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Wickedly Twisted 35
AllisonI slam down against the window. My shoulder's pinned, painfully digging into broken glass. My face is pressed against something cold and hard—the door, concrete, I can't really tell—and Gregory's still on top of me, still covering my body with his own. He weighs a thousand pounds. I'm dizzy and can't tell which way is up.I hear my name. "Allison. Hey, Allison, look at me." Gregory's dragging me up, shaking me slightly. Everything's ringing and whining, and the light's far too bright."Gregory," I mumble. "I'm okay. I'm okay." But am I okay? I don't know what happened, why the whole car seems like it exploded, or why Gregory sounds angry."Hold on." His arms wrap around me and he's lifting me up, up, across the car—how are we moving up through the car?—until Sean's pulling me from the opposite window.Loud explosions break out all around us. Sean curses, and he drags me over the side of the car, landing in a heap on the parking lot.It takes a beat to understand that the SUV i
Wickedly Twisted 36
GregoryThe pungent scent of burning marijuana fills the air.It's nearly choking. Thick plumes gust into the sky with each breeze. I can barely see the stars, and the full moon's a black circle. I stand well back from the flames with Sean at my elbow. Orange and red flames lick along perfect rows of plants, catching and spreading in the direction of the wind. Nearby, my men run around, throwing more Molotov cocktails into the field, starting more blazes.Soon, the entire farm will burn to ashes.And ten others just like it in northern Oregon will burn as well. Multiple farms hit, all in one coordinated attack on Paul's suppliers. These are Paul's closest business associates, and nobody will be confused about why they were attacked.I tried to avoid this, but it's time."What are you thinking?" Sean asks as I walk away from the scene back to where we parked the cars a mile off the main road."Nobody's going to mistake this little revenge," I say, putting the stench of burning weed beh
Wickedly Twisted 37
AllisonI wake to find Gregory in bed with me. I blink against the bright morning sunlight, trying to decide if my husband is a mirage or not. I shift closer and touch his chest, making his eyelids flutter open. The man's cut from marble, and the still-sleeping look in his eyes only makes him that much more beautiful. I'm struck by this man, by how handsome he is, by how effortlessly he navigates the world. It's like I'm seeing him for the first time."Good morning," I say softly. "You smell like smoke.""Good morning." He rolls onto his back and sighs. "I showered. Twice.""What did you do last night?""Started my revenge." He shifts back to face me. "How are you feeling?""Tired," I say, yawning."The baby? Any symptoms? The doctor said—""I'm fine." I touch his chest again, not thinking about how intimate the gesture is. I can't seem to keep my hands away from him. "Seriously. I feel totally fine. A little bit sore, but better than yesterday."He looks visibly relieved. "I had trou
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AllisonAfterward, we shower together. He soaps me up, quietly cleaning every inch of my body. He even gently cleans my wounds, and when we're done, he replaces the bandages."Breakfast," he says, taking me downstairs."I was thinking a light workout first," I complain, but he's not having any of it."You got your workout," he says, the lewd bastard.Orin's already cooking, whistling away, and gives me a wave as Gregory sits me down at the kitchen table, pours me some coffee, gives me the paper, and starts to rub my shoulders."Relax," he says, kneading away the knots.Where the hell did this man come from, and why does he have fingers like a professional musician?"I'm working hard to understand why you're suddenly acting like you want to spoil me," I say, trying to swat his hands away halfheartedly."My pregnant wife was put in danger yesterday.""Are you feeling guilty? I didn't realize you were capable.""I didn't either," he mutters."You shouldn't let it worry you. I made that d
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AllisonFor one blissful afternoon, I wasn't thinking about escape.Now I can't get it out of my head.There are a thousand ways out of this house, but none of them would work, and I'm pretty sure Gregory would chain me up in a bedroom if I made more noise.But more than that, I keep thinking about the truck running into our SUV, about the gunshots, the bodies, the blood. I keep seeing the death all around me, and I'm terrified of what will happen if I let Paul get anywhere near me.Gregory throws himself back into work the next day.I mope around the house, feeling sorry for myself. Even Orin gives me space.At least until Keely arrives.She breezes into the house, looking glorious, dirty-blonde hair in thick ringlets, wearing designer everything from ears to toes. "Hello, hello," she says, kissing my cheek. "How are you, new sister?""Fine," I say, trying to be polite, but I can't let myself forget why she's here. "Gregory sent you, huh?""Gregory requested my help," she says, sound
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AllisonI try not to, but I end up having a really good time with Keely.For the next few days, the rules are suspended. Although we're trailed by a small army of bodyguards, I show Keely around Portland, starting with all the big tourist areas and moving into my favorite local spots. We get lunch, go on a couple hikes, see a movie, grab some dinner, even go dancing when Keely practically begs me to take her somewhere. "I used to do this all the tie with my bestie, Jamila," she says as she loses herself on the dance floor.She's a lot of fun and really easy to get along with. And it helps that she makes me this unbelievable batch of homemade donuts on the morning of her last day. We both know she's getting on the plane later that afternoon, but we don't talk about it. Instead, I eat way too much, give myself a minor sugar hangover, and sit out back in the comfortable morning breeze."Still on the fence?" she asks, and I know what she means."Not on the fence," I say. "Just not going."
Wickedly Twisted 41
AllisonGregory appears in the doorway after a while. He watches me, not speaking, before he comes to help. We rifle through my father's storage cabinet, and Gregory's hand appears on top of mine, lingering there for longer than necessary as he stares at me. "You're okay," he says. Not a question.He's right. Even though my face is streaked by tears. "I'm okay," I agree."Your sister loved you. I can see it all over this place.""You're right. We loved each other. It's just—" How can I explain to him? I feel guilty, yes, but also angry that she agreed to marry Paul. I'm a conflicting mess of emotions. "I just want this to be done.""We'll finish it then." He squeezes my hand, getting closer. "Together.""Can't do that from Boston.""We'll find a way."I pull back, not ready to make up, and head to my father's desk. Gregory watches as I sit down behind the computer. Then without a word, he begins searching again, flipping through documents, scanning files, leafing through old books.I
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GregoryKeely returns to Boston empty-handed. "Sorry I couldn't be more help, but you've got one hell of a wife," she says before she goes."I appreciate your help."The house feels quiet once she's gone. Allison promises not to leave the premises and doesn't try to test her boundaries. Instead, she's depressed, staying in our room for long stretches at a time. I try to lure her out with good meals, but she's not interested in anything. Watching her spiral like this is one of the hardest things I've ever done.But there's one way to fix this. At least there's a path, and I have to take the steps myself, because I'm afraid Allison can't do it herself.It takes a week to set up the meeting. Orin, Sean, and I work tirelessly, making phone calls, begging, threatening, cajoling. I offer promises of safety, cash bonuses, whatever I need to say to get everyone to agree.But come Monday, the ten owners of the ten largest marijuana-producing farms in the state are seated around a conference ro
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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
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
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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
