Wicked Love

by Michelle Dare

  It doesn’t take long for me to be completely confused as to where I’m going. But then I hear it, music coming from inside the maze. Classical music. I follow it even though I’m scared. I can’t deny it. Fear has taken hold of me, and in the dimly lit part of the garden, I can’t stop the way my body trembles.

  Suddenly, something appears in the shadows, and a scream is ripped from my chest. I spin on my heel and race for the music. But it’s not the music of the party that leads me deeper into the confusing hedges. It’s the sad, melancholic piano echoing around me.

  I’m running, taking corners and racing down short corridors. My lungs are struggling, and my heart is beating a rhythm in my ears that’s deafening, but strangely, I still hear the music.

  I dash forward and realize my mistake too late. The blackness in front of me is not the high, fake sides of the maze; it’s a wall I can’t penetrate.

  And suddenly, a gate slams shut behind me.

  8

  Creed

  Her shiver is dick-hardening. There’s something so erotic and sensual about a woman’s body when it’s prickling with anxious energy. Her smooth, porcelain skin has a gentle glow, and the fire in her eyes makes me smile.

  “Let me out of here,” she barks once more, her voice bouncing in the night air, hovering between us. “Do you even know who I am?” I want her to tell me who she is, but I know she won’t. Her dad made sure she’s here, hidden from some asshole who wants to steal her. But I’m the one taking her now, and that’s all she needs to worry about.

  Her fingers are wrapped around the cool, steel bars. Her face is streaked with raven-black mascara. She thought she was safe, walking through the maze like a tough girl, but she’s nothing more than a scared mouse.

  “Are you even listening to me?” I take a step toward her, closer to the cage, but not so much she can reach for me. “My friends are—”

  “You don’t have any friends here, little mouse,” I tell her, reaching into my pocket for my smokes. I don’t partake in this habit often, but every now and then, when satisfaction begs to be soothed by a cigarette, I enjoy it.

  Once the cherry is burning bright, I shove my lighter into my pocket and blow four smoke rings into the darkness. Here in the corner of the maze, right where the gate is waiting for us to disappear through, I watch her for a moment longer before I speak.

  “You’ve come into town and captured my attention. Not many girls who walk in or pass through here do that.”

  “I don’t want your attention. And I certainly don’t give a shit what you want,” she spits, anger dripping from every syllable. If I knew she would be so sexy, I would’ve done this days ago.

  “If you continue to act like a hissing snake, I may have to gag you,” I warn her. “And I wouldn’t like to do that, but it seems you may not leave me with any other option.”

  “Would you like being shut in a fucking cage by some psychopath?” Her words only fuel me further. Fuck, I’d love to shove my dick down her throat to show her just what I’d like her to do.

  “I would like to talk to you, and if you persist on being a rude little girl, I will get angry. And I doubt you’d like to see me angry.”

  She straightens, her shoulders square, her face passive, but the small smirk that curls those plump, pink lips makes my blood heat as it races through my veins. The girl I wanted to see is slowly being let loose.

  “If you knew who I am, who I really fucking am, you wouldn’t like to see me angry,” she tells me confidently. Only, she doesn’t realize I’ve been studying her this past week, and that’s the only reason she’s inside that fucking cage.

  “Oh?” I ask, dropping the smoke onto the gravel before stepping on it with the toe of my shiny-black dress shoes. “Why don’t you tell me who you are?” The challenge is right there in my words.

  There’s a hint of a spark in her gaze, burning bright. The flicker of a flame, the embers igniting, and inwardly, I plead with her to give me the truth. If she does, I may think about releasing her.

  “I’m not a toy you can lock up and play with when you’re bored,” she tells me. “I have connections to dangerous people.” She grips the bars again, her knuckles turning white with the fierce hold she has on them. “Just let me go.”

