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

by Ann Denton

  It’s as if I’ve been invisible my whole life and someone can finally see me.

  A tear forms but I won’t let it fall. My eyes just grow glassy.

  That’s when Alec gently lowers his face and kisses me. Just lips, just the sweetest, most chaste, most tender kiss I've ever experienced. The dam breaks and a tear tracks down my cheek. My mind starts to form thoughts but they all fizzle and fade when he kisses me. Some part of me knows Alec is showing me a new side of himself, a side he doesn’t often let out.

  When he grips my hair and gently pulls my head back, he stares down at me. He drops his hold on the back of my head and begins tracing my hairline with his hand. "You have goosebumps. Let's get you under the covers."

  "But then if Kenneth comes back, he can't see."

  Alec gives me a half grin as he rolls over to my side, sits up, and then pulls me up into a seated position next to him. "What makes you think I want Kenneth to see?"

  I bite my lip. "But I thought —"

  "Katie, you’re my more." And then his lips are back on mine. Not gently this time. This time Alec tries to burn the meaning of the word into my brain, into my body, into my soul.

  His hands slide down and stroke the sides of my breasts. He lifts me up and sets me on his lap, straddling him. Then he reaches around around me pulls the comforter from the bottom of the bed and wraps it up around my shoulders like a cape. He holds it in place as he trails kisses down my neck. And then he falls backward unexpectedly, bringing me with him. A giggle slips out as I fall on top of him.

  He releases the coverlet and lets his hands wander. His grip keeps me secure, my hips aligned with his. His hands move inward and cup my breasts, squeezing and kneading them. His mouth dips down and he sucks a nipple between his lips, his teeth just teasing but not biting the tip.

  One of his hands moves to my back and slides down slowly. He traces the crack of my ass and then dips into my folds. He spreads my wetness and then strokes, alternating suction on my nipple and long, slow strokes up my slit.

  I moan. I try to hump his hand or rub against his hard shaft, but he stops sucking and simply says, “Wait.”

  So I just lay there, clawing at his shoulders as he resumes his slow, steady torture of my body. My mind becomes a tangle of wires and I feel like someone ran a semi truck into an electric fence. I’m sizzling, sparking heat and broken thoughts and spinning wheels. Fuck!

  My hands reach down and I jerk Alec’s face off my chest. I can’t wait another damned second. “I need you,” I whimper. Because I can’t hold all this inside anymore. This electricity needs to arc out. I need to ground myself.

  Alec’s eyes are hooded. He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t protest. So I reach back and throw his arm off me, pulling him out of my core. I lift my hips and sink down on him. That’s all it takes. That one singular stroke and I fucking scream.

  Alec’s smile when I come back down isn’t smug or triumphant. It’s sweet. He strokes my cheek and gives me another soft kiss.

  And then he rolls me over and takes me to that high again.

  Once we’re dressed, we head into the living room. “I can’t believe they’re not back yet,” I say. “I was pretty sure by that third orgasm that we were gonna get an audience whether we wanted one or not.”

  Alec shrugs. “Peter’s not looking good. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent this entire time in the bathroom.”

  I grab my remote controls. I hand one to Alec and pocket the control for the lights. I grab my bullhorn and start playing with the buttons as we wait. I’m feeling antsy.

  “Don’t you think they should be back by now?” I ask. I glance outside through the shattered living room window. The sun is hovering just above waterline. It’ll be dark soon.

  Alec goes to the door and checks outside. “Yeah, it couldn’t hurt. I don’t know which villa Peter took off to, but we know the route Kenneth was gonna go.”

  I stand up, glad to be doing something other than sitting. “Am I a bad person if I say I don’t really care about Peter?”

  Alec checks the magazine on his weapon and then carries it at his side as we leave. “Nah. I’d say you’re normal.”

  I gulp. “Normal? Dating three guys?”

  “Okay. Extraordinary. Sorry. I’m not so good at the supportive shit.”

  I laugh as we enter the trees. “But are you still okay with it all? I mean, after what just happened?” I hope he’s okay. I just don’t want to hurt him. Because Kenneth and Danny—my heart gives a painful little tug—are just as important.

