Shadowed Heart: A Dark Reverse Harem Romance (A Death So Sweet Book 1)

by Candace Wondrak

  I… I didn’t know. At one point in time, I would’ve gladly taken death, but now?

  I didn’t know, but I liked to think I rocked the fucking song, anyway, because when I finished, when I opened my eyes and saw Newton and Carter standing there, they watched me with expressions that said it all. They were rapt. Even grumpy Carter.

  Neither man said anything, so I leaned in closer to the mic, whispering, “Do you want me to sing another, or…” I let my voice trail off on purpose.

  Newton shook his head. “No, my dear, no. Why don’t you have a drink from the bar while I speak with Aaron in the back?”

  What could I do besides nod my head in agreement? Both men waited until I walked off the stage to head into a side door together, where I assumed an office sat, where they would sit down and hammer out the details—which, for whatever reason, I would not be privy to, even though it was my voice and my face they’d be using.

  Carter didn’t want to go back there with him, to leave me alone out here, but what could he do? It wasn’t like he could tell Newton that I was the very opposite of a free woman, that I belonged to the Lucianos and leaving me out here alone would give me the opportunity to run away…

  Again, he had no choice but to go, but to leave me in the club, all alone.

  They disappeared, though Carter did toss a look back at me, wordlessly telling me if I hightailed it out of here, he would make sure I regretted it. I stood there for a while, knowing I should be a good girl and do as Newton had said: get myself a drink and down it all.

  Something in my throat caught.

  I wasn’t a good girl. If I was, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have left that fancy house in such a mess, wouldn’t have stalked the nights and made men regret taking my not-so-drunk ass home. I wouldn’t get as much pleasure as I did from feeling pain or giving it to someone else.

  No, I was not a good girl, and I very rarely made good choices, so I did the only thing I could.

  I turned on my heels and left the club, telling the bouncers I needed some air.

  They didn’t stop me, because who was I to them? Just a girl. Just some talent with a pretty face. They had no idea I belonged to the family Carter worked for, that I was not allowed to go anywhere by myself anymore—not even the fucking toilet or shower, though, thank fuck, Viper and Mike knew better than to stare at me while I was shitting.

  When I made it outside, the sun shining on my blonde head, I didn’t stand there and wait. I kept walking, my heels taking me down the sidewalk. I couldn’t fight the nagging feeling in my head, like I was three seconds from losing what little I had left of my mind, so I had to get out of there. I had to get as far away from it all as I could.

  I crossed the street, heading to the opposite sidewalk, my pace quick. I didn’t know how long I walked, but eventually the buildings grew smaller, less big-time business and more mom-and-pop. The sidewalks grew busier, too.

  I heard a whistle, but I kept going, not daring to stop. If I did, things wouldn’t be pretty.

  The whistle grew louder, as if the man, whoever the fuck he was, had decided to trail after me, to follow me. “Where are you going, hmm?” The man whispered, purring out the words as if I wouldn’t be able to resist him.

  I ignored him, but he didn’t like that. The man grabbed my arm, stopping me, as if I owed him something. As if I owed him my time, to look at him, to give him anything. I was slow to look at him, at the hand curled around my lower arm.

  Just a man. Fifty or so, maybe. Greying hair, wrinkly face. I could smell the tobacco off him. He’d been hanging around the front of one of the local storefronts and took it upon himself to chase me, as if my appearance was too much of a lure to him.

  “I said, where are you going?” he repeated.

  Again, I said nothing, my mind racing, that nausea deep inside only growing.

  “Need an escort?” The man chuckled after saying it, loosening his grip on me but not entirely letting go. The other people walking on the sidewalk steered clear of us, not a single person meeting either of our eyes or lifting a finger to help.

  People were fucking assholes. I hated them all.

  When I continued to say nothing, he added, “A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be walking the streets alone… unless you’re a corner girl—in which case, I got fifty bucks in my pocket and a car a block away—”

  The man didn’t get a chance to say anything more, because I curled my other hand into a fist and punched his throat.

