Cruel Intentions

by Davis, Siobhan

  “Name’s Xavier Daniels. I’m in my senior year at Rydeville University, studying computer science. And I met Abby when I hacked into her computer and attempted to extort money from her.”

  Cam sits up straighter. “That true?”

  “Yes.” I nod.

  Sawyer frowns. “How did you two become friends then?”

  Xavier grins. “Because she turned up at the meet with my cash and a loaded gun. When she pressed the muzzle into my temple, I nearly shit myself, but then she made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “What kind of offer?” Cam rests his arms on his knees, invested in the conversation.

  Xavier looks at me, silently communicating with his eyes, ensuring I’m still okay to do this. It’s risky. I know that. But I think the potential wins outweigh the risk, so I’m willing to go there. I nod, letting him know it’s okay.

  Xavier eyes the three guys. “She asked me to help uncover dirt on her father we could use to blackmail him with.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  You could hear a pin drop in the room, and the expressions on the guys’ faces are comical. Sawyer looks deep in thought. Cam looks suspicious. And Jackson looks strangely smug.

  “Why do you want to blackmail your father?” Cam asks, his expression sober.

  “Why do you think?” I half-laugh.

  “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”

  I sigh, moving my head from side to side, attempting to loosen my stiff muscles. The guys watch me like hawks, and I wipe my clammy palms over the front of my jeans. “I hate him,” I say. “He’s a horrible human being and a lousy husband and father. He used to beat my mother, and he didn’t care to conceal it. After she died, he did nothing to help us. We were seven years old, and we’d lost the only real parent we’d ever known. He left us to grieve alone, working long hours and whoring around in his sex dungeon, while an army of paid help raised us.” I swallow over the painful lump in my throat, as all four guys listen attentively.

  “He gets off on bullying people, especially women,” I continue. “He sees all women as weak, and he loves controlling me, telling me what to wear, what to do, who I can hang out with, insisting I’m driven everywhere, and that bodyguards breathe down my neck. I have no freedom. No control over my life. The only reason he plans on keeping me around is so he can marry me off to Trent and forge a strong working relationship with that asshole Christian Montgomery.”

  “And?” Cam prompts.

  “And I’m not a pawn to be used in whatever nefarious game he’s concocting!” I hiss. “And I can barely abide Trent. The thought of being married to him makes me physically ill.”

  “But I thought you loved him and missed him badly.”

  His arrogant smirk pisses me off, but I might as well get everything out on the table. “I might’ve said that to piss you off.” I shrug. “Big deal.” His smug grin expands until it’s sucking up all the oxygen in the room. “Oh, please. Don’t sit there acting all smug. You’ve been parading that slut on your lap for the past two weeks. We all know you did that for my benefit.”

  He shoots me a lopsided grin. “Trust me, I was benefiting.”

  My hands ball into fists at my side, and I chew on the inside of my mouth. “Trust me, I know.” My stomach sours. “I saw her blowing you while your stoner friend was fucking her. I hope both your dicks turn rotten and fall off.”

  Jackson bursts out laughing, dropping back onto the ground and clutching his stomach as if he’s in pain.

  “He’s totally stoned,” Xavier says, “and I really need some of that shit.” He slides onto the floor, nudging Jackson to sit up.

  “Can we attempt to keep this conversation focused,” Sawyer asks, sighing in exasperation. “Why are you telling us this?”

  I pull my knees up to my chin. “One, you asked. Two, you mentioned we might be on the same side before, and you’re right. I thought it was time we stopped pussyfooting around one another and laid our cards on the table.” He nods, encouraging me to go on. “You hate my father. So do I. You want something to hold over him. So do I. You’re trying to access his files, and we’ve spent the last five months attempting it. Neither group is making enough leeway, but maybe if we combine forces, we can succeed.”

  “How do we know this isn’t a trap?” Cam asks, worry lines furrowing his brow.

  “You don’t. Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” I love throwing his words back at him.

