Twisted Secrets: Dark Taboo Romance (Eddie and Heaven Book 2)

by V Vee

  I may be an O’Sullivan with more money than God and Croesus but that didn’t mean I didn’t like the thrill of the hustle. It was why my cousin, Zander, had gotten involved in the trafficking, drugs, and laundering business our grandfather was involved in.

  “How old was your brother?” I asked.

  Mukhtar’s lip curled up into a sneer and for the first time in my life, I was actually afraid and reconsidering my actions. The look on my “accomplice’s” face was one that informed the watcher that he didn’t care if they were innocent or not, if they got in his way of getting revenge, he would have no problem killing them as well. It was the look of a stone-cold killer. Of a mutilator. A sadist.

  Fuck. I was scared but fucking turned on too.

  “My brother, Aakhbar was a mere boy of fifteen. Following the orders of our Imam. Aakhbar was chosen by Allah to rid our town of the faithless infidels who had come and infiltrated and corrupted our people.” Mukhtar frowned. “He was much braver than I. I valued my life more than I realized and refused to honor and serve our people. But no more. I will receive restitution from Mr. Steele. His life is forfeit.”

  I bit my lower lip as I listened to him, hoping I was nodding in all the right places. Mukhtar was not my forever. He wasn’t my endgame. That was saved for Eddie, but he might be fun for a few rounds between the sheets.

  And then when he tried to kill Eddie, I would simply kill him instead.

  Because my goal was to remove all objects in the way of Eddie and I being together. And there were three major ones in that cute house across the street.

  His wife, Heaven, their daughter, Ashley, and their unborn child.

  Oh yeah. I’m going to have to kill them all.

  Chapter Two

  Heaven

  Doctor Daxxon Hierro’s Office

  Baltimore, Maryland

  Eddie was a liar.

  I released a deep sigh and glanced at the slender, elegant, platinum silver watch that rests on my right wrist. It had been a gift from Eddie for my birthday, and while I’d told him that no one really used watches anymore—I mean, why would you need to? Our phones, laptops, and tablets all have the time on there—he’d talked me into wearing it daily. So I didn’t really treat it as a watch, it was more like an ironic piece of jewelry.

  A watch that wasn’t a watch.

  I frowned. Wait. Was I using “irony” correctly?

  As my mind spiraled down the rabbit hole of trying to determine the accurate usage of the word, irony, my foot tapped repeatedly on the tiled pink and grey floor. Doctor Hierro’s office was surprisingly calm and chill. I’d always thought so. The walls were not the stark white that one often saw when they went to the hospital. Nor was it that puke green or Pepto-Bismol™ pink. They were a calming grey with pink trim around the ceiling and the floorboards throughout most of the clinic, however, in the exam rooms, the color of the trim was either blue, yellow, or green. The staff really had every single one of the normal and expected “baby colors” covered.

  And on the walls were paintings and portraits of women in all stages of motherhood, as well as babies of all colors, sizes, and ages. It was beautiful. Tranquil.

  And very depressing when one was there without their partner who was running late… again.

  I folded my arms across my chest and willed myself to not pick up my phone and text my husband—yet again—to ask him where he was.

  For the past couple of weeks, I couldn’t turn around without having Eddie up my ass. As a matter of fact, it had been that way ever since the fight in the garden of the O’Sullivan home. And once we’d had our six-month checkup and found out that my stomach was so hugely pregnant and round because I was having multiples, yes, but twins, not quadruplets like Eddie and I had suspected.

  Thank. God.

  I was already freaked out about the thought of having twins. Having more than that? No. Thank you.