  He wheezed, finally releasing his grip on me, my skin all sweaty and tingly where he’d touched me. The man took a step back, coughing, glaring at me. “You fucking bitch.” And since he clearly didn’t know what was good for him, he came at me.

  I might be in heels, I might be in a skintight dress and look like a woman who needed a man to protect her, but I could take care of myself just fine.

  He lunged for me, and I sidestepped him. My movement was stifled a bit in the dress, but I managed. Before he was able to turn, I swept a heeled foot out, kicking his ankle and causing him to lose his balance.

  My blood ran hot in my body, my anger blinding me. I tackled him to the concrete below, resting a knee on his precious dick and punching him hard in the stomach. We had a crowd around us now, but I didn’t care.

  There was nothing worse than a man who thought I owed him shit because I walked by looking pretty. Nothing at all.

  Everything happened in a blur after that. I might’ve gone a little Rambo on the guy, snapped a finger or two when he tried to grab the back of my head and pull me off him, might’ve made him a little bloody by punching his face so much. The fucker was lucky I didn’t have a knife on me, otherwise I would’ve carved out his guts and strangled him with them.

  Think I was joking? I wasn’t. I’d always wondered whether intestines felt like wet sausage links, because they sure as shit looked like it in the movies.

  I didn’t know how long I was attacking him, but it was a while, long enough for flashing lights to arrive, long enough for a man in a uniform to haul me off him and shove me in the back of his car. I was pretty sure I was being arrested, but since it had never happened before, I wasn’t quite certain.

  That little stunt might’ve fucked everything up, but you know what? I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all.

  Breathing out quite evenly, I leaned towards the policeman driving us to the station and said, “Hey, when you get a chance, can you give the Lucianos a call?” Dropping their name would tell me whether or not this particular man was loyal to them.

  His eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and I knew right then and there: he was. He was one of the dirty cops the Lucianos had under their thumb, just as they had me. I wasn’t going to be processed. If I had to bet, I’d say I’d be waiting at the station for someone to pick me up.

  Chapter Fourteen – Lola

  Sylvester was the one who picked me up from the police station, and he wasn’t happy. He kept throwing glares at me, which I ignored dutifully as I stared at my reflection in the window. You’d think, after going ballistic on that guy, my makeup would’ve smeared or something, but it didn’t. A bit of blood splattered on my cheeks was the worse there was, along with the red on my hands.

  That policeman had told me to go wash it off, but I refused.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” Sylvester growled, his knuckles white as he drove. “You could’ve ruined everything, Lola. Everything. Is that what you want?” He sounded as if he was scolding me, yelling at me, like I should care what he said.

  The answer to his question was, of course: I didn’t know, but I didn’t say it aloud. I kept quiet.

  “You’re lucky as hell Carter called and said Newton wants you.” He shot a glare my way. “You’re lucky that policeman called me and not my father, otherwise you’d be dead.”

  At that, I turned to stare at him, breaking away from my reflection. “You’re not going to tell him?”

  He made a sharp right turn, pulling us in
to an alleyway and parking the car, turning his entire body toward me before answering, “If I tell him, he’ll kill you.” A short response, as if that told me all I needed to know.

  But it didn’t, because that didn’t tell me why it mattered, why me living past today meant anything.

  “I thought that was the whole point of this?” I asked, my voice quiet. “I thought you killing me was the whole point, Sylvester. Why protect me? Why lie to your father for me?” I didn’t ask him to, nor would I ever.

  “You…” He trailed off, reaching for me. He ended up grabbing my shoulder, snaking his fingers toward my neck and pulling me closer to him, across the center console of the vehicle. “A part of me hates you. A part of me wants to see you burn in hell for what you did to Mario.” The fingers around the back of my neck tightened, and I bit my lower lip, anything but afraid.

  No, a hand around my neck didn’t scare me, but his words… his words just might.

  “But another part of me feels the opposite,” Sylvester went on, his face inches from mine. “Do you think I wanted to send you out with Carter? Do you think I want you to go anywhere where I can’t keep an eye on you? Do you think that I want to see you on your knees for anyone but me?”

  This… this was too real. This was halfway between a confession of love and a confession of obsession, of domination, of absolute and total control.

  And, what was worse? My gut felt all hot and warm, my thighs squeezing together beneath my dress.

  “I’m not telling my father,” he whispered, “because I can’t let you go, Lola.” He pulled me closer, slamming his mouth on mine and sucking the breath out of my lungs, suffocating any moans that might’ve slipped from my mouth and devouring them in his heat and desire.

  The hand left the back of my neck, undoing my seatbelt so he could pull my body over to his lap. Hard to do, since I was in a dress, but he didn’t let that stop him. With a growl, he grabbed the bottom of my dress and tore it, ripping the seam right up the side and allowing me to spread my legs and straddle him.

  “I need you,” he murmured against my lips, nibbling the bottom one. “I need you so much more than I should.” His cock was already hard, eager to dip inside me, and I felt him working at his belt and his pants to let it out.

  I didn’t stop him, because I didn’t want to. Sylvester—and by extension his family—drove me batshit crazy, and I was already crazy to begin with.

  Reaching down between us, I pulled my panties to the side once I felt his dick free and lowered myself onto it, letting out a low groan as he filled me. He grabbed my face, holding me still, forcing me to look at him while his cock was in me, while we fucked in this dingy alleyway.

  He couldn’t really move much, so it was up to me to grind along that dick. I had no idea why he was so intent as gazing into my eyes, why he had to look at me. Maybe he was hoping to see something in their blue depths; maybe he wanted to see that his feelings were reciprocated. A man like him might be able to love, but me?

  I… I didn’t know what I felt, if I was even capable of feelings like those. My ability to love another, to truly love and not just lust after someone else, might’ve been shot to hell thanks to mommy and daddy dearest.

  And, of course, that other person who I refused to think about.

  Sylvester brought my head closer to his, leaning our foreheads together as we fucked like animals in the car. My skin was on fire, and the majority of me wore nothing; I had no idea how he could fuck in a suit. Just seemed too stifling and oppressive.

  My breath was short, the fire inside me burning brightly, hotly. I felt like exploding. He dropped his hands, finding my hips, guiding my pace, helping me to quicken it. Up and down I went, over and over until I edged us both to an orgasm. A dirty, sweaty, confused orgasm.

  Don’t get me wrong, it felt great—my body was on cloud nine—but I was so fucking confused, I hated it.

  We were both out of breath as I pulled my body off his, adjusted my panties, and climbed back into my own seat. Sylvester stuffed himself away, glancing at me. “I… I picked you up something. It’s in the glove compartment.”

  I ignored the fact that his cum would be seeping out and staining my panties, leaning forward and opening the compartment to see just what the hell he was talking about while he put the car in reverse and backed out onto the road.

  My eyes landed on it, and I knew what it was immediately. Just because I’d never been on it before didn’t mean shit; it was something every girl knew. As I gazed down at it, my throat closed up, and I knew I would not be able to speak, even if I tried to.

  Pills. A packet of pills sat in front of me. Birth control, one of the most common methods, besides a good, old-fashioned condom. Girls who could get pregnant had to worry about all that shit.

  Okay, I know what you’re thinking. I was one of those sad women who couldn’t ever feel fulfilled in their life because they couldn’t get pregnant, because they were barren or whatever. A woman who spent her nights wondering what it would be like to feel kicking in her belly and push a watermelon out of her vagina.

  No. No, no, and—I could not stress this enough—no. Fuck no. That ain’t me. I wasn’t one of those women. I didn’t want a kid, nor did I feel like my life would be useless if I never had one. To each her own, you know? If you wanted a kid, great, go have one or two, and if you didn’t, just fucking use protection. Do whatever the fuck you want with your own life, you know?

