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Wickedly Twisted 24
AllisonI stare at the ceiling and try to remember the last time I spoke with Riker Corgan.It was probably at some industry thing, a party or a charity auction or something like that. But I can't seem to recall exactly when.Which is terrible. The man's dead—at least partially because of me—and I can't even recall what we last spoke about.Probably some inconsequential nothing.He was a business rival, but he was still a man. Now he's gone, murdered horrifically for selling to my husband.Sleep won't come. It's the middle of the night, a little past ten. My purple bed doesn't seem funny anymore now that the reality of my situation's become clear. Dead bodies, headless corpses, murdered businessmen. Corgan wasn't exactly a saint, but he also didn't deserve to get mutilated."You can't sleep." Gregory's voice drifts in from his side of the bed.I try not to look at him. I swear, he must hear my heart racing. "It was a stressful day.""You're not used to this. I understand.""You do? Do
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Allison"What if I told you to stop? Would you stop?""Almost anything then." His mouth lingers on my inner thigh as one finger rolls down my pussy, getting slick. "I can only give you what's possible.""And you couldn't possibly hold yourself back? I thought you had better self-control.""Oh, princess, you think I can control this? No, my sweet wife, when you look at me with those fuck-me eyes and you grind your gorgeous pussy against my body, there's no way I can stop.""Guess you're not as controlling—" He cuts me off by sliding two fingers deep into my pussy and leaning forward to press his forehead to mine. I curse, morning as he bites my lower lip, fucking me slowly with those thick fingers. He grabs my hair, kissing me deep."Don't misunderstand me," he growls into my lips. "Just because you wake something in me doesn't mean you're in control here.""I'd believe that if you weren't looking at me like you're about to lose your mind.""It's only because you look so fucking good."
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AllisonAfter that night, we fall into a comfortable rhythm.Gregory's almost never home. There's always a guard on the front door and another lurking in a car out front, but they rarely speak to me. When I go for a run, the car's following as close as it can. I stick to main streets where it's easier for them to keep close tabs.Orin's always in the house. He's busy, constantly running errands for Gregory, but available whenever I need something. Which isn't very often—as it turns out, being Gregory's wife in the middle of a war for the marijuana trade on the West Coast is actually kind of boring.I sleep in most mornings. I don't even notice Gregory getting into bed at night, and he sneaks out before I'm up. We run into each other like strangers passing in a darkened alley, wary and uncertain. The memory of that sex still lingers, lighting me up whenever I need something to think about in the loneliness of having nothing to do and nowhere to go, but the intimacy we felt fades away.
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Allison"Allison, you've been hiding in there for two hours," Orin hisses through my bedroom door. "Open up and talk to me. I'm freaking out!"I almost feel bad for him. I really do. Except I'm also freaking out and I have a really good reason for it.The tests sit on the edge of the tub. I can see the little blue marks through the doorway.All four are positive.And I'm spiraling into panic mode.No, I'm hurtling past panic into something worse.I'm firmly into desperation territory."Allison! I can hear you walking around. Will you just talk to me, please?"I don't respond. Even though Orin's my only friend here, I'm also very aware that he's Gregory's personal assistant, and ultimately his loyalty is with the Callahan family.My life is over. When Gregory finds out about this baby, he's going to freak. The guy's been avoiding me like the plague for weeks now, and when he realizes that he's stuck with me, that I've trapped him into this marriage with a baby, I'm terrified of what he
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AllisonThere they are, the pregnancy tests, lined up on the kitchen island like sandbags stacked against a storm. Except this time, the hurricane is Gregory, and I'm the poor beach about to get battered.He paces across the living room, hands behind his back. He won't look at me, and I'm terrified of what he's thinking. I didn't ask for this pregnancy—if I could go back, I'd make him put on a stupid condom. Better yet, I'd never sleep with him to begin with.I can't change what happened. I'm carrying his baby, and even if this was never a part of our agreement, I'm keeping this child.Gregory isn't the father type. He's made that obvious.Anything that restricts his freedom has to be annihilated.He's the sort of man that would rather run away than risk getting tethered in one place, even if it means turning his back on his family.Only he's caught in this war and there's no way he could escape now.Which means he's going to force me to make the most horrible decision imaginable.And
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AllisonI move out of our bedroom. By now, the purple sheets are gone, replaced by muted grays.Instead, I gather all my stuff and ferry it all into a guest room."Gregory's not going to like this," Orin says, fretting the whole time as he helps."I don't give a shit what that controlling dickhead likes or doesn't like.""I take it your conversation didn't go great?""Gee, what gave you that impression? Me moving from our room, or maybe the way I keep telling you what a piece of shit he is?""Both, mostly." He sighs as he puts my toiletries in the bathroom. "He means well. You realize that, right?""I don't care what he means." I sit on the edge of the bed, feeling more scared and alone than I've ever felt before. "He's not the pregnant one. All he gets to do is make big proclamations while I have to actually, you know, go through with all these changes."Orin lingers near the doorway, looking uncomfortable. "Look, uh, I don't know anything about being a pregnant woman, but—"I grimac
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AllisonI have no choice but to pound the treadmill for an hour.Escape isn't a real option. I might be able to send Orin out on some wild-goose chase errand to keep him busy, but the moment I step out of the house, I'll be swarmed by one of the dozen men Gregory has guarding the place.I can see his goons lingering on the sidewalk outside.People give our house a wide berth.They're even in the back yard, keeping an eye on the garden.If I slip out a window, or sneak through a door, those goons will drag me back inside before I can get more than a few feet.Although I can make a lot of noise. We're in a popular, crowded city area, which means a screaming girl's going to draw a ton of attention.Gregory definitely doesn't want that.But it's not like I know where Gregory's at. I could call him, but that's not enough. I could ask Orin, but I'm kind of sick of Orin right now, and anyway, I'm not sure he'd tell me. Gregory's mysterious office is somewhere in downtown Portland, but beyond
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GregoryI step out of my empty bedroom wearing my normal business suit. It's barely past five in the morning. Allison tends to sleep past eight. I move downstairs quietly and head toward the kitchen. Orin will have some coffee and toast ready for me, then I'll take my car to the office—"Good morning, husband. What time do you usually head out?"I stop in the kitchen door and stare.Allison's sitting at the island. She's in a black pantsuit and black heels, her legs crossed, coffee and cereal in front of her. A paper's open and halfway folded to the business section.I look over at Orin, who shrugs helplessly."I'm leaving shortly." I walk to the island and accept my breakfast. Usually, I'd eat in the car. Instead, I stare at my wife.She puts down the paper. "Good. I'm ready when you are.""I think you might be confused. Did our conversation last night give you the impression that you'd be joining me today?""No," she says, snapping the paper. "But I decided that you need my help."I
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