  “Mrs. Steele?” Dr. Hierro’s nurse, a very pregnant, Yomara Murphy. She was my age, and a widow. Her husband was a firefighter who’d contracted lung cancer and passed away shortly after the two of them had discovered that she was pregnant. She’d been working as Dr. Hierro’s nurse forever, though, and while we were friendly, she was extremely professional. Which was surprising to me. The first time I’d seen her, I remember feeling so… inadequate as a woman. Yomara was statuesque. She stood at around 5’9 or 5’10. She had toned arms, shapely thighs, long legs, a long, slender neck, probably the fullest lips in the world, a round, toned, but big ass, and her breasts were at least DDs if not bigger. When I’d first met her, her waist had been extremely slender, snatched to the gods. Her hair was long, curly, and she’d been continuously pushing it behind her ears with her long, slender, “pianist” fingers.

  Now that she was pregnant and widowed, Yomara was still gorgeous. She was one of those women who only looked pregnant from the side and the front, not the back. And her belly was bigger than mine. And though she looked as if she were tired all the time, she was pregnant, and now having to envision a life without her husband. I felt so sorry for her. I’d talked to Eddie about helping her, but every time I did, he got this secretive smile on his face and told me: She’ll be fine.

  Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.

  I pushed myself up from my cushioned pink chair and followed Yomara back to the exam room I’d been assigned to. I was the only patient there at that time, and while it was… weird… it was also SOP when one was associated with Andrew, “The Irishman”, McCarthy and his wife, Kyra.

  “You know the deal, Mrs. Steele,” Yomara said with a gentle smile in my direction, as she held up a plush, comfortable, pink velour robe, with white trim. Dr. Hierro didn’t believe in hospital gowns. He offered his patients the softest, most comfortable robes known to man, and would simply work around it.

  I mean, in my head, it’s the least he could do, what with him poking around all up in my vagina every couple of weeks.

  Oops, sorry. That was a mood swing.

  I accepted the robe from Yomara and turned my back to her to get changed into it, listening as she tugged the curtain around where I stood, then proceeded to fiddle around with other things in the room. I could see what she was doing, but by the sound, she was simply trying to remain busy.

  When the door opened, a deep, seductive, bass voice that was so sexy it was the equivalent of sliding velvet across naked, aroused flesh, began speaking to her, and Yomara responded, sounding agitated and upset. I wasn’t usually a nosey, eavesdropping type of person, but I liked Yomara and anyone who bothered was going to have to deal with me.

  Okay, they’d have to deal with Eddie. I was a little too pregnant to be throwing hands.

  But the more I listened, the more the voice became recognizable, as that of my doctor, and the argument he was having with his nurse was not about work. It was much more salacious.

  Hhmm… interesting.

  Eddie

  Outside of Doctor Daxxon Hierro’s Office

  Baltimore, Maryland

  I was such an asshole.

  I admit it. I was pretty sure my wife was thinking the same thing.

  As it always did, the thought of Heaven Jones finally being my wife, and being Heaven Steele now, made me smile wider than I could ever remember before.

  Oh, except the day Heaven told me she was pregnant again.

  I’d been showing all of my teeth on that day too.

  As I rushed into the clinic, I was already trying to think up any and all excuses and reasons to give the woman I love in order to explain why I was showing up late to our baby appointment. While I didn’t completely understand why Heaven now had to come to see the doctor every two weeks, I wasn’t going to complain. Anything that reassured me that my wife and child—children—were going to be okay was fine with me.

  I came to a halt outside of the exam room where the receptionist had told me Heaven had been placed and checked my clothes. I’d changed out of the suit I’d been wearing earlier tha
t morning, the uniform of an Enforcer of Clan McCarthy—something I’d become rather reluctantly, in addition to the personal security company that I ran with some friends of mine—and put on a pair of dark jeans, a black t-shirt, a black, leather bomber jacket, and a pair of black Timberland™ boots. The change had been necessary. A lot of the men from the clan—those of us who were in committed relationships, either married, engaged, dating seriously, or even involved with the mother of our child(ren)—had received letters with photos or videos of the woman (or in one case: women) naked, vulnerable, exposed, unaware.

  We’d all been justifiably livid.

  And so Andrew had dispatched all of us to find out who was behind the “gifts”. Especially since he’d received a package with pictures of his wife.