  And, anyway, I knew I was not mother material. I didn’t want to spend hours pushing out a wailing, bloody baby while pissing and shitting myself, all to be forced to take care of it for the next eighteen to twenty-five years—probably the latter, being realistic in this economy.

  It wasn’t like I had a good mother to look up to, either. I didn’t have a good role model for what a good mother would be. She had been, quite literally, the worst mother in the world. If there was a shitty mother award, she’d been the receiver of it annually since I was born.

  Until she died, I meant.

  “I know it’s late, but… my father will absolutely flip his shit if we end up getting you pregnant,” Sylvester spoke. “I hope to God you’re not already, but with how often you’ve been with us… we’ll handle it, either way.”

  I supposed I could’ve said something then, told him he didn’t have to worry about any of that, that I didn’t need the pills he’d picked up for me, nor would I ever need to go to a doctor to get it taken care of.

  Did I, though? No, I couldn’t open my mouth, too busy gazing down at the pack of pills on my lap.

  They were just pills. Only pills. Twenty-eight little round things, twenty-one of them white, and seven of them brown. Teeny, tiny things that shouldn’t make me feel like I was losing it, but they did.

  They made my skin itch and the blood in my veins freeze, a change from how I’d felt mere moments ago when I’d been on top of Sylvester, fucking him like an animal who couldn’t get enough.

  Why the fuck couldn’t things just stay the way they were? Why get me the pills, why care about lying to his father for me? Why try to keep me around for longer? I wasn’t worth it. I’d tell Sylvester that, I’d fucking shout it into his face, but my voice wouldn’t come. That lump in my throat only grew as the car ride wore on, as I continued to stare at the pills.

  He might’ve kept talking, I didn’t know. I couldn’t hear him. My ears had shut off, my brain going wild. Fucking wild. I zoned out; he could’ve been spilling his deepest, darkest secrets to me, and I wouldn’t have heard any of them because I was too lost in my own head.

  A dangerous place to be, you see. The most dangerous, broken place there was.

  I liked to think I had everything together, that I was the person I fought so hard to be, the Night Slayer, the girl who didn’t give a real shit about anything or anybody, not even herself. The girl who laughed in the face of pain and danger, muah-ah-ah, but in the end, it was all a lie.

  A big, fat, stupid fucking lie, because I was probably
the most damaged person alive.

  The world passed me by, and Sylvester drove us back to the house. He was the first to get out of the car, heading around it to open my door for me since I was stuck inside, lost in my own head. He pulled on the door and held out a hand for me, which I was slow to take, still clutching the pills in my other hand.

  With my dress torn, it was a lot easier to walk in it now, though none of it mattered. My blonde hair had fallen out of its pretty, hairspray-heavy curls, though my makeup remained flawless. As Sylvester led me into the house, everything passed me by in a blur. I hardly felt real, like I was some ghost trying to live a life that I knew wasn’t mine, a body that didn’t belong to me.

  Truthfully, it hadn’t belonged to me in a long time.

  Once we were in the house, Sylvester finally let me go, and I headed to the bathroom near my room, shutting myself inside after flicking on the light. My eyes landed on the pills I clutched, and without hesitating, I locked the door. I’d made it here before Viper could find me, before anyone else could get to me and watch me.

  Before they could yell at me for fucking up and going nuts on that random guy.

  Yes, I locked that door, shutting myself inside the room, alone. Alone for the first time in what felt like ever. Nothing but fancy marble tile and countertop surrounded me, all white and light grey, the lights on the wall bright and almost blinding.

  I dropped the pills on the countertop, slow to lift my gaze to the giant mirror hanging above it, meeting the stare of my reflection. This time, I stared at myself not in a window, but a mirror, and this mirror showed me everything I didn’t want to see.

  The pretty face I wore. The bright blue eyes that seemed to draw everyone in. The tiny button nose that was more cute than anything. The full, red lips colored with matte lipstick. A perfect jawline, high cheekbones, smooth, pale skin… every single part of my face was flawless, beautiful, like I was an angel sent to earth.