by Mara McQueen
Because if he wasn't in serious danger, then why the hell didn't he call her?
She’d been slowly going out of her mind with worry. So, yesterday, she'd caved.
Underwood, through some inexplicable circumstances, had become pen pals with Mrs. Bolton. They wrote emails to each other and called every other day, making sure the other was doing well and eating right.
Surviving a madwoman brought people together, she guessed.
So Olivia had swallowed her pride and asked Underwood to pry the truth out of Mrs. Bolton. Where was Kieran and was he okay?
"Abbate," Milo had sighed into the phone. He took his sweet time to get the words out, even as Olivia's heart had raced so hard and fast, she was sure everyone in the neighborhood had heard it. "Mrs. Bolton says he's fine. He visits her every other day and always brings flowers. She says Kieran instructed her not to tell anyone where she lives now, but she's okay. And the git's alright, too."
The first few seconds after the call, Olivia had only felt a deep happiness. Kieran was alive and well in London. But then disappointment sunk, in deep and fast, and still hadn't vanished.
He was okay, but he hadn't called her. Not once.
Olivia forced her legs to finally move when a cold breeze snaked through the building's foyer. Summer was almost over, and all Olivia had to look forward to were the grey, miserable days of autumn.
She entered her apartment, quickly closing the three extra locks she'd installed—by herself, thank you very much—as soon as she'd gotten back. She rested her back against the door, banging her head slowly.
Stupid. Stupid for believing Kieran when he'd said he wouldn’t just disappear on her. Bullshit.
If he had enough time to visit his grandma every other day, he could bloody dial Olivia's number on the way there and talk for three minutes. Didn't she deserve at least three minutes of his day?
Apparently not. Olivia clenched her jaw. This was her worst fear come to life. She'd been afraid Kieran would forget all about her as soon as he got out of Bolton Manor. The bastard had done just that.
All those promises. All those whispers that now made her heart clench. All those daydreams of her waking up one day to see him at her door, wicked smile on his face as he gazed at her with those eyes of his that now haunted her.
Reality had finally come crashing down and it was ugly. And lonely. And numbing.
Olivia kicked her door. What kind of a man paid her student debts—all two-hundred plus thousand dollars of it— and saved her life one week, then forgot she existed the next?
This was ridiculous. Kieran owed her an explanation.
Olivia marched into her apartment, straight for the old shoe box hidden underneath her creaky floorboard. She took its lid off, revealing the envelope. The one she'd been filling up with money these past two weeks to pay Kieran back for her student debt. She'd been scrimping at every corner so she could to pay him back.
And what did he do? He ignored her, that's what. The numbness no longer consumed Olivia. She was mad. Mad was good. Mad meant action.
With the envelope of cash in one hand spurring her on, she grabbed her phone and dialed the number the bastard had said was only for her.
"This is only going to be for us," he'd written. And Olivia, being a love-stricken fool, had believed him. Had even thought it was oh-so-romantic.
Well, she was in no mood for romance now. All she wanted was to chew Kieran's head off.
She pressed the phone to her ear, pacing between her thumb-sized couch and the even smaller kitchen counter-top, already imagining all the things she wanted to say to him.
"The number you have dialed has been disconnected."
Olivia's heart seized. Impossible. Kieran was many things, but he wasn't a coward.
Maybe she had misdialed. Her old phone had an attitude problem. It was bound to miss a number or two.
Ignoring the burning pain in her chest at seeing the emblem of the hotel where they’d spent their last night together, Olivia dug into the envelope, taking out the last note Kieran left her.
She dialed the number again. Then rechecked it three times. Then called again.
"The number you have dialed—"
Olivia's hands went limp at her sides. The envelope slipped between her shaky fingers, landing on the floor. The money slipped out, as if mocking Olivia.
The room spun out of control. Olivia barely managed to move her wobbly feet enough to fall onto the sofa, mind wiring out of control.
A lie. Everything between her and Kieran had been a lie.
He didn't want to talk to her. He didn't want to see her. He didn't want her. Hell, he didn't even want the money she owed him.
The son of a bitch had cut all ties with her and vanished.
THE END
THANK YOU for delving into the BEWARE THE WICKED NIGHT’s twisted world with me!
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Olivia and Kieran’s adventures are NOT over yet!
Want to know how their wicked story ends?