  I reach for my back pocket. Tugging the handkerchief free, I hand it to her. “Would you like me to put this in your mouth?” I wait; she doesn’t move. “If you don’t answer me, you’ll spend the night in here, and trust me when I say, nobody will venture into this corner of the garden.” The partygoers are all on the right side, all focused on the show my folks have put on. After that, they’ll head into the castle to play their annual game of hide and seek before the night slowly winds down. And once that happens, everyone will be indoors.

  She reluctantly takes the material, her eyes burning with rage, as she balls the handkerchief in her hand. “I’ll do it because I want to leave here alive.” With fire in her gaze, she pushes the small ball past her glossy lips. I close the distance to the cage and unlock the door with the small, silver key. Offering Micaela my hand, I watch as she slips those delicate fingers over my palm.

  A slight smile tilts my lips. “You look pretty with that in your mouth.” My words only seem to fan the flames of her anger. “Will you behave, or would you like to walk all the way back like that?” I’m taller than her, looking over her, and I know she’s afraid. The emotion dances in her eyes.

  She nods, reaching for the cloth, but I stop her. I shake my head, and she drops her hand to her side, allowing me to trail my fingertips over her lips. The plump flesh glossy and shiny, and I swipe at them with my thumb.

  I tug the material, pulling it free before depositing it in my pocket. Her eyes widen with shock as she reads the action. “You’re going to keep that?”

  “Of course,” I tell her. Turning, I lead her through the maze, and she does exactly what I knew she would—tries to run. I grip her hand just as her fingers slip from mine and pull her backward until she’s flush against me.

  Her heart thrums at the pulse point, and I lean in, placing my lips at her ear before tentatively licking the erratic beating with the tip of my tongue. “You’re a bad girl,” I tell her. “To make up for it, I think you should allow me one kiss.”

  I spin her around so we’re face-to-face, and I watch as those fiery gemstones blaze with fury, and I have to say I’ve never been more turned on than I am at that second.

  She doesn’t speak, so I grin before asking, “Is that your tacit agreement?”

  “I don’t kiss monsters,” she retorts, her words dripping with frustration. Her lithe body flat against mine, and I’m certain she can feel my hardness pressing against her. This is what she does to me, and I won’t hide it.

  “Let’s play a game then, Princess,” I tell her. “A game of Finders Keepers.” My blood simmers with excitement at the thought of having her out there in the woods, in the dark where nothing can save her from me.

  “Why? What would happen if we played the game?”

  “Well . . .” I consider for a moment and tell her, “If I win and catch you, you’ll give me one kiss.”

  “And if I win?”

  “If you get back to the house before I do, and you’re indoors safely with my brothers by the time I reach you, I’ll let you go. Never bother you again.” It’s a promise, and I never break my vows. But she doesn’t need to know that right now. Uncertainty fills her expression as she regards me. I can’t stop admiring just how beautiful she is. Fire-red hair, freckles on her nose and the apples of her cheeks along with a small, pointy nose, and those full, rosy lips. Her eyes sparkle like emeralds in the dim light.

  The noise of the party behind us is still going strong. It will be like this until the early hours of the morning. My father doesn’t know when to stop when he’s enjoying himself. Perhaps I’m more like him than I imagined.

  “You’re taller, stronger, and more agile than I am,” she finally tells me after assessing the situation.
She’s right.

  I nod. “I am, but being smaller in those woods is actually an advantage. You can scamper through the trees quicker than I can.”

  Once more, she’s silent, and I can almost see the wheels turning in her pretty head. She calculates all possible outcomes, just like her father taught her. But she doesn’t realize just how much I know about her.

  “And if I lose, just one kiss is all you want?”

  I can’t help but smile. She can give me that kiss right now and forego the game. “A kiss. Or you can allow me the pleasure right now and go back to the party and enjoy yourself with your friends.” Laying it all on the table is not something I usually do, but Micaela is different. She’s nothing like the girls I’ve taken into the woods before.

  “Why do I get the feeling you’re hiding something from me?”

  “Because you don’t trust me,” I tell her easily.