  “We’re a team, Katie.” And then Alec takes the lead, as if that one sentence settles the matter.

  Which, I hope it does. I really, really hope. Just about as much as I really hope that this pie-in-the-sky, smoke-and-mirrors plan works.

  After fifteen minutes of hiking, we’ve passed several of the little “burn” piles Kenneth’s assembled. But we don’t see him.

  Worry starts knocking at my ribs. I try to turn her away, not to let her in, but the bitch isn’t having it.

  “Something’s wrong,” I whisper. I grip the bullhorn tighter.

  We start to walk faster, despite the fact that our feet brush against the leaves and we make more noise. The leaves, my breath, the wind, and those damned parrots screeching, “You can’t cum yet, shithead!”—the noises start to blur. My eyes scan back and forth, at first methodically and then more frantically as we keep going and there’s no sign of Kenneth.

  Alec comes to a dead stop in front of me and I nearly trip over him. He reaches out a hand to help me and I grab a nearby tree in order to keep my balance.

  There, on the path in front of us, is Kenneth. He’s lying on the ground, face down.

  Everything inside me curls up into fetal position. This can’t be happening. I shake my head side to side. “No!”

  Alec bends down and rolls Kenneth over.

  There’s a massive bump on my chef’s forehead, but he’s not shot. He’s not dead. I scan his body quickly. The rest of him looks intact and uninjured. Thank fuck.

  “His gun’s gone,” Alec growls, standing up and immediately pulling his own weapon, turning in a slow circle and surveying the trees.

  I crouch down and touch Kenneth’s face, careful to avoid the obvious injury.

  “Kenneth, can you hear me?”

  He moans, but doesn’t respond. At least he’s alive.

  “Peter,” Alec and I say at the same time.

  That slimy little turd. I clench my fingers and swallow hard, focusing back on Kenneth. I try to smack back my sadness at seeing him hurt, at knowing he was betrayed. I can’t break down. I need to focus on the plan. Focus on the plan.

  When Alec is sure that Peter the bastard is gone, he crouches down and does his own check on Kenneth. “He’s out.”

  “I noticed.”

  Alec runs his hands over Kenneth, checking him. “I think he’ll be okay. I hope. Guess Peter stole his gun.”

  My stomach wrings itself out like a dishrag at Alec’s words and I nearly vomit at the thought that Kenneth might not be okay. God, we need to see if Heather and Andrew and the others are still here. If they’re okay. We need to take care of Kenneth—he needs a doctor—we need— I spot the penis piñata through the trees, just feet away. Kenneth never got it in position. Shit. We need that for tonight. It’s a major part of our plan.

  I tromp over and retrieve it. I use the string attached to the tip and wrap it around my shoulders and torso a few times until the piñata settles between my shoulder blades like a backpack. A giant penis backpack. I take deep, deliberate breaths, trying to keep myself calm. I can’t freak out. It’s not the time to freak out.

  Alec interrupts my thoughts by handing me his gun. “You guard rear?”

  “You think Peter Brown’s gonna be a problem?”

  Alec shakes his head. “Nah. He’s too scared to go approach those Russians himself. He’s gonna hide in the trees again. You got rear?” he repeats.

  I nod. W
e make it halfway back to my villa when Kenneth stirs in Alec’s arms. I jog forward and grab his hand just before he opens his eyes.

  “Kenneth!” I laugh-cry in relief.

  But then he says, “Grandma?” and I want to laugh-cry for a whole different reason.

  “Pretty bad concussion,” Alec diagnoses when Kenneth springs out of his arms and goes to puke on a nearby tree.

  I nod. Fuck! It could be so much worse but … fuck!

  Kenneth turns around and sways on his feet. “Is it chicken pot pie tonight? I love chicken pot—”

  Alec has to scoop him up before he face plants.

  Our trek resumes.

  My hand fidgets on the bullhorn I carry, and every twig cracking sends me spinning, gun raised. I’m on edge. I swallow back the bile that builds up inside my throat as reality hits.

  We’re about to attack armed Russian mobsters. And our little group is down to two.