  He scowls, instantly making the connection. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”

  “Listen, dipshit,” Xavier intervenes. “Abigail has way more at stake here than you do. You have shit on her, and she’s much more to lose. That should be all you need. She didn’t have to tell you any of this stuff, but she did.”

  “How do we know you don’t have shit on us?”

  My eyes narrow to slits. “Because if we did, I’d have already used it.”

  “How did you know I was fighting tonight?” Cam asks, staring me down.

  I’m sorely tempted to say it’s a coincidence, but that won’t wash. I know I must fess up. “Because I implanted a tracking device on Sawyer’s cell last night, and Xavier intercepted your messages.”

  The look Cam levels in Sawyer’s direction is nothing short of pure evil.

  But Sawyer actually smiles.

  The biggest fucking smile I’ve ever seen on his face, and his entire body rumbles with laughter, his deep chuckles echoing around the room.

  “Wow,” he says, when he’s composed himself. “No one’s ever gotten one over on me.” His eyes shimmer with wicked intent. “I’m so impressed I could kiss you.”

  Cam growls. “I dare you to try it.”

  Jackson and Xavier are sharing a blunt between them, watching us with very different expressions.

  “You’re too easy to wind up when it comes to her, and that’s a big fucking problem,” Sawyer admits, all trace of humor fading.

  “Why do you keep saying that?” I ask, my gaze jumping between them.

  “Because it’s true,” Jackson butts in. “You two have smoking-hot chemistry. I say you just fuck each other until you get it out of your system.”

  “Helpful as ever,” I say with a hefty dose of sarcasm.

  “Come with me,” Cam says, extending his hand.

  “What?” I splutter.

  He rolls his eyes, and he even makes that look sexy. Ugh. I rub a tense spot between my brows.

  Now, I sound like Bella Swan mooning over Edward Cullen. He wanted to suck her blood, and I think Camden Marshall would bleed my veins dry and suck my soul clear out of my body if I let him, so it’s a rather apt comparison.

  “I want to talk to you. That’s all.” I eye him warily, unsure if it’s wise to be alone with him when I have zero impulse control around him. “And I need to clean up. I won’t touch you. I promise.”

  “Go with him,” Sawyer says. “You’re safe.” He drills a warning look at Cam.

  I stand, but I don’t take his hand, trailing him out of the room, up the stairs, and into his bedroom. It’s locked again, and I wonder if it’s just habit or they’re suspicious for a reason.

  We walk inside and he enters the en suite bathroom without uttering a word. I follow him inside, taking the first aid kit from his hands. “Sit on top of the toilet seat,” I instruct, and surprisingly, he complies.

  I wash and dry my hands before removing supplies from the box. I press sterile gauze against the bottle of iodine and then gently dab his lip. It’s stopped bleeding, but it’s dry and encrusted, and I’m sure it stings, not that you’d know from his stoic reaction. “I’m guessing you’re used to this,” I say, cleaning his lip thoroughly.

  He stares at me but doesn’t acknowledge my statement. “Okayyy.” I toss the bloody gauze in the bin, removing another piece and dabbing that with iodine too. Then I clean the area around his eye and his swollen cheekbone before inspecting his bruised jawline with tender fingers.

  “How long have you been fight
ing?” I ask as my fingers gently probe the bruised flesh along his ribcage.

  “A while,” he says, hissing, and I pull my hand back.

  “Sorry.”

  He takes my hand, rubbing circles on the back of my wrist with his thumb. “You did nothing wrong, so don’t apologize.”

  “Why do you fight?” I press on, trying to ignore the soft warmth creeping up my arm from his touch.

  “Why does anyone do anything they enjoy?” He shrugs.

  “You enjoy beating the crap out of others?” I caress his damaged face with my free hand. “Feeling pain?”

  His eyes bore into mine, and silence descends for a few beats before he slowly nods. “You told me the night we met you wanted to feel something real. To feel in control. To feel alive.” I nod, remembering. “Sometimes I need to feel all that too.”