  She nods. “I don’t. But there’s more. Isn’t there?” She’s perceptive. I like it. But this is not the time nor the place to be diving into my psyche or my reasons for doing what I’ve already done. I’ve made sure the ball is rolling, and she won’t know what’s about to hit her until she’s right up against the fence. Not literally, more figuratively.

  I lean in, inhaling her sweet scent, reveling in the floral perfume she’s wearing. Her hair, long and wavy, I gently twist in my hand, as I ensure her head is tipped backward.

  “I suggest you run, little mouse. Run fast.” My voice is drenched in warning before I release her and step back. “Remember, Micaela, Finders Keepers,” I remind her, before I watch her twist and head for the exit of the maze, just behind the cage.

  9

  Micaela

  The shoes I’m wearing aren’t conducive to getting me through the forest and away from Creed, but I ignore the fact that my feet hurt. Thankfully, the ground is hard underfoot, and my steps only crunch the fallen leaves. If this was later in the year, when the snow started, this would be a nightmare.

  I spent my life running from assholes who wanted to hurt me, but there is something different about Creed. He didn’t hurt me even though he certainly had enough opportunity, which begs the question as to why he’s doing this.

  I can’t deny he’s handsome, breathtakingly so, but he’s also a psychopath, and he didn’t even deny it. He looked like he was proud of it. He reminds me too much of him, of the man I had to leave my home for.

  The moon is full, shining down on me, as I make my way through the long tree trunks that loom over me. It’s as if they’re closing in on me, and I won’t have any way to escape. Only the silver light illuminating a path for me is calming my erratic heartbeat.

  My stomach is in knots, twisting tightly as I breathe deeply. Thankfully, my father was always adamant I keep fit. Running on the treadmill daily has given me strength to get through this. Even though I’m not at the house yet, I see it, the colorful strobe lights shining up into the sky.

  I don’t know how long I run for, but I can see the tree line change from forest to lush, manicured gardens. I’m almost at the house, and my lungs are burning, my heart racing, thudding wildly against my ribs. The taste of freedom is at the tip of my tongue, but even as I see the clearing, I don’t know why I stop. Call it intuition or call it sixth sense, but my feet come to a halt. And then I see it. I see him. The reason all the breath is knocked from my lungs.

  The man, tall, dark, and handsome, steps out into the path that leads to the house. A manic grin curls his lips, those same lips I used to want on me, on every inch of me.

  Devon McCleary.

  “What?” The word falls from my lips in a gasp. My nerves are electric with both adrenalin and fear. He couldn’t have found me. My father ensured I would be safe in Thorne Haven. There is no way Daddy would’ve allowed him to even step foot within a ten-foot radius of me.

  “Hello, little girl,” Devon speaks. He used to call me that. It was an endearment I basked in because I was so little compared to him. I was his; he owned every part of me, in every way possible.

  “Don’t call me that,” I hiss, as anger surges forward. “What are you doing here?” I’m shaking, my hands trembling when I wrap my arms around myself. But Devon doesn’t respond. He merely stalks closer, coming toward me as if we didn’t break up. As if my father isn’t looking for him, wanting him six feet under.

  “You know, Micaela,” Devon says, his Irish accent thick, just like Daddy’s. Mine isn’t as noticeable since I was born and raised in New York, but you can tell where my roots lie. “I’ve missed you.” The deep baritone that skitters along my skin causes goosebumps to raise on every inch of my body.

  “Devon, why are you here?”

  But it’s not the man in front of me who answers. It’s the one behind me. My hunter. “Well, when this beautiful redheaded woman stepped foot inside my town, I wondered what on earth she’d be doing in a place like Thorne Haven.” Creed’s voice is filled with amusement. “And when I did some digging, deep into the dark rabbit hole that your family is, I found out a few truths I was shocked by.”

  “Thank you for contacting me,” Devon says, but he’s looking at Creed when he says this, “I’ll be taking her away now.”

  “Oh,” Creed responds, the moment his body is flush at my back. His warmth is a stark contrast to Devon’s cold. “That wasn’t the deal,” Creed informs the man whose eyes blaze with fury.