  Anyone who knew Andrew knew that was a BIG No-No.

  I almost felt bad for the bastard who was ultimately behind all of this.

  We’d found one of the deliverymen and had… persuaded him to talk.

  I’d been particularly motivated to obtain the information. So much so that my suit, tie, shoes, even my boxers, had to be torched.

  Best way to get rid of DNA evidence.

  I shook my head to rid myself of the memories, lifted my hand to open the door, only to stop when I heard the hushed, but angry, voices of a couple having an argument. I knew those voices.

  Nurse Yomara and Doctor Daxxon.

  “You can’t keep running from me, Mara,” Doctor Daxxon said.

  “I can and I will, Dax,” Nurse Yomara returned. There was the sound of a clatter and a female gasp. I grabbed the door handle thinking that while I didn’t expect it of him it sounded as if the doctor was being slightly violent with his nurse.

  “Justin is gone. It’s okay for us to finally be together. For you to admit that those babies you’re carrying are mine,” the doctor growled, his words made me freeze in turning the handle. I was listening to a private—very private—conversation. And while I knew I should turn away, curiosity made me stay. Plus the fact that from what I’d been told, my wife was in the room with the arguing couple.

  This is something we can talk about tonight in bed. I smiled at the thought. Heaven and I often talked about our day when we lay in bed together, waiting for sleep to come and claim us—after I’d fucked her into a babbling state of course—but I was looking forward to the two of us gossiping about the gynecologist and his nurse.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. These children are my husband’s,” Yomara hissed.

  “You forget that I was your fertility doctor, Mara. And you also seem to forget what happened the night when you were ovulating… should I remind you? Maybe give that sweet, little pussy a refresher?”

  “Why you fucking…”

  I lifted my eyebrows when I heard the sounds of kissing and moaning, wondering if the two of them would really have sex with my wife in the room, or in the middle of the day when the clinic was still open. I mean, I understood about passion. Being swept away by desire. That gnawing, clawing, burning need for the woman who made your heart beat, but… well, every man had the ability for self-control.

  And proving me right, the noises stopped and all that could be heard was harsh breathing. Then the sharp crack! of a slap.

  “Don’t you ever do that again. You already turned me into an adulterer, I’ll be damned if you turn me into your office whore as well.”

  I could hear the sound of footsteps approached the door and acting quickly I knocked on the door. I didn’t want to be caught out in the hallway looking like the eavesdropper I was. There was a pause, then I called out.

  “Hey, Baby. You decent?”

  I heard Heaven’s response and knew that while we would never bring it up with the medical staff, they certainly knew that Heaven and I had heard everything. I wished the two of them well. Or as well as could be expected under the circumstances.

  Forty-five minutes later, Heaven and I held hands as we watched Dr. Daxxon drag the ultrasound wand across Heaven’s rounded belly. The room had been extremely tense and quiet for almost the entire appointment. While Dr. Daxxon and Nurse Yomara had both apologized to Heaven, they still were barely talking to each other.

  It sort of killed the mood.

  “Would you like to know the sex?” Dr. Daxxon asked. I looked down at Heaven, communicating without words. I was good either way. Knowing or not knowing, it didn’t matter to me. As long as she and our babies were healthy that’s all that I cared about.

  “Yes please,” she replied, and I nodded after that, wanting to give her whatever she wanted.

  “Okay, you’re having two boys. See here?” Dr. Daxxon showed us the evidence of our sons’ genitalia and I felt a surge of pride roar through me. My boys would be big, strong, and brave just like me. Just like their uncle. And just like their grandfather.

  Heaven looked up at me with a brilliant smile and unable to help myself, I leaned down and took her lips with my own. I moaned at the taste of her, as I always did, so happy that she was in my life and that I could kiss her this way whenever I wanted to. I pulled away after a moment, then kissed her forehead.

  “Thank you,” I breathed my gratitude into her skin, hoping that it sank deep into her veins, into her blood, into her cells so that she never forgot how thankful and humbled I was by the gifts she’d given me. First, our daughter Ashley, and now, these two boys.