  Chapter Twenty

  Heather

  Thank fuck I took that crystal. Because these dumbasses are too smart for their own good. Or for my good, I guess. They solve puzzles that unlock the window compartments in the hallway so they can reach in and get the containers and potion ingredients inside. Then they solve puzzles associated with those items, which open up a damned beehive-looking receptacle where they can shove all the rainbow crystals. The Russians get them in, but they’re missing one very important crystal.

  I try real hard to look confused.

  I try real hard to look like I’m helping search.

  J2, ever the suspicious asshole, tells me to sit the fuck down.

  I watch them nervously as they turn the escape room upside down, turning everything over and moving it and eventually, somehow, fucking us over so that we’re left in the dark. Who knows what idiot pulled what cord to make that happen? I’m just glad it happened. I lean against the wall in my spot on the floor—glad I can finally look smug without getting noticed—while they all pull out their cell phones and try to solve two problems by flashlight. Plug in the cord. Find the crystal. Their little lights dance around the floor as they crawl on hands and knees. The only other streak of light in the place comes from a small, square skylight.

  I stare up at that little bit of freedom while the Russians get increasingly pissed, snapping at each other in two languages.

  Damn, I hope they’re still this pissed at each other and all distracted when they get out. They’ll be easier to rile up and get to whatever spot we need so we can—Boosh! I make the noise with my mouth. I fucking wish I had my phone. I consider trying to steal a Russian’s, but I’d never get it unlocked. I don’t have any phone numbers memorized. Oh—and the writing might be in those funny squiggles. Yeah, not worth it.

  Rubin sits down beside me, giving up on the search. He looks at me and follows my gaze.

  Suddenly, he stands. “I know how to get out. We need to use the window up there.” He points.

  The other men look at the skylight.

  “No way. We not fit,” Blob says.

  Damn straight, he won’t fit.

  But Rubin’s insistent. “That’s the game, right? Heather’s games are all about team building. We work together.”

  Reval tilts his head and studies the skylight. He waves Rubin over. “Lift me. Let me see what we can do.”

  So, it becomes a team effort. I bite down on a smile as I think about how much these dopes look like a bunch of male cheerleaders. Blob goes into a half lunge so that Reval can use his thigh as a step up to Rubin’s shoulders. J2 holds Reval’s hands for balance, and Suity keeps his hands spread behind Reval’s ass, to catch him in case he falls.

  Damn. What a time to be without a phone. The Instagram world will forever miss out on this pathetic, sliding, curse-filled gymnastics session.

  After three glorious failed attempts that practically make me piss myself, Reval is finally up, hands braced against the ceiling, pulling on the latch that keeps the skylight shut. He can’t get it open by hand, so he puts his hand down and one of the other idiots hands him a gun. He uses the handle to smash the latch.

  I fucking book it for a hallway when he starts that shit. He’s gonna accidentally shoot—and he does. Pow! The bullet ricochets around the room, sending all the guys ducking and Reval falling flat onto Rubin’s back.

  I roll my eyes at their idiocy. But do they give up and try another solution? Nope. Because they’re men. They repeat the entire dumb process over. The only thing they change is that this time, Reval uses one of the big, magnetic rectangles from the games to beat at the latch. He is—surprisingly—successful. He gets the window to unlatch. But when Rubin and the others use their hands to try to boost him through, he doesn’t fit.

  Not a shock, considering he’s roughly the size of a frickin’ grizzly bear.

  He climbs down and they try to boost up Suity. No go. J2’s shoulders are even more massive than the other guys, and even if Blob’s shoulders would fit, his stomach definitely won’t.

  After they’ve exhausted all their options, they turn and look at me.

  “Hell no,” I say. “I am not a fan of heights.”

  “You go out, unlock the door and let us out, then maybe after you sign papers, we say you slipped away. Or maybe we take just fingernail, a lock of hair, to prove you are gone?” J2 thinks he’s being persuasive.

  Pull off my fucking fingernails? Trash my hair? Hell to the no. I’d rather they just fucking kill me. ‘Course, I’m not dumb enough to say that. Because there’s still the possibility of the bomb.

  If they let me out, and I can get word to the guys, maybe we can find a way to get that fucking thing back here and drop it through the skylight. That could work.

  I try not to let my thoughts show on my face as I run through the scenarios, picturing this building transforming into a beautiful orange fireball.

  Thank fucking goodness the lights went out, is all I gotta say. My face would give me dead away right now.

  I clear my throat and try and sound reluctant as I climb to my feet. “You promise? You promise, if I get you out and sign over the money … you’ll let me go?”

  J2 puts his hand up in devil horns, turns his fingers inward and smacks himself on the chest. “I promise.” Is he swearing on the devil or something? What the fuck?

  I do not have time to analyze the weirdness. I wanna get out of here and see Andrew and those other schmucks. So, I just nod.

  The guys shove me up onto J2’s shoulders, and I stretch upward. I press on the skylight. The latch is undone but the glass itself has flipped back down and the skylight is closed. The guys all pushed it open with no issue when they tried to squish through. But I’m not quite as tall and I don’t have quite their upper body strength.

  I shove against the glass. I smack my palms harder against it and it starts to budge. But I need a better angle because it opens on the left side and I’m too centered. I shift my legs, widening my stance. But shit—that makes the crystal in my ass start to slip. Fuck. I clench my cheeks the best I can, but I’m cocked to one side right now and I can’t maintain a good grip on it. I punch the glass hard and the crystal slides a little further down. I can feel it prairie dogging, the tip popping out of my ass. But at that moment, the skylight swings open like the page of a book and smacks against the roof.

  I’m almost there.

  “Push me up more!” I urge.

  J2 shoves his left hand up, lifting my left foot and spreading my legs further apart. The crystal slips and it’s halfway out. I push down on J2’s left hand and shift my weight to that side as my hands grasp the edges of the window frame. Another slip. But it’s fine. It’s still in there.

  “Jump!” I command.

  J2 jumps, giving me the extra height I need to get my elbows braced on top of the window frame. I swing my right leg up and awkwardly lodge my foot on the back corner of the skylight. Then I lean forward onto my elbows and bring my left foot up catty-corner. My plan is to launch myself forward. The roof is flat, so a
t worst, I’ll get scratched up. I tense my legs, and shove. I frog-leap forward—I guess the movement is too much. The crystal shoots out of my ass and falls down, down, down.

  “She shit onto me. She shit onto me!” J2’s wail comes up through the skylight. As I fly through the sky like an awkward, over-sized, flying fucking squirrel, I hear a ping. The crystal hits the ground inside.

  I land clumsily next to the skylight, cursing the trainer Shane Paul used to send me to. I mean, what the fuck? I should more than be able to do cheerleading moves and leap out of skylights after the squats he put me through. Fuck him. He’s a goddamned liar and I’m gonna sue his pants off when I get home.

  My internal cursing is overridden as cursing floats up through the skylight.

  “Is not shit! It is missing crystal!” Suity McGunpants exclaims.

  Aw, fuck.

  A shot sounds and a bullet flies up through the skylight and into the orange sky. Guess the Russians are back to thinking we’re on opposite sides.

  Dammit all. Now I really have to run and warn the guys, “The Russians are coming, the Russians are coming!”

  I scramble away from the skylight and look for a way down from the roof, but this ain’t America. Fire escapes aren’t required. Shitballs.

  I hear a creak and scramble over to the edge of the roof. I peer down and see the gun-toting bastards leaving the building.

  Fucking hell! I’m stuck! Andrew and the guys are gonna be hit without warning. And I just pissed these assholes off something fierce. I have to warn the guys. I glance around the roof, wondering how the hell I’m gonna do that.

  There are a couple of half-brown, rotten mangoes off to one side. I lunge for them and take aim. I throw those motherfuckers rapid-fire at the gangsters below. The first one goes wide. The second is short. The third mango smacks J2 in the back.

  I duck immediately, but I still feel the gunfire as it zooms over my head. My ears ring from the sound the shots. Crack-thump. Crack-thump. Crack-thump. I cover my head with my hands and press my cheek into the roof. I can only hope the shots are enough of a warning for Andrew and the others.