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Wickedly Twisted 15
AllisonGregory is relentless on the flight back to Portland.He drills me, over and over, from every conceivable angle, until my head's aching and I'm exhausted."Tell me again the suppliers your father prefers," he says, flipping through a notebook filled with his tight, neat handwriting. "Start from the top.""I can't do it anymore," I complain, spreading my legs out and leaning back. "We've been talking for three hours straight. Please, I need a break.""You'll have a break when Paul's dead and I own the marijuana business on the West Coast.""Maybe I'd be better off dead then. I think I married the wrong guy.""We're very high up in the sky, you know." His face is utterly deadpan as he speaks. "If you'd rather get off the plane, we can arrange that."I wave him away. "Don't tempt me.""Tell me the suppliers.""Doctor Seuss. Donald Duck. Magic Johnson.""Wife." He says the word like a growl in his throat.I laugh sharply at him. "Oh, now you're going to play the marriage card? I t
Wickedly Twisted 16
AllisonI keep jostling my knee on the car ride to the cafe.Gregory notices, but doesn't say anything. If he cares that I'm nervous and afraid, he makes no outward sign of it. Not that I expected anything—the man's about as emotionally in-tune as a ripe potato.Still, this is my husband, at least for a while. I don't know how long this thing with Paul's going to last—it would be a few days, or it could be a few years. Either way, I'm stuck with Gregory, and it'd be nice if he could at least acknowledge my discomfort.It's probably better this way. He'd make some comment, some cocky innuendo, and it would only make things worse.I rub my forehead, trying to get it under control. I shouldn't start getting annoyed with Gregory for something he hasn't even done yet—I'm just on edge.I don't know what's going to happen. Last I heard, my father wants me to return to Paul—and if I don't, he's going to kill me with his own bare hands.Maybe he said that in the heat of the moment, maybe he's
Wickedly Twisted 17
Allison"I don't know," Papa murmurs at last, shaking his head. "It's a good offer. I just don't know.""Paul's going to kill you. I have no real reason to. That should be all the logic you need to make the right choice.""It isn't that simple." Papa sounds miserable. "I'm already entangled with Paul.""Then detangle yourself. I won't make this offer again."Papa nods, looking miserable. "I understand." Then he glances at me. "Allison, darling, you can see how dangerous things are for me right now, but if you were to go back to Paul and apologize—"Gregory cuts him off. "If you speak to my wife like that one more time, I will kill you." He makes his threat as if he's ordering steak at a restaurant. There's only hard truth in his voice. "She is not going anywhere.""Yes, very well." He takes a deep breath and slowly blows it out. "I'll have to think.""In the meantime, send Paul a message for me. I'm open to working out a negotiated settlement to our current predicament, assuming he's
Wickedly Twisted 18
AllisonGregory disappears after dropping me back at the house with only a cryptic I have more work as an explanation before driving off. I mutter to myself as I head back into the beautiful but empty house, and I'm about to give myself another tour when I find a young man standing in the kitchen, idly humming to himself and wiping down the refrigerator.I let out a little surprised yelp. He grimaces and looks over, holding up the sponge like a shield."Sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't mean to startle you. I wasn't aware you'd be back so soon. Gregory told me—""Wait, hold on. Who are you?" I put a hand on my rapidly beating hard. "I wasn't expecting anyone to be in here."The young man straightens. He's got dirty-blond hair, tan skin, surprisingly white teeth, and a slender frame, and he's wearing a business-casual outfit of a button-down tucked into slim khaki pants. He reminds me of a fashionable tech-bro. "My name's Orin and I'm Gregory's assistant."It takes a second to process
Wickedly Twisted 19
AllisonI screech, laughing, as I careen into our bedroom. He stops at the doorway, breathing hard, and stares around him.I gesture, catching my breath. "Well?"He groans, closing his eyes. "You've got to be fucking be kidding me.""You don't like it?"The place is draped in purple.Absolutely drenched in a dozen shades of purple like a Teletubby got murdered.Rugs, paintings, even the lampshade, all purple. Purple star-covered tulle hangs around the four-poster bed, which is done up in purple silk."You're worse than I am. You're deranged.""It's royal," I say defensively. "Purple's a great color.""Come here." He chases after me. I'm laughing hard, too hard to put up much of a fight, and he catches me by the ankle as I try to get away over the bed."You can't really spank me!" I protest as he drags me over. I squirm, trying to get away, but his grip's like iron and his face is twisted into a mask of determination."Damn right I can.""Gregory!" He unbuttons my pants and starts to p
Wickedly Twisted 20
AllisonAfter the bath, I crawl into my purple bed and fall asleep. If he gets in with me, I don't notice, and in the morning his side is already cold and empty, though his pillow's been used.I pull on some new sweats and head downstairs."Good morning." I jump, yelping again. Orin's standing in the kitchen at the island cutting fruit. "I wasn't sure what you like for breakfast so I went all out." He gestures at some eggs, a little yogurt, the fruit, a bagel, and toast."You have to stop doing that." I clutch my chest. "Your boss is going to be pissed if you give me a heart attack.""Doing what?" He looks genuinely confused. "Gregory told me to get you something to eat. He said you'd be hungry."If there's an implication in that statement, it doesn't reach his tone. I refuse to let myself blush. "I'm fine with coffee and fruit, thanks."Orin nods and brings me over something to eat as I sit at the table. He lingers for a moment but says nothing. I sip my coffee, trying to act like he
