Wicked Love

by Michelle Dare

  A war rages inside me. One that tells me she’s mine, and another that warns me to be careful of hurting her. I’ve never had any sort of empathy for anyone before. Doing bad things comes naturally. The darkness that resides within me is something I’ve embraced and come to love.

  Remorse is a foreign emotion, and I push it back, locking it in the depths of my mind, as I lift Micaela in my arms and carry her through the back of the house.

  “Please, just take me back to my apartment.”

  “You’ll stay here. If your father knew I let you go home alone while you’re like this, I’d pay for it, and I don’t particularly want my balls cut off.” I take her straight to my room, which is where she’ll sleep tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll figure this shit out because I’ve promised McCray his daughter will be mine, and deep down, I’ve promised it to myself as well.

  I set Micaela on the bed, her red hair and porcelain skin a stark contrast to my black sheets and pillows. Stepping back, I attempt to swallow back the desire that’s taken hold of me as she scoots against the dark wood headboard.

  “The bathroom is through there,” I tell her, pointing to the door behind me. “If you need anything, just hit the button beside the door. One of the staff will come up and see what you want.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Next door, to the library. It’s one of my sanctuaries in this godforsaken place. I don’t want you running off into the garden. Do you understand me?”

  For a moment, I’m sure she’s going to argue, but instead, she nods. Her mouth purses, her lips plump, making me hungry to devour her again, but I fight back the craving I have for her.

  “Goodnight.” I turn and head to the door before she can say anything more. I need a fucking drink before I get some sleep. Perhaps even a bottle of something strong. Because the girl who’s currently in my bed is affecting me with her presence, and I don’t like it.

  12

  Micaela

  Does he really think I’m going to sleep when I’m in his bedroom?

  Glancing around, I take in the dark room. The walls are black, along with the four poster California King I’m currently sitting on. The sheets and comforter along with the pillows are all the color of raven feathers and just as shiny. The satin material feels cool against my skin that feels like I’m burning up.

  A low cabinet with three drawers sits opposite the bed with a large mirror that shows my reflection. I look so small on the enormous bed. The wine-red carpets are soft underfoot when I swing my legs over the edge of the mattress and stand.

  To the left of the bed, I pad toward the windows overlooking the garden, which is slowly emptying as people move indoors. The decorations are visible from up here. Thick metal bars are welded into the wall, covering the glass panes, so there’s no way of climbing out to escape. Even if they weren’t there, being on the second floor makes it far too high to jump.

  I’m about to step away from the windows when I see Creed out in the garden talking to a woman. She’s also got red hair, but they don’t seem friendly at all. I don’t know who she is. I didn’t notice her when we arrived at the party, but she’s not wearing a mask, only a bright red dress that matches her long hair.

  Jealousy courses through me, shocking me back from the metal bars. I can’t be jealous of her. He’s not mine. And I’m certainly not his either.

  Even though Dad wants me with Creed, I just don’t know how it’s going to work. When I was younger and thought about getting married one day, I didn’t think it would be arranged by my father. And I definitely didn’t envision marrying a psychopath. Because that’s precisely what Creed is.

  A knock at the door startles me, and as it whooshes open, I’m met with a woman who looks like she’s possibly their stepmother. She’s an older woman, but she’s beautiful.

  “Hi,” she says. “I’m Mallory. I brought you a change of clothes. Creed said you weren’t feeling well, and I figured if you wanted to have a hot shower, you’d most likely want to get changed.”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiles, nods, and sets the clothes on the large wooden chest sitting at the foot end of the bed. “I know Creed is a lot to handle,” she tells me. “But he does have a good heart. It’s just buried under years of pain.”

  “It’s . . . it’s not that,” I tell her honestly. “I’m angry at my father. He’s forcing me to be here, to fall in love with Creed.”

  “Nobody can make you fall in love with someone,” Mallory tells me with a small smile. “That’s your heart, your mind. Trust me when I tell you, there are times you love someone and believe they’re meant for you, but they’re not.”

  “Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

  She nods slowly. “Long ago, I fell in love with a man who wasn’t really mine to have. I did something stupid and ended up hurting a lot of people. Love comes to you when you least expect it. And, at times, it even comes when you believe you’ll never love anyone.”

  “Creed locked me in a cage tonight. He toyed with my emotions, with me as a person.” I don’t know why I’m telling her all this, but the words just tumble free.

  “Creed has a strange sense of humor. He has a very troubled way of dealing with his feelings, and sometimes, his social norms aren’t the same as ours.”

  “I’m just not used to all this. I grew up around violence, and I also grew up learning about the rules that came with my father’s job, but I didn’t realize I would have to throw my future away for him.”

  Mallory settles on the chair at the desk, not far from where I’m standing, still close to the window, so if I turned my head, I would be able to see Creed talking to a girl. Another woman with red hair. And deep down, I don’t want to admit the jealousy that’s coursing through me. I want to tamp it down, lock it away in the same place all my other secrets lie.

  “Why would it be throwing your future away?” she asks. “Creed may be difficult to handle, but he’ll never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. If you want to work, he’ll not stop you. Your future is still yours, even though your last name will be Haven.”