  Heaven glanced up at me, and the look of annoyance she’d had since I’d appeared—late—to the appointment, faded. She gave me a brilliant smile, one that caused my heart to gallop in my chest, then reached up to touch my cheek.

  “You’re welcome, Baby.”

  I didn’t turn my head to look, but the sniffle that came from Nurse Yomara informed me that our display of affection and love had gotten to the other woman. There was definitely more to the story of her and the tall, muscled, Iranian man, but it wasn’t mine to search out. And it wasn’t even all the important to me. My girls, and my two unborn boys, were all that mattered to me. They were my world.

  Which was why I was so angry when Heaven and I stepped out of the clinic and gunfire rang out into the air, shattering the glass behind us, and flattening the tires of my SUV.

  Who the fuck was shooting at me and pregnant wife?

  Chapter Three

  Andrew “The Irishman” McCarthy

  The Clan McCarthy Estate

  Baltimore, MD

  Some motherfucker out there was looking to eat my gun.

  Actually, no.

  I stared down at the pictures that had been delivered to me that morning.

  This motherfucker didn’t want to just eat my gun, they also wanted to sit on my knife and wait for me to slice through every tendon, muscle, blood vessel, and inch of skin they had. They wanted to be tortured, not simply killed.

  And I was only too happy to oblige.

  The soft ping of a door alert, had me glancing over at the screen that sat on my desk, which was connected to the various cameras throughout my home. The ping was to let me know when someone was approaching my office. I pressed the unlock button under my desktop and sat back to wait for my visitors: Galvin, Riley, and Brodie to come in and speak their peace.

  Galvin stormed in first, his fist wrapped around the same type of manila envelope I’d received.

  “You see this bullshit, Drew?” He growled, pointing at the envelope.

  I simply nodded. “Got one of them mother fuckers too.”

  “Yeah, we all did.”

  “It’s worse than it was before. I got a letter with this delivery,” Riley said. I jerked my head in his direction and narrowed my eyes.

  “You got one too?”

  They all grew quiet and we looked back and forth at each other.

  “Who all got a letter with this batch of pictures or videos?” I asked, rage coloring my words.

  When all three of them raised their hands, I swept my arm across my desk.

  “I want the fucking bitch who thinks this shit
is okay!” I yelled, slamming my fist down on top of my now cleared desk.

  “I want their fucking heads. I want it on a fucking spike. Do you hear me?” I ordered.

  “Yeah, deartháir. We got you,” Galvin said, his hands lifted in a gesture of surrender.

  “Drew, why are you so angry this time?” Brodie asked, his eyebrows lowered in suspicion.

  I released a long, deep sigh, running my fingers through my hair. It was getting really long, falling to below my shoulders now. It was time for me to cut it. But K-Love, my darling wife, liked it long, so I had been reluctant to do it.

  Although once she finds out what I just did, she may just scalp me.

  “Got pictures of Charlene in my delivery,” I muttered, sitting heavily in the office chair I’d just abandoned.

  “What?” Riley gasped.

  “Why the—” Brodie asked.

  “What the fuck? Why?” Galvin questioned, the only one able to speak coherently.

  I shook my head, then with another sigh, bent down and picked up the one picture of Charlene and a young boy that I’d received, along with the letter.

  Hello Andrew,

  This is a very beautiful picture, don’t you think?

  A mother and her son. Her: half-Irish. Irish mother, Black father.

  And the son: Biracial mother and Irish father.

  Who’s the father?

  Why, you are, Mr. McCarthy.

  And your son? Your precious heir? He’s being raised by the O’Sullivans.

  What are you going to do “Irishman”? How are you going to get your son?

  Will there be bloodshed? Will you kill to get him? Especially to take him away from the hands of a woman so hellbent on the death of your wife and other children?

  Ball’s in your court, “Irishman”.

  Catch me if you can.

  Sincerely,

  A Friend