  “You told me where she is, and I confirmed I would be here to collect. There is no way I’m leaving without her.” Devon’s confident in his words. And I know him very well. When he has something on his mind, when he has an end goal in sight, there’s no way he’s allowing a different conclusion to the one in his mind.

  “You?” I twist to face Creed, finding darkness swirling in his eyes. A promise of violence seems to flicker like a flame in those endlessly dark orbs.

  “I offered you the deal,” Creed tells Devon, ignoring me. “If you can’t accept it, I think it’s best you take a walk.” Even though I’m raging, anger surging through my veins, I can’t look away from Creed’s cool and calm exterior.

  “I don’t run when little boys threaten me,” Devon sneers. I’m ripped from Creed’s warmth, suddenly being held by a heavy, muscled arm wrapped around my neck. His free hand, however, has a white-knuckled grip on the familiar Glock that has always been Devon’s signature weapon. The large, ornate D carved into the handle is there. Even in the dark where I can’t see it, I know it like I know the back of my hand.

  Creed’s mouth curls into an amused sneer. But he looks like he’s about to gut Devon. I didn’t notice it at first, but the glint from his left hand captures my attention.

  “I don’t make threats I never intend on fulfilling,” he tells Devon. I expect him to close the distance, to take me away, but he doesn’t. “When I make a vow, a promise, I mean it.” This time, his eyes flick toward me, but only for a split second, then they’re back on the man holding onto me. I know there’s no point in fighting Devon because he’ll only ignore my pleas.

  “Oh?” A chuckle vibrates through Devon’s chest and into my back. “And what sort of promise did you make? You told me you have my girl,” he tells Creed. “And now that I have her in hand, you’re welcome to step back, or I will put a bullet in your head, little boy.”

  Nothing Devon says seems to get to Creed. He looks like he’s chatting with friends about the party, still well and truly echoing through the trees. Creed tips his head to the side, his mouth pursing to one corner, as if he’s considering Devon’s words.

  I will him to look at me, but he doesn’t. It’s as if I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip between two men. Just like I always have been. Between my father and Devon.

  The men in my life have always thought they know what’s best for me. But deep down, they don’t realize just how independent I really am. But right now, I feel helpless. I have two men glaring at each other, and I’m in the middle, caught in a silent war.

  �
�I would be careful with her if I were you,” Creed says, breaking eye contact with Devon for a second before he steps closer.

  “If you take one more step—”

  “What? You’re going to shoot me?” The challenge is clear in Creed’s face. But then he glances at me with a grin so mischievous it sends both heat and fear racing through me. Then he nudges his chin toward my foot. His eyes glinting with malice. “I think Micaela has something she’d like to say to you,” he says, and I realize what he’s trying to tell me with those haunting dark eyes. I lift my foot, piercing my short heel into Devon’s foot, before a shot rings out through the darkness and a grunt of agony bounces around me in surround sound.

  I’m suddenly splattered with thick metallic fluid, and a scream of shock is ripped from my chest when I turn to see the sleek, silver blade, now coated in blood, sticking out of Devon’s neck.

  “It’s a shame,” Creed says, wiping his hands on the familiar handkerchief. “He and I could’ve been friends.” Once his fingers are clean, he offers me his hand, which I don’t take. Instead, I’m glaring up at him from the ground, where the material of my dress has been covered in dried leaves and dirt.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” My words are venom, but Creed doesn’t look poisoned at all. Instead, he looks like he’s about to sit down for dinner. Smart, calm, and happy.

  The crunch of leaves sound from behind me when the other two Haven men saunter up with what looks like plastic bags. They’re dressed in their costumes, but since they’re all in black, the blood won’t stain as obviously as my now ruined dress.

  “Perhaps you should get up,” Brody says to me. “Or you’ll only end up being caked in mud worse than you already are.” He settles the large tarps I now realize he was holding, and I’m dragged to my feet. My knees weaken the moment I’m standing, but Creed’s arms hold me up.