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AllisonI take a deep breath through my nose and slowly let it out. "When did he tell you that?""This morning before he left.""And did he say why?""Gregory's not really big on explaining himself.""Big shock." I step forward. "Look. Orin. I like you. We had fun yesterday.""We did," he agrees."There's no way in hell I'm going to stay locked up in this house without an explanation. Did Gregory say you need to physically restrain me?"He looks uncomfortable. "Well, no.""Then let's just say I kneed you in the balls and sprinted out the door.""Please, Ms. Allison—""Just Allison.""Okay. Allison." He glances to the side, looking worried. His voice falls to an urgent whisper. "Gregory wouldn't give me an order like this unless it was important. I understand you have a certain image of him—""My image of him isn't the problem.""Right. Understood. I'm just saying that he doesn't give orders like this for nothing. Maybe wait until he's home and ask him for an explanation yourself?"I f
Wickedly Twisted 22
GregoryRiker Corgan is sweating as he shakes my hand. "I'd say you overpaid, but, uh—" He clears his throat. Corgan's a heavyset man, bald, middle-aged, wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. "I suspect you already know.""Consider the excess a friendly gesture. I'm aware of the risk you're taking by selling to me." I walk with him toward the conference room door. We're in a nondescript office I rented right in downtown. Bottles of water gleam in the middle of the table. I have the entire twenty-first floor, although only two rooms are furnished. "Do you need anything else?""A drink," he says, not smiling. "Something strong. And a plane ticket to Mexico.""I could help with both, but I suspect you have them well in hand."Corgan chuckles as I escort him to the elevators. We pass empty space for cubicles, empty offices, empty halls. "Can I offer some advice?" he asks, and he doesn't look like he cares whether I agree or not. I definitely don't give a damn what he has to say. He goes o
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Wickedly Twisted Epilogue
ScarI sit at the bar in the Oak Club and sip a fine whiskey. It's peaty, warm, almost sweet. I hold it up to the light and watch the gold glow."You guys ever think we'd end up like this?" I ask, not looking at my brothers, but knowing they're beside me.Eros says, "Not once. But here we are.""I kind of figured I'd get hitched," Ford admits. "But I never thought I'd actually like her.""Same," Carmine says and laughs. "I figured I'd get stuck with some mafia princess brat.""Strange, how it goes," I say, grinning at them. "Here's to family.""Here's to that," Eros echoes.We toast each other. Four of the five men in the Atlas Organization. "I wish Lanzo were here," Ford says with a sigh."He'll be back," Eros says, then hesitates and shrugs. "Or maybe not. You never know with that guy.""He's going to be really surprised to hear that all four of his friends are married." I turn to look at the nearby table where are wives are sitting. Kat and Brice. Cara and Rita. All four of them be
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ScarOrin Callahan does not sound happy.I'm back in my Dallas office. The new secretary is outside my door—a young man named Brian. Janine said he came highly recommended. We'll see about that."I'll be straight with you, Scarfoni," he says, and I note that I'm not Scar anymore. "I thought we had an understanding. You come to Boston, you work for my family, you get access to power you never dreamed about before. Do I really have to spell it out?""No, sir, you don't," I say, looking at the window. Thinking about my wife at her office right now. My real wife. "Unfortunately, Rita got a job here in Dallas, a job that I can't ask her to leave. I either stay here with her, or we do the long-distance thing, like I mentioned. I decided long distance won't work. I won't be leaving Dallas after all."Orin grunts, his annoyance obvious. "That's not acceptable.""It's the way things are. I wish it worked out differently.""You're making a mistake, Scarfoni. I'll give you another chance—""With
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RitaI'm exhausted when I get back to the apartment.I was right, the first day wasn't too hard. A girl named Easter ("Mom was a hippie, Dad was a Catholic, they compromised.") showed me around, introduced me to the team, and started with my training once I filled out a ton of paperwork for HR. She's small and extremely sweet, but talked really fast, and I found myself struggling to keep up as she threw a ton of information at me all at once.Now I'm feeling like I ran a marathon. I toss my bag down near the door, kick my beautiful shoes off near the entryway, ignore the fact that they gave me blisters, and hurry into the main room.It smells incredible. "What is that?" I ask as Scar welcomes me from the kitchen."Dinner," he says, holding up a bottle. "And champagne." He pops off the cork.I laugh as he pours two glasses. "What's all this for?""A celebration. To your first day.""Oh, yeah? You cooked and cracked open a bottle of bubbly for me?""I didn't cook, I bought some good Ita
Wickedly Twisted 55