  “How can you be so sure he won’t stop me?”

  “Because I may be a monster, but I’m not a tyrant.” Creed’s voice comes from the doorway. In his hand, he’s got a white-knuckle grip on a bottle of bourbon, which swishes when he waves it toward me. “You can live your life as you see fit, as long as I’m the man you come home to at night. Like I said to you in the kitchen, I’m no cheater, and I expect the woman by my side to be the same.”

  “Of course,” I respond. “I’m not asking to be with other men. I just don’t want to feel like I’m being locked away like a princess hidden in the shadows.”

  Creed grins, and I can’t stop admiring how handsome he is. Granted, my father could’ve chosen worse. He could’ve forced me to marry the Don from the Familia in New York, an overweight fifty-year-old who looks like one of those scary trolls from Disney movies.

  “I’m not someone who likes to lock my women up, unless we’re roleplaying,” he tells me. “Right, Mallory?”

  “Good god, Creed. Can you for once act like a son?” she chastises. “I don’t want to know about your sexual proclivities.” She pushes to her feet. Turning to me for a moment, she says, “Don’t let him get to you. He may act like a monster, but he’s harmless.” The words are a whisper, hushed only for me to hear. I watch her leave, heading for the door where Creed is still leaning against the frame with one shoulder.

  “Goodnight, Mother,” he says when she passes him, stopping just outside the doorway.

  “Be good to her.” Their eyes are locked in a standoff, and I wonder what it means. Surely there’s more to whatever they’re not saying, which only seems to pique my interest more.

  Once we’re alone again, Creed doesn’t enter the room. He doesn’t make a move toward me, and I wonder if he’s testing me. “What were you doing at the window?” he asks, lifting the bottle to his lips as he takes a long sw
allow of the alcohol.

  “I wanted to see what was out there.”

  He nods. “And you saw me with Genevieve,” he says, as if he knows I was spying on him. Well, not spying, just peeking. There’s nothing wrong with looking out the window, and it’s not my fault he was standing there.

  “The redhead?” He nods. “Yes,” I answer. “She a friend?” My query earns me a grin. He has me, and he knows it. But I don’t admit anything more.

  “Why?” I shrug. “Are you jealous, little mouse?” This time, he does enter the room, and my body trembles as I picture him closing the distance between us and touching me. My stomach somersaults when he sets the bottle on the cabinet near the door and unbuttons his shirt. Slowly, I watch as he takes off the cufflinks and drops them on the slick wooden top. The clink is the only sound in the room, and it’s deafening.

  Once his shirt is completely loose, hanging from the waistband of his slacks, he glances at me, catching me looking at the smooth, chiseled flesh on display. His abs are dips and peaks of skin that make my fingertips tingle. I can’t see much more because his shirt is still hiding his body, but from what I can see, he’s built like an underwear model.

  “Like the view, little mouse?” he tests, with a salacious grin.

  Snapping my gaze away from his torso, I meet those dark eyes that hold me hostage. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting changed before I go to bed,” he tells me, shrugging off the shirt, which offers me an unobstructed view of his body. Now I can see every muscle in his shoulders, his pecs, and the tapered middle that leads my gaze toward the thin, dark patch of hair sneaking under his belt.

  The man is deliciously beautiful. There isn’t a mark, not even a scar on him. He looks far too perfect, far too handsome to be real. But he is. There is no doubt that Creed Haven is both my most illicit wet dream and my most terrifying nightmare.

  13

  Creed

  Her eyes on me make me hard. Just being near her makes me hard. I can feel the heat of her gaze slowly trickling its way over my bare chest. I turn for the chest of drawers opposite the bed, ignoring her. But even as I disregard her, I feel her all the same. She doesn’t speak as I pull open the top drawer to find a tee, which I shrug over my head.

  There’s almost an audible sigh when I’m once more covered. Perhaps she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. How I wish I could watch her get changed for bed. I face her again, a small smile on my lips when I find her staring.

  “You’re welcome to take a shower,” I tell her, gesturing to the bathroom door attached to my bedroom. When we first moved in, I was the first of the Haven boys to arrive with the social worker. The moment I stepped foot inside this room, I knew this would be mine.

  Not only do I have a library attached, which Octavius had built into the adjoining room for me, but I also have my own bathroom. Brody and Keirin each have their own wings in the house as well, which gives us each quiet when we need it—privacy away from the others. Also, each brother has his own personal space. A room which fits their hobbies—Brody’s is his music room, and Keirin has his fighting room complete with swords and gear for fencing. I’ve always been a bookworm, wanting to delve into the minds of authors, wanting to learn their deepest, darkest secrets.

  “Why a library?” Micaela suddenly asks, drawing my attention back to the here and now. Back to the room where she’s holding the clothing I know Mallory brought for her to change into.

  “It’s my solace,” I tell her honestly. “Books have a way of transporting you to other worlds. Whether they’re light or dark, each book has a piece of the author within the pages.”

  “As if they’ve bled the words,” Micaela finishes my thought with a smile, once again dragging my attention to her. “I love English Lit; that’s what I’m studying,” she informs me. “Books and words have always been a passion of mine as well.”