  “And fighting does that for you?”

  “Yeah.” He brings my wrist to his mouth, kissing my sensitive skin.

  My eyes close for a second, but I force them open. “Did you know who I was that night?”

  Tense silence filters through the air. “No,” he eventually admits, looking me directly in the eye. “I only found out who you were a few months later.”

  Maybe I’m a fool, but I believe him. “Why do you hate my father?”

  He drops my hand and a cold, harsh glaze drapes across his dark eyes. A muscle pops in his jaw. “That’s a conversation we need to have with the others.” He stands, walking into his bedroom like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I need to understand why you think you have to blackmail your own father.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  He drops onto his bed, resting his back against the headboard and I climb up beside him. “Humor me.”

  I lean back and close my eyes. “My entire life, I’ve been playing at being me, and I’m sick of it. The thoughts of performing an expected role for the rest of my life depresses me so badly.”

  “Is that why you were in the sea that night? You wanted to end your life?”

  I open my eyes and turn my head to face him. “Yes, although it wasn’t premeditated. It was more of a spontaneous reaction even if it had been brewing for a few days.”

  “Why then? And why were you in Alabama?”

  “My aunt had just passed. She had cancer,” I explain with tears pricking my eyes. “She’s the only one who ever truly understood. She rebelled against this life and got away. She forged a different path, pursued her passions, but she never fully left it behind, because it’s not the kind of life you ever fully escape from.”

  It’s why I’m so focused on blackmailing my father because it’s the only way I’ll genuinely be free.

  “She was my last link to my mother. The only relative besides Drew who loved me with no agenda. Her loss devastated me.” I keep to myself the things she divulged on her deathbed.

  He’s quiet for a few beats, and I look up at the ceiling, wondering where all this is leading. “And what is it you want out of life?” he asks.

  “I’m not altogether sure except I want to be free to make my own choices.” I look over at him again. “I don’t want to be a trophy wife. To stand on the sidelines looking pretty while my husband fucks other women behind my back. I don’t want to endure his cruel words and violent hands while pretending everything is peachy. And I definitely don’t want to pop out kids to a timeline agreed in a business contract.” I shake my head. “I would rather die than live that life.”

  “So just leave. I’m sure you have a trust fund.” He spits out the words, his disgust evident, and I don’t understand.

  “I do, but why is that an issue?”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “You didn’t have to.” I sit up a little straighter, scrutinizing his face.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he snaps.

  “Like what?”

  “Like you pity me.”

  My mouth opens and closes a few times before I find the right words. “Why would I pity you? I’m just trying to understand why you’re pissed. Your father is loaded, and I’m sure you have a trust fund too, or does he want you to make your own way in life? And I’ve got to say, if he does, I respect the hell out of him.”

  He snorts, his eyes blazing as he glowers at me. “You would say that! Because you don’t know what it’s like to live poor.”

  “And you do?” My brow puckers as I stare at him. I have no clue what the hell he’s talking about.

  His chest inflates and deflates, and he grinds down on his teeth, his jaw pulsing. Without warning, he jumps up. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  Moody fucker.

  “Okay.” I slide off the bed. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t need to talk anymore. I’ve heard enough.” His stomach rumbles loudly, and I frown.

  “When did you last eat?”

  “What?” A perplexed look appears on his face at my left of field question.

  “When did you last eat something substantial?” I know how much food Drew packs away, and Cam’s just exerted a ton of energy so he’s probably starving.

  He shrugs. “A few hours ago. I’ll grab something after I shower.”

  “I’ll make you something while you shower.”

  “Why would you do that?” he asks, suspicion underscoring his tone as he unbuttons his jeans all the way.

  “Worried I’ll poison you?” I taunt, planting my hands on my hips.

  “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  I smirk. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d prolong it. Enjoy torturing you and ensuring you suffered. I’m offering to make you something, because the sooner we get done here, the sooner I can go home.” It’s an effort to keep my eyes trained on his face when he kicks his jeans away, standing in front of me in skintight boxers that do nothing to conceal the giant boner he’s sporting.