RitaMonday morning. I'm awake way earlier than I need to be—four on the dot—but I can't get back to sleep.It's the first day of a new job.I'm nervous. I'd be crazy if I weren't at least a little bit nervous. The first day should be the easiest though—they won't expect me to do anything serious, not until I'm acclimated with the office, with the basic stuff like email and logging into the computer and all that crap.I'll meet my coworkers, my bosses. I'll smile, make small talk, try to fit in.And for some reason, I'm terrified.I take a shower to calm my nerves. I get out and spend the next half hour second-guessing my outfit choice, parading one work-appropriate blouse around toward different work-appropriate slacks and skirts, trying to get just the right shoes. After a solid hour, I'm too tired to keep messing around and end up on a simple navy-and-gray ensemble. I'll get a feel for what the rest of the office wears and match a little bit better next time, but this should be fin
Wickedly Twisted 54
ScarGregory Callahan sits across from me in a barbecue restaurant he picked out. The place is almost garish, a gaudy mix of cowboy clichés: big hats, boots, spurs, ropes, steer, bison, more than one stuffed head, a bunch of bleached antlers, and a ton of rustic-looking wood completes the hideous decor."Never been here before," I say, glancing around, trying my best not to make a face."I hear the food's good," Gregory says without smiling. I genuinely can't tell if he's kidding or not. "But we're not here to eat.""We could order something," I say, craning my neck, looking for a waitress, suddenly curious."No, thank you." Gregory sits back in his booth. "This place is neutral ground. Somewhere you or your friends would never visit. It's also ugly enough that I want to spend as little time here as possible. So why don't we get to business?"I sit up straight, holding his gaze. "Whatever you want," I say, gesturing at him. "You called this meeting, Gregory. Why don't you tell me what
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ScarI can't stay in that apartment.Not after trying to kiss her like a fucking idiot.I knew it was wrong—and I tried to do it anyway.I'm glad she pushed me away, even if I wanted to keep going.Even if I wouldn't have stopped.I fly out of Dallas the following morning, early. I leave her a note: Heading to Chicago on business. Sorry about yesterday. Scar. Hopefully she doesn't hold my stupid decisions against me, but then again, what does it matter?I'm leaving. She's staying. It's over—whatever it was."I didn't push her into the job to get rid of her," I say, sitting at a fancy bar. The soft murmur of conversation swirls around us. The lighting's muted, sultry, lots of reds and leather. The sort of place where I'm comfortable.Eros Khazan, another one of my best friends, leans back in his seat, studying me. The big Greek man narrows his eyes, considering. He's massive—easily the biggest guy in the place, maybe the biggest guy in the whole city—and he wears his size like a shield
Wickedly Twisted 52
RitaThat stupid asshole kisses me.We were having fun. A little harmless flirting, nothing more.But he takes it too far and kisses me.I can't believe it. He says the exact wrong thing, and he still has the nerve to kiss me. I put both hands on his chest and shove him back as hard as I can. I'm small, he's big, but I have the element of surprise—and a little leverage from the counter behind me.He takes a couple steps back, eyes wide."You idiot," I say, shaking my head. All the playfulness is gone now. "There's only right now? Are you insane?"His jaw works. "What do you want from me, Rita? I'm moving to Boston. You're staying here. What else can I do?""I don't know," I say, frustrating finally hitting its peak. I throw up my hands in disgust."You're the one flirting with me, you know.""I'm aware of that. It's frustrating, okay? I like flirting with you. It feels good."God, I'm so beyond confused.Because I want him to kiss me. I want him to want me. I love flirting with him, I
Wickedly Twisted 51
ScarI spend a few days in Boston getting a feel for the city. I meet with all the brothers except for Gregory—no shock there—and have dinner with Orin on the last night. He seems as stressed as he was back in the office, only drunker."Don't ever forget, they're out for blood," he says on the sidewalk outside of the expensive restaurant. He grabs my shoulder, stares into my eye. "They're all out for blood, Scar."I have no clue who he means, but I can imagine it's everyone. In his business, in his position, real paranoia must be the norm, and a shiver runs down my spine trying to picture myself working for this man.I can't stop thinking about the difference between Beach Orin and Office Orin on the flight back to Dallas. I keep seeing him standing there behind the desk surrounded by all the trappings of power—huge windows overlooking the city, oil paintings on the walls, expensive wooden furniture, priceless books and artifacts on the shelves—but looking absolutely diminished.Small
Wickedly Twisted 50
RitaI'm lonely without Scar.It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic. I drift around the apartment, killing time until I start work. He left me a credit card, said I could get myself an entire professional wardrobe, so obviously I take him up on it.Shopping only numbs my feelings for a little while.Then I'm back home with half a dozen bags filled to the brim with designer outfits, empty all over again. I pop a bottle of champagne, pour a glass, and start at the window.Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Scar's visiting the city we were both supposed to move to. I hope he's having a good time with the Callahan boys. I hope he's keeping out of trouble.A stab of jealousy pierces through me, and I have to shove it away.This isn't me. Moping around, feeling sorry for myself. Well, okay, it's a little me, but still, I don't let myself get all soppy and sad over some guy.Scar made his choice. I made mine.So why am I still feeling this way?As I pour myself a second glass, the doorbell rin