Check out the other books in the BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE Dark Contemporary Gothic Romance series:
BEWARE THE WICKED HEIR (BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE SERIES BOOK 1)
A Dark Contemporary Gothic Romance
BEWARE THE WICKED NIGHT (BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE SERIES BOOK 1.5)
A Dark Contemporary Gothic Romance Novella
BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE (BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE SERIES BOOK 2)
A Dark Contemporary Gothic Romance Novel
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON KINDLE ON JULY 23RD
Scroll down for an excerpt from the next book in the BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE series.
Want more Dark Contemporary Gothic Romance?
Check out my upcoming TAME THE TARGET (THE SYNDICATE’S REVENGE BOOK #1) A Dark Contemporary Mafia Romance
AVAILABLE ON AMAZON KINDLE IN JUNE 2020
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Mara McQueen writes hot and twisted Contemporary Gothic Romance. She loves her books with heart, heat, and humor and she's never written a bad boy she couldn't redeem.
Her heroes are secretive, her heroines and stubborn, and when they meet on the page, sparks fly.
When she's not writing, Mara can't resist a good cup of tea, a piece of decadent dark chocolate or Netflix marathons.
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SCROLL DOWN to read the first two chapters of BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE
BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE
A Dark Contemporary Gothic Romance
BEWARE THE WICKED LOVE SERIES BOOK 2
CHAPTER 1
Olivia Abbate was in a mood. The mood. Strong enough to darken the already gloomy sky trying its best to ruin the hairdo she’d been forced to overpay for. The merciless wind had turned her rainbow umbrella upside down twice, and one of the spires was drooping. Icy rain slithered down her wrist.
This crummy November afternoon had drained her. She’d finally sold that small flat near the museum to a lovely dimple-faced woman with a horrid boyfriend who only knew how to tsk and grimace. Olivia hoped his ass would get dumped before moving day—and that her commission would pop into her bank account soon. Most
of her real estate agent colleagues might’ve stuck up their noses at the small amount of money, but every single penny counted for Olivia.
No sale too small. And she’d learned her lesson when it came to big listings three months ago.
Olivia gritted her teeth. Thinking about Bolton Manor was useless. It only made her eat more ice-cream. She’d promised herself and Janice—the office receptionist and the only person who could eat her weight in sugar and still have perfect teeth—to stop that. But she couldn’t. Every time she remembered what a fool she’d been, how she’d hoped and dreamed and trusted—all because of a man who didn’t deserve any of that—all she wanted to do was lash out. Couldn’t do that, so ice-cream it was.
God, Olivia was hungry. And so very pissed off. Two of her listings had fallen through today, no reason given. And the house tour she’d had to give at four PM? Yeah, the potential buyers asked to move it to two thirty and they called to tell her that when they’d already arrived at the property.
So Olivia had rushed to the other side of Leeds, ate her only meal while running in heels—and had a mustard stain and a chipped heel to prove it. After that abysmal tour, where the buyers had hated everything, including the neighbors’ kitten sleeping on the fence. Then the rain came as she wobbled back to her apartment, no taxi in sight.
So here she was, on a Friday night, in all her glory—sodden shoes, mustard-stained blouse, foul mood, walking to her small, empty apartment. In the rain.
Olivia planned on spending her entire weekend in the tub. Alone. And with that one word, memories of Bolton Manor started flooding her mind again.
No. Olivia shook her head. Everything that had happened three months ago had been a mistake. The words, the touches, the promises. Especially the promises. The ones Kieran—goddamned—Bolton had made her. The ones Olivia had believed, like a love-sick fool. Then reality had come crashing back. He’d vanished in the night, promising to contact her. He never did. No messages for her, no missed calls, not even an email.
Fine.
Olivia had gotten through life by herself for long enough. No point in wallowing for what might have been. She was the only one who could change her life, and she planned on doing just that.
Leeds had done its job. It had shaped her into a decent real estate agent, disappointing her along the way. It was time to move on to greener, pricier pastures. She was pinching left and right to save enough money to move to London. Four more sales and she’d be on her way. Hopefully the loneliness wouldn’t follow.
Thunder rumbled above. Olivia swooped underneath the brick arch in front of her building, shoulders sagging. Today was finally over. She rested her back against the darkened alcove entrance and shook the last of the damn rain out of her umbrella.