  “Anxious to escape me, huh?” He lowers his voice as he walks toward me, and my pulse spikes.

  “Of course. It’s not like I enjoy your company.”

  He grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me to him. His cock jerks against me, and I slam my lips shut to avoid an embarrassing leakage. “Maybe Jackson’s right,” he whispers, sending tingles skating over my skin. “Maybe we need to fuck this weird chemistry out of our system.”

  I duck under his arm before I do something I regret.

  Like agree.

  “Never happening again.”

  “Guess I’ll just be imagining your tight pussy hugging my cock as I stroke one out in the shower,” he casually says, and my mouth turns dry as he slides his boxers down his legs and grips his hard length in his hand. “Or visualizing you on your knees, feasting on my dick,” he adds with a gleeful smile when he notices my discomfort.

  I gather myself, thrusting my shoulders back and lifting my head. “You do that, because it’s the closest you’ll ever come to sex with me again.”

  I can’t get the image of Cam’s impressive cock out of my head, and it’s a wonder I’ve managed to serve up edible food. The others all professed hunger when they heard I was cooking for Cam, and I ended up making steaks and salads for all four guys.

  “This is so fucking good,” Jackson muffles, his mouth half full. “Now I’m even more convinced you should become Marshall’s new fuck buddy. You can stay over and cook for us all the time.”

  I swat the back of his head. “Not happening. Why don’t you ask his current fuck buddy to cook for you—although, I doubt Rochelle has many culinary skills.”

  “Speaking of culinary skills,” Sawyer cuts in fast, “where did you learn to cook like this? Don’t you have hired help?”

  “We do. Mrs. Jenkins runs the kitchen, and she taught me how to cook. When my mom was alive, we used to make cupcakes and cookies and other baked goods, and I loved spending that time with her. When she was gone, and Dad and Drew were away at Parkhurst, I loved spending time with Mrs. Jenkins. It felt less lonely.” I shrug, my ch
eeks heating as I instantly regret my little outburst.

  “Remind me to thank her,” Jackson says, shooting me a soft smile that’s genuine. “Because she taught you well.”

  “It’s only steak and salad,” I murmur, growing uncomfortable with the praise. I get up and clean the kitchen while the boys eat in silence. I’m surprised when Cam clears the plates, rinsing and stacking them neatly in the dishwasher, but I don’t remark on it.

  We stay in the kitchen, and Sawyer and Cam make coffee while Jackson heads to the bathroom. “You okay?” Xavier whispers, clasping my hand under the table.

  “Yeah,” I whisper back. “Although I’d be better if we can just finish and leave. They’re getting under my skin.”

  “It’s been interesting,” he admits, bobbing his head.

  “What are you two whispering about?” Cam asks, eyeing our interlinked fingers through narrowed eyes. A flash of irritation, and something darker, glints in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can decipher it.

  “Nothing important,” I say, accepting a mug from him. Our fingers touch in the exchange, and it’s like I’ve plugged my hand into an electrical socket. If we’ll be working as a conjoined team, I honestly don’t know how long I can resist temptation.

  When everyone is seated, I ask my question again. “Why do you hate my father, and what is it you’re trying to find?”

  The three guys trade looks, and some silent communication passes between them. Xavier and I share a knowing look, wondering how much of the truth they’ll impart. There could be many reasons they have it in for my father, but I’m guessing it’s something to do with his business dealings.

  I couldn’t have been more wrong.

  “It goes without saying,” Sawyer says, “that whatever we discuss is confidential, and it remains between all of us.”

  “Of course,” I agree. “And we expect you to keep our confidence too. We’ve all got stuff to lose.”

  Sawyer nods at Cam.

  Cam leans his elbows on the table, his eyes burning with anger. “Your father killed my…aunt, and I want to make him pay.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE