Wicked Little Thing

by McDonald, Chelsea

  Wicked Little Thing

  Copyright © 2020 Molly Storm & Chelsea McDonald

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form without written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the authors’ imaginations or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Artwork by © MG Book Covers

  Formatting by Lou J Stock

  Editing by Amanda Williams

  Disclaimer: The following story contains sexual situations and strong language, it is intended for adult readers only.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Follow Molly Storm

  Follow Chelsea McDonald

  Coming Soon from Chelsea:

  Coming Soon from Molly:

  Tyler

  My throat vibrates with the small growl I release in frustration, one that I can’t control. My patience has officially worn off as I sit, alone, in the booth of the almost empty pizzeria.

  I raise my phone to check the time once again. It’s well past eleven. The sight only makes me huff and slam my phone back down on the table. Stefan should’ve been here before now. Can I really blame anyone but myself for falling for my little brother’s lies? Again. I let myself get tricked into it every time, and every time it’s the same shit.

  Wasn’t it Einstein that said, ‘insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result’? Well, sign me up for the crazy train because that right there just about sums up my entire relationship with my brother. I get the same call every time, I know how it’s going to end and yet, something in me still expects a different result.

  A small part of me - my heart? Maybe my soul? - is still hanging on to the past. No matter how hard I try to push my old life away, my brother is my one weakness. Not my dad, my mom, or even my baby sister.

  I moved from Los Angeles to Memphis nearly six months ago. I had no trouble cutting ties and dropping off the face of the earth. I’m under no illusion that my family doesn't know where I am. With the wealth behind my family’s name, comes knowledge. I just pray they’ll never visit and enforce their hell over the people of Memphis.

  I decided to give my brother another half hour before I hit the road, only because I love him. He’s the biggest screw up I know, but we’ve always been close, he’s the one person who showed me the meaning of unconditional love.

  We had a rough time of it growing up. Being the eldest child, my parents had been harshest on me, but I preferred it that way - it protected my siblings. I hadn’t understood why they were so harsh on me until I got a little older - when Dad started taking me around the office. He’d say he was showing me the ropes; I’d say he was punishing me. The hatred that still burns in my veins reverberates as a shiver as my mind flashbacks.

  The day before my eighteenth birthday, I finally stressed to my father that I wasn’t going to be the next head of the family. Like I knew he wouldn’t, he didn’t react well. That night I packed a bag and headed east on my bike, I’ve never stopped looking over my shoulder since.

  It’s been years, but I’ve managed to keep myself pretty up to date on the Michaels family activities. My sister, Ivy, had grown to inherit the business - her bitch streak obviously winning her the role. We had never been close; she was a bully that I’d chosen to ignore. On the opposite end of the spectrum was my little brother, Stefan. He was always the happiest kid on the block, that’s the way I like to remember him, not the drug-obsessed lowlife that he’d become over the years.

  As his thirty minutes come to an end with no sign of him anywhere in sight, I know it’s time to head home. I’ve waited long enough, given up enough of my precious time waiting on him. He’ll contact me again tomorrow spewing his excuses, but for right now, I couldn’t give less of a shit.

  I feel let down and hopeless, again. I release a resigned breath. But as I mount my bike, I decide to drop into Sal’s for a drink. It’s a Saturday night, meaning all the Sapphires will be out. They say they like to keep big Sal company on the weekends, but the place couldn’t be more packed. I hear the music from the street, maybe even some of the guys drunkenly singing along. I shake my head to myself but smile as I enter.

  It is in-fact packed, and not only with half-drunk-off-their-ass Sapphires either. It seems Sal’s is a local hot spot for Saturday night talent too. Hmm, useful knowledge, it’s been a while since I got my dick wet. My eyes scan the crowd and the hustling dancefloor off to the right, it’s a sea of short dresses and guys with their button-ups tucked in. Luckily, I won’t need to venture that far into the room.

  The sight makes my head double take. Put a wall down the middle and it could almost be two completely different clubs. Generally, I know Sal’s wouldn’t be my scene. I snag a barstool regardless and order a beer - it won’t be enough to dull my mind, but two or three might. Hopefully.

  From my spot I have a clear view of both TVs, one hanging at each end of the bar. The one to my right has the news for the few suited men huddled in a booth. I flick my gaze to the other, hoping for something, anything, more appealing.

  I’m not the current affairs type. For one, as a child, I was told I wasn’t ever allowed to watch the news. And of course, now there’s a good chance that their reports are about me. Or the Sapphires’, at least. Fair enough we are the devils behind some bad shit around these parts, I’ll admit to that. But they’d be shocked at the amount of what they report is actually from other gangs in the surrounding areas. We get the blame for a lot more than we’re responsible for.

