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Wickedly Twisted 16
Rita"Welcome home," he says as he ushers me into his apartment.It's at the top of an expensive, fancy building in downtown Dallas. I didn't think people actually lived in places like this, but apparently, I was wrong.Scar's space is obscenely nice. Grays, whites, blacks, muted colors. Leather couch, enormous windows, modern kitchen with gleaming appliances and one of those obscene hidden refrigerators that cost like fifty grand. "Not very..." I trail off, tapping my lower lip. "Not very personal.""Personal?" He cocks his head. "You're right. I travel half the year.""I know, but still." I poke my head into the enormous master bedroom. "No pictures. Barely anything on the walls. It looks like you hired someone to make it look good and just—stopped there.""Because that's exactly what I did." He steers me toward the home gym. It's suitably decked out with weight machines and a couple treadmills. Plus a little steam room toward the back."Okay, I'll admit it, I like this," I say, run
Wickedly Twisted 17
ScarIt's been a long time since I shared my space with another person.Since college, over ten years ago now.Even back then, I got my own apartment as soon as it was feasible. I loved my Atlas brothers, but they were messy as hell, and I couldn't handle it.Now, I wake up to find half-finished glasses of water left around the apartment. Mugs of coffee with two sips perched on end tables. Dishes lying on the counter, not rinsed, not put in the dishwasher. Drawers hanging open. Cabinets with fingerprints. Keys tossed on the entry table with no attempt at organizing the chaos.She's Hurricane Rita.Throw pillows appear. Colorful blankets. Some attractive art prints on the walls. Coffee table books tastefully spread out. None of it is my style, but I told her to make the place her own.There are perks. Like Rita in a pair of tight yoga pants and a sports bra lounging on the couch, reading a novel. Or Rita working out, sweat dripping down her stupidly gorgeous body. Or Rita in an old, ra
Wickedly Twisted 18
RitaI do my best to keep pace with him, but Scar pushes all my buttons.We jog through downtown, heading toward the river. "All right, questions time," he says as the sun rises over the skyline.He woke me up early. Three sharp knocks on my door. It scared the crap out of me—yanked me right from sleep—and I nearly rolled out of the unfamiliar bed.Still getting used to my new situation.When I finally crawled into the hallway, heart racing, in nothing but a pair of shorts and a practically see-through tank top, I stared at Scar, pretty sure the place was on fire.No reasonable, rational human being would pound on someone's door that early otherwise.But he only stared at me with that intense glare of his. Like I was the one that woke him up or something. Eyes roaming down to my chest.Only to find out that he woke me for a predawn jog. "I expect you dressed and ready in ten," he said before storming off again.The fucking prick.Yet here I am, jogging away."Go ahead," I say, so clea
Wickedly Twisted 19
RitaWe run close to each other, shoulders touching for a few paces before we're forced apart by an old lady walking her little fluffy white dog.When we come back together, he tells me about his friends. Carmine and Ford, both in the area with their wives; Eros, out in Chicago; and Lanzo, somewhere overseas. "They have unconventional jobs," he says, frowning straight ahead.I decide not to follow up on that, though I file it away for future questioning later. "My best friend lives out in Kentucky, and most of the people I knew in high school either moved out of state or are out in the suburbs still. It's been hard the last year.""I can see why you're such a wreck."I glare at him. "I'm a wreck because my apartment burned down, you asshole.""Right, of course, I shouldn't have suggested otherwise.""You got into a lot of fights as a kid, didn't you? I can imagine people are constantly trying to beat you up.""Not since I hit six foot," he says with a smirk. "All right, wife, come on.
Wickedly Twisted 20
RitaI clap my hands together. Chalk bursts into the air, a dusty white cloud. I stand at the base of the bouldering wall, the myriad of different size and color hand- and foot-holds skittering up toward the top like a broken-apart puzzle. I bounce on a protective floor mat, thick and soft enough to brace a fall from the top. Bouldering walls don't use harnesses, but they also don't go as high.I have new climbing gear, new shoes, new clothes, even a new headband.But the gym is home. The gym is my life. I take a deep breath, smelling sweat, wood, plastic, chalk. And I smile.God, it feels so good to be back."Hell fucking no," Scar says from the strip of flat ground at the edge of the mat. "Nope. Absolutely not."I look back at him, hands on my hips. "You woke my ass up at the crack of dawn for a run. You're climbing the damn wall.""I've never done this before," he says, eyeing the top. "Where's the safety equipment? Aren't there ropes?""We're at the beginner bouldering course. If
Wickedly Twisted 21
Rita"Did you think I fantasized in soft core?" he asks with a sigh. "Help me up."I give him a hand. We stand side by side in front of the wall again, looking upward. I'm trying not to think about him touching himself, touching his pierced cock, and thinking about me.But a strange thrill of pride runs down my spine.This man, this handsome, closed-off man, finds me so attractive that he touches himself to daydreams of me."How come you haven't had a serious girlfriend in a while?" I ask suddenly as I walk forward and start to make another climb."You know that's a borderline insulting question, right?""Come on, seriously. Do you work too much?""Yes," he says. "But that's not it.""Why not then? Just haven't found the right girl?" I glance down and he nods slightly, but he's looking off in the distance, at the far end of the gym."I had a bad experience. Let's say she broke my heart, like I told you before, and leave it at that. Now, I want to try again. Double or nothing?""You ha
Wickedly Twisted 22
ScarRita's pissed and she doesn't try to hide it.I wasn't trying to get all controlling asshole on her. I was only trying to tease a little bit, draw attention to the fact that I notice what she wears, and I fucking like it.Instead, she took it like I was being a dick.But it's fine. She's right. We don't need to get close, we only need to get through this.Friday comes around. I've been skipping out on work to cram in Operation Know Rita, and now it's time for one final test. "We're going to dinner tonight with my friends," I tell her in the morning. I make her coffee, though she barely glances at me. "You need to meet them before we leave for Gloucester.""Fine," she says, banging around the kitchen, getting herself some cereal. "Anything else?""It's an upscale place. Extremely upscale. Wear something nice."She turns to me. "Oh, good, so you're going to start talking about my clothes again?" She gestures at her sweats and sweatshirt. "You think this is too sexy?"I stare at her
Wickedly Twisted 23
ScarThe Oak Club is the most exclusive invitation-only club on the planet. More exclusive than Bohemian Grove. More exclusive than the nuclear bunkers under the White House. It sits at the end of a long, private driveway, hidden behind high concrete walls lined with crushed glass and dotted by security cameras. Men in dark suits wander the scrubby grounds between the public world and the private oasis beyond. The scrubland gives way to a gorgeous ocean of green grass, shrubs, flowers, and trees, with the club itself in the center of all that gorgeously manicured plant life.The building is a massive marble beauty, like a temple to an ancient god. Huge ornate doors sit at the front surrounded by columns at least a story tall. Luxury vehicles are parked in a small lot off to the side, and a valet meets us as soon as I pull around front."I haven't been here in a while," I murmur to Rita as she takes my arm. We head up the steps and in through the main front door. Security knows me alre
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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
Wickedly Twisted 57
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
Wickedly Twisted 56
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
Wickedly Twisted 53
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