  “My own fair Belle.” I smile. A blush blooms on her cheeks, and she dips her head, her focus on the clothes in her hands instead of me. And I find I miss those pretty eyes penetrating my defenses. “Don’t worry about staying here. You will have as much privacy as if you were at your apartment.”

  She lifts her gaze to mine. “I’m not some inexperienced girl,” she tells me. “I’m just nervous about what my father wants from me.”

  “Look,” I tell her. “I do bad shit. I’ve never wanted or needed someone to like or to approve of me. And make no mistake I won’t apologize for it. You’ll never find me doing something because someone expects it of me, but when I saw you, I figured, why the hell not?”

  Micaela rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but laugh. “You’re quite the romantic.” Her insolence makes my hand twitch. I want nothing more than to show her just how romantic I can be.

  “I am. When you find me in the right frame of mind,” I tell her. “Go shower. If you feel like talking afterward, I’ll be in the library. The door over there,” I say, pointing to the entry in question at the corner of the bedroom, almost hidden in shadows, “will bring you to me. If you decide to go straight to sleep, I understand.”

  As much as I want to spend the night in my bedroom with this beautiful woman, she’s not ready. And if I continue to stay in here, she won’t be wearing that sinful dress for much longer either.

  I turn and leave, shoving open the door and shutting it behind me. In the library, I make my way to the liquor cabinet to find a new bottle of alcohol to pour myself a steep shot of bourbon. I left my open bottle in the fucking room, but I’m not going back in there now.

  Grabbing the book I’d been reading, I settle on the sofa and flick it open. My eyes scan the words, but I can’t focus. She’s on my mind, and I doubt I’m going to get a moment’s peaceful sleep now because all I can think of is a naked Micaela in my bathroom.

  I’m three drinks in when the door slides open, and I hear her footfalls padding across the cool wooden flooring. When she reaches the armchair, which overlooks the sofa where I’m sitting, she settles. Micaela looks at me for a while before she pulls her feet up and curls into the soft, velvety cushions.

  “You came,” I observe with a smile, before setting my book down. I wasn’t reading it anyway. Nothing I looked over stayed in mind.

  “I just wanted to talk to you,” she says. “While I had a shower, I thought about this situation.”

  “You thought about me while in the shower?” Quirking a brow at her, I grin when she rolls her eyes. “Sorry. Keep going.”

  She sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile dancing on her lips. “I thought about what you said. When you spoke to me in the kitchen and told me Octavius did so much for you while you were growing up.” I nod slowly, unsure where she’s going with this. “Well, I think I should trust my father and make sure his wishes are something I can perhaps give him. He’s been good to me, even though his work is not something I agree with.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “I’m not saying I can love you, or will, but I’m willing to give this a shot. But,” she says, holding her finger up when she notices I want to say something. “We will take this at my pace. I don’t need you kidnapping me and locking me in a cage. I will go to school, study, and finish my degree.”

  “A relationship on your terms?”

  Micaela nods. “Yes. And if you do anything to upset me, our deal is off.” She squares her shoulders. Her negotiations went as she had planned in her mind, and for a moment, just one fleeting second in time, I can’t help but think about a future with her. A happy one. Where I could quite possibly have a family, happiness, and even see her carrying my children.

  But the moment passes quickly. “I can live with that. I promise not to lock you in a cage, and you promise to give me a chance.” Even as I say the words, I wonder just how long this good, moral part of me will last.

  14

  Micaela

  The past few days have been easy to deal with. Creed picked me up from school, took me to my apartment, and spent the afternoons and evenin
gs with me. We’ve learned bits and pieces about each other, but I have a feeling there’s still so much more to this man than I’ve already discovered.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I expect it to be Creed, but when I pull it out, I find my father’s name flash across the screen.

  “Hello?”

  “Micaela,” he says, sounding ever so serious. “I’ve spoken to Octavius, and we feel it’s best you move in with them. I want you in the Haven household by this weekend. No arguments.”

  “Dad, I just—”

  “Micaela, I love you. I want you safe.” He falls silent, and I wonder just what he’s thinking. “I just need you to know that what I’m doing is best for you. Please, don’t fight me on this.” For the first time in a while, he sounds like my dad, the one I grew up loving.

  Sighing, I nod. “Fine. I’ll start packing.”

  “Good. I love you,” he tells me before hanging up and I have no choice but to obey his wishes once more.

  “There she is,” Tamika says, as she settles across from me at a table in the quad of the school. It’s a beautiful day today, and I’m not looking forward to when winter hits us with its icy hand. “How are you and Creed doing?”

  “Good,” I tell her. “It’s slow, taking it one day at a time.” I haven’t told the girls about my father’s insane plan to marry me off to Creed Haven. Just the thought of it makes me shiver, and admitting it to my friends will not go down well. Not because I don’t think they’ll support me, but none of them knows who I really am.

  Only Creed does.

  “What are you doing tonight? How about a girls’ night?” she suggests, and as good as that sounds, I automatically want to refuse. But then I pick up my phone and send Creed a text.