  The other screen holds the highlights from this afternoons’ rugby game. I’m not a massive sports fan but I like to keep up to date on my rugby team if nothing else. I was at home this afternoon when the game was on; the announcers always made for great background noise as I worked on hacking into the local PD online database.

  I settle myself into watching the highlight reel as the pounding overhead music blocks out the commentators. The seats on either side of me start to fill up, eating up my personal space. Taking a long pull from my bottle, I let my nerves settle themselves with a slight buzz from the beer.

  A twirl of blonde hair catches in my peripheral vision, but I don’t see what happens next. A sharp jab to my side knocks the neck of the bottle from my lips, the liquid splashes on the counter that my elbows are resting on.

  I hold in a groan of annoyance just as the woman next to me turns to me fully. I’m glad to have held my tongue as I get a full view of a blonde goddess. She rushes to apologize but my jaw may as well be resting on the floor by now. “Oops. Sorry about that, didn’t see you there.”

  Her eyes flash before scanning me up and down, “I didn’t get any on you, did I?”

  My ego shrinks massively as I realize her eyes roaming me wasn’t her checking me out like I’d thought, she was only checking for signs of spillage. “No, it’s f
ine,” I confirm that I am, indeed, stain-free.

  After a moment, I feel her lean in closer. She’s definitely crossing some personal boundaries; ones I always assume girls like her have. Her warm breath fans my neck as she says, “What’s your star sign?”

  My eyes are pulled away from the screen again as I turn to face her. Her face is the picture of innocence as she sips on her straw. Her light green eyes stare right back at me. I know I have her complete attention. I’m unsure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I was just sitting here, minding my own business but, under her gaze, maybe ignoring her presence was the wrong route after all. I feel my eyes squint as I recall her question, “my what now?”

  Her lips stretch from a small smile to a half-smile, half-smirk. I get the feeling she wants to laugh at me. She fakes a frustrated moan before rephrasing. “Uh. When were you born?”

  “Seriously? You don’t even know my name, but you want my birth date?” Her left eyebrow raises higher and higher as I speak. I've not even finished my question and I know, for my own good, I’d better answer her despite my objections. “November 1st.”

  She bursts into laughter, the suddenness catching me off guard. What the fuck! This chick is crazy. My eyes look around us to find she’s captured the eye of those around us.

  “You’re a Scorpio! Aww dude, such a shame. We could’ve had something.” She tuts sadly while shaking out her blonde curls.

  What is she even talking about? “A Scorpio? Why’s that bad?”

  “That’s probably the worst answer you could’ve given me.” Her musical voice rings through me. I immediately want to hear more of it.

  “Oh, yeah?” I challenge, I still have little-to-no idea what she’s talking about.

  She makes a sing-song noise of agreement. “You and I? We’re not a good match.”

  “Is this how you turn all the guys down? Seems like a lot of effort, almost makes me feel special.” I feel like she’s the kind of girl who responds well to teasing.

  “Why waste time on someone if there’s no way we’re going to be a good match. I’m sorry.” She looks away and then meets my gaze again, lips pouting softly. “If it makes you feel any better, I was rooting for you.”

  I don’t even know her name and she’s already able to drive me wild? No way was I letting her go this easily.

  “Come on, just one dance?” I ask. I flick to bargaining pretty quickly. “I promise, if you still don’t think we’re a match by the end, I’ll leave you alone - completely.” I’m saying the words, but I have no idea how I’d stick to them. Her persona is part good witch and part wicked witch, and all of it draws you in. I find myself wondering who she feels more comfortable being.

  She laughs, tossing her golden hair over a bare shoulder. Her parting words ring in my ears.

  “This was fate’s decision, not mine.”

  Jessica

  It’s the waiting that kills me more than anything. Why does it take so long to get results back from tests? It doesn’t matter what test it is, from a pregnancy test to a school exam, the waiting time is killer.

  Trust me, I’ve been through both and one is certainly worse than the other. I wonder if they do it on purpose, maybe at school to be cruel, but with a medical exam? It’s unlikely, I suppose.

  I feel my teeth grinding as I settle myself back down on the couch. Pacing isn’t helping at all, it’s seemed to have only encouraged my nerves.

  This is ridiculous!

  I know in my rational brain that I won’t hear back from the doctor for a while, it could be days or it could be weeks. Hell! My appointment for my scan was only this morning. But there’s a small part of my erratic mind that won’t let me think of anything else.

  I do the only rational thing; I move into the kitchen and reach for an open bottle of wine - the comfort food of distressed women. I pour myself a large glass and after curling back up on the couch I flick through the channels on the telly.

  I stop on ‘The Simpsons’ and pull out my phone - the background noise is calming. Maybe it’s that I remember watching it religiously as a kid, or maybe it’s just that it’s easy to listen to - whatever it is, it’s working for me.

  After fruitfully scrolling through Facebook for ten minutes, I feel myself growing increasingly bored and switch to Instagram. And then Twitter.

  Ugh. I’m so damn lame. It’s a Friday night, for goodness’ sake. But I don’t feel like going out, I’m fine just pouring myself another large glass of wine. There’s no doubt that I’ll be finishing the bottle tonight, I may even need to open a second. Hmm, it’s a tempting thought.

  Maybe sitting alone with a fully stocked liquor cabinet wasn’t the best plan for the night. My other alternative is to call up a friend, but it feels too late to call Tammy. She may be my best friend since forever ago, but even she probably wouldn’t dump whatever hot date she has tonight for me. Little ol’ lonely - read: pathetic - me.

  Scrolling through my messages, I click on Tammy, about to send her a distress signal. I might as well try my luck. My horoscope was pretty favorable today after all…

  I need you. Please bring wine.

  After staring at the words for a minute, I start to reconsider. At the last second, I delete the message and look for a new contact entirely. I’m in need of comfort, but maybe a comfort that Tammy couldn’t give me.

  Just a text. One text, that’s all I need. Just to know that he’s there. He always seems to know just what I need, what will make me feel better without even knowing that there’s something wrong. It’s been like that since the first night we met.

  Hey. - Jess

  Jess? - Tyler

  What’s up? - Jess

  Are you feeling okay? - Tyler

  Whatever illness you’ve got, I like it. - Tyler

  What. The. Actual. Fuck!

  Excuse me?! - Jess

  How the fuck did he know?

  My mind is blown. I frantically scroll up through our past conversations as I mentally run through the times we’ve talked - I didn’t mention anything, did I? Surely not!

  I assume you must be ill on account of you texting me. - Tyler

  I’m so confused. I text you all the time dummy. - Jess

  Correction. You text me back all the time. Does it surprise you to know that this is the first time you’ve initiated contact? ;) - Tyler

  I think about it for a minute. There’s a good possibility that he’s right. Shit! Have I really never texted him first before? What a weird thing for him to have noticed. Why would he even care who texts whom first?

  Well, that’s not entirely true. I spoke to you first, the first time we met :P - Jess

  Touche. - Tyler

  So, seriously, how was your day? Is everything alright? - Tyler

  I can’t reply straight away. I don’t have a ready-to-go answer for him. I panic after a minute of silence. Desperate not to let our flirty conversation end there, I rush to think of something - anything that will keep him talking, without embarrassing myself or revealing too much.

  Quiet, long, pretty boring. And yes, everything is fine. But thanks for asking :) - Jess

  I long to say more. To ask about his day, about what he’s been up to. But I can’t, that’s one of the rules we put in place when we first met. At the time, I didn’t want to know, and he didn’t want to tell me. But somehow, over the time we’ve spent together, I’ve become more curious about his life - there’s a whole side of him that I haven’t even seen.

  He does a good job at keeping his biker business separate from me, maybe even too good a job. I still don’t want to know, but I’d like for him to be able to talk to me about anything, including the nitty-gritty.

  I’d say that I’ve changed my standing on the rule, but it makes me wonder if he has as well. Or, if he’s okay with how things are between us. I only wish I had the courage to broach the subject, actually have a real conversation about it with him.

  Do you want me to swing by later? - Tyler

 
His text causes my hand to freeze as it brings the glass to my lips. Immediately I want to type back, begging him to come over now. But the small part of my brain that still has sense makes me stop to ponder it. I like talking to him; the sex is amazing and I swear I could just sit and stare at him all night long. But that freaks me out, that’s the problem - the reason why I can’t get clingy. He’s too good to be true.

  And besides, am I really in the right frame of mind to be around him right now? He’ll know something is wrong the moment he sees me. All in all, this relationship is too casual to be unloading all of my fertility drama on him.

  I sigh as I bring my palms to my face. How cruel the gods can be! This guy, this perfect guy who makes me smile and makes my heart skip a beat, is just out of reach. Close enough to get a taste, but far enough away that I know I’ll never have more of him.

  Thanks, but I think I’m going to turn in early. - Jess

  Okay. - Tyler

  His one-word answer has me feeling guilty. Did I set him up to fall there?

  Sorry. How about tomorrow night? - Jess

  Sounds like a date x - Tyler

  His text makes me laugh. It’s impressive how easily he gets away with being a cheeky shithead. It’s got to be because he’s cute.

  I’ll see you then, 7 o’clock? - Jess

  Oh, you’ll definitely be seeing me. And I look forward to seeing all of you ;) - Tyler

  I immediately wish we could backtrack, that I could invite him over tonight, after all. I feel heat rise to my cheeks, I can imagine my face changing color with the sensation. I feel needy for him already. It’s a weakness of mine, being too bold over text - which more often than not leaves me wanting to bury myself under the biggest boulder I can find. As hiding for eternity isn’t an option, I think I’ll just top up my glass.