Deep breaths. Now that she was out of the downpour, she forced a smile on her face. Another sale, that’s all that mattered. One more step toward her big move. Toward a new beginning. Toward a life. At least a fulfilling one. If she could—
Olivia felt him before she saw him. The hairs on her arm stood up as she whipped around. Leaning against the glass and wrought iron door, cloaked in the shadows, was the man she’d tried so hard to forget, but couldn’t. And he had that same grin on his face.
Kieran Bolton.
CHAPTER 2
“What the devil are you doing here?” Great. After three damn months, that’s the first thing Olivia said. Fine, growled.
“Enjoying one of Leeds’ many, many beautiful sights.” Kieran leaned back even further. It might’ve been her imagination, but his voice had gotten deeper. Raspier.
The wind picked up behind her, making the silence that much more painful. She’d imagined this moment so many times. Apologies, explanations. Sometimes she threw him out of her apartment, other times, well, they wouldn’t leave her bed for days. But her imagination had never conjured this festering silence digging into her chest.
The few parts of him Olivia could see beyond the darkness were as perfect as she remembered. Lean body dressed in a black suit, languorous and enticing. The ends of his dark hair still not following the rules of gravity.
Olivia forced herself to stay still and not run up to him and shake his shoulders until he told her why. Why he’d left without saying goodbye to her face. Why he hadn’t called.
“How’s Mrs. Bolton?” she asked, trying to break the stillness and focus on something—anything—other than his long, lean hands. She still couldn’t see his eyes, protected by the shadows.
“Better. Safe.” He sighed, his chest falling and rising slowly. “Our favorite couple has been asking about you.”
Olivia licked her teeth. Had he talked to everyone who’d been at Bolton Manor, apart from her? “Oh, so you’ve been chatting with Sarah and Martin. Have you also been having brunch with Addie?”
“As much as that would brighten my entire existence,” he said sarcastically. “Her new boyfriend’s been having some legal issues up North. She’s there for moral support.”
“You must be devastated not to see her every day.”
“I’m an absolute wreck.” Kieran laughed low in his throat. God, Olivia loved hearing that sound again. Get a grip, Olivia. He was a bastard and she needed to remember that. “I’ve missed you.”
Olivia froze. There he went, saying things like that—things she’d been dreaming about hearing for months—after he’d vanished on her. Those sweet words only stung now. “What are you doing here, Kieran?”
They both sighed. Damn it. They shouldn’t be this in sync. Olivia hoped none of her building neighbors would chose this exact moment to satisfy their annoying curiosity, especially the new guy. They’d feel the tension in the air. They’d see the way she was looking at Kieran.
“I need your help, Olivia,” he finally said, the words shaken.
The wrong words. Again. Olivia crossed her hands in front of her chest, willing herself to remain firm. “No. You can’t do this. You can’t disappear for months, then show up in front of my building, in the damn rain—”
“You know I love drama.”
“No.” She gritted her teeth. “We’re not doing this cutesy, inside joke thing. Not anymore.”
A beat of silence passed, and Olivia swore she could hear her own erratic heart trying to beat itself out of her chest.
Stay firm. He messed up once, he’ll mess up again. You deserve better.
“You liked it before,” he said, barely above a whisper.
Yeah, and those memories still made her heart ache. “Would’ve loved it over the phone.”
Olivia shook her head. What was she doing? Flinging accusations left and right, letting emotions get the best of her. This wasn’t going well at all, was it? She was too tired, he had too much nerve, and it would only break them more. Or break her.
“I can’t do this. Not now. We’ll talk later, when I’m not cold, and your head isn’t so big, and—” Olivia ran a hand through her damp hair. She must’ve looked a mess. “Just not now.”
Olivia forced her feet to move, fast and hard, before he said something else. She yanked her keys out, not looking at him. One of his deep, tempting glances and an unforgettable conversation had gotten her into this trouble back at Bolton Manor. Olivia wasn’t the fastest learner when it came to feelings, but she wasn’t about to make the same mistake with him.
She pushed the key into the lock and had already swung the building’s door halfway open when Kieran stepped into the blurry light, cold fingers gently wrapping around her wrist.
That’s when Olivia saw everything.
His clammy skin. His rumpled, stained clothes. The gash across his brow. His drained face. The tremors. He was barely standing up.
“Olivia,” he whispered. “Please.”
Next thing she knew, Kieran Bolton, the wicked heir and the most dangerous man she’d ever known, fell into her arms.
