, but I didn't follow up about it. I let those Russian twins waltz right into Heather's harem just because they were twins. And now whatever these crazy people are planning, it's all my fault.

  Chapter Ten

  Heather

  I snuggle with Andrew on the floor of the kitchen when the sun rises. The asshole Russians don’t give us clothes or food or jackshit. Apparently, humane treatment isn’t a concept they care about. I fall asleep on him to thoughts of castration, to visions of lining my salon mirror with their shrunken little balls, shaved and painted red and green like Christmas ornaments.

  When I wake up, the afternoon sun is beating down through the windows. I stare around the kitchen, blinking, wondering for a second if I just had a super drunken orgy with my harem candidates and dreamt the men-with-guns thing. I'm disoriented and not quite sure what's going on.

  "Hey gorgeous," I hear in Andrew’s voice coming from the other side of the kitchen. “Good afternoon. Sleep well?”

  I rub my eyes and sit up. Everything comes flooding back to me. My eyes scan the kitchen, but I don't see any of the gangster jerkoffs. Andrew, BJ, and Jeremiah sit at stools around one of the three worktables in the room. They’re speaking in low voices, passing each other dill pickles, chugging water, and eating huge chicken sandwiches. They’re all still naked, but completely comfortable with it after all the time we’ve spent nude together. Andrew swats a fly away from their food. And everything looks normal, hunky-dory, which is weird as fuck.

  "What the hell?" I sit up and realize someone put a towel underneath my head while I slept. That was somewhat thoughtful. I give Andrew credit. No way I’m giving it to the twins. That towel is probably the only reason my head doesn’t feel like it’s about to pop off my neck. The rest of my body is sore as hell, though. When I stand, I realize that I’ve got red marks down my thighs from the grout lines in the tile.

  "Hurry and eat before they get back," Andrew tells me.

  "They’re real? The Russians? Not a dream? What's going on?" I ask a million questions, my mouth shooting off everything that's running through my brain as I stretch my aching back. Fuck this thirties shit. I used to spend a ton of nights sleeping on floors in my twenties. And none of thos
e made me feel like death. Of course, none of those involved gun-toting Russian mafia men either.

  BJ moans into his sandwich as he watches my boobs while I stretch. He swallows and says, "I wish we had enough time to fuck before they get back. I hate that we got interrupted yesterday. Blue balls all night, man."

  I shoot him a dirty look. I hate that we got interrupted, too. But, priorities. I open my mouth to tell him off as I walk over to their table, but Andrew starts to explain what’s been happening. I decide an explanation of what the hell's going on is more important than reaming BJ's ass. I sit down on a free stool and grab the bag of bread. I take a slice and eat it plain. My stomach doesn’t seem ready for more.

  Andrew says, "The guy with the big nose came back last night—"

  "Blob," I supply. "I nicknamed him Blob."

  Jeremiah looks at me and raises his brow. "Why the hell’d you do that?"

  I wave him off. "It's not important. It's just easier to keep track of people. Blob’s the one with the gut. J2 is the Arnold look-a-like. Suity McGunpants—self-explanatory. Just so we’re all on the same page."

  The guys exchange an amused smirk. BJ asks with a full mouth, "So, what's your nickname for me?"

  "Little Foot. Because you know small feet, small …" I smirk at his scowl as I take another bite of bread and place my feet in Andrew's lap. Both Andrew and Jeremiah choke down their laughter, trying to hide it with their sandwiches and their hands.

  “You’re a goddamn bitch!” BJ goes all Brooklyn on me, glaring down his crooked nose.

  I shrug. “An honest bitch, though. Not a back-stabbing, turncoat, traitor bitch like you.”

  “Excuse me for not wanting to die!”

  “Coward!”

  “Crazy!”

  “If you survive this, you’re totally gonna be a cuck,” I tell him. “I’m buying a cage for your tiny penis. And then I’m gonna fuck guys in front of you and your dick is gonna swell and that cage is gonna hurt like fuck, but I’m not gonna let you come.”