Twisted Bitch (Sick and Twisted Book 2)

by Jaci J

  “Cut the bullshit, Dante. Where is my door?”

  “If you ever bothered to check your e-mail, you’d see that we are implementing a new “Open door” policy.” We’re what?

  “Are you drunk?” An open door policy? What the fuck is that? What does that even mean? Opened doors so he can watch my every move?

  “No, London, I’m not drunk. We’re trying this new thing where we’re all more interactive with each other … like a family; ‘Open Doors, Open Communication, and New Relationships.’” He hates me. I’ve actually done it.

  “You’re dead!”

  ~~~~~

  Getting anything done is impossible. I’m so fucking mad at Dante I could … well, I could kill him. Every time I get on my computer to work, I end up Googling inventive ways to kill someone.

  I’m staring mindlessly at a contract when someone knocks on the wall, next to where my door used to be. I’d love to tell them to go away, but that’s just not professional.

  Without looking up, I say, “Come in.”

  I look up and see a face I haven’t seen in years. He smiles at me as he saunters into the room. He stand there in all his sick glory; slicked back hair, knock-off suit, and greedy eyes. Everything I haven’t missed in my life takes a seat in the chair directly across from me.

  “Hello, my darling daughter.”

  My back stiffens and my suspicion flairs. My father’s not here to see the daughter he never bothered with before. He’s certainly not here to catch up, but like Dante, he’s only here to cause me trouble.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to visit my daughter.”

  “Yeah, I highly doubt that. Let’s cut the shit and tell me why you’re here.”

  His grins and I can’t help the full body shiver that comes over me. He’s such a slimy shit and I hate him too, even more than Dante. “Have it your way. I’m here to talk business.”

  “I’m sure you are. So, what is your business here?”

  “I wanna know when you’re gonna see this business isn’t cut out for a woman. You’re not strong enough to handle it.”

  I wonder when men are going to start treating woman as equals. Whatever he can do, I damn sure know I can do better with more class and much more efficiency. There is nothing he can do better besides bullshit his way out of a paper sack.

  “I have it all under control, but thanks for your confidence and support.”

  “Let me buy you out. Hell, I’ll even give you a yearly cut. You’ll be taken care of, not want for nothin’. No work and all play.” Yeah, I’m good. Even if I did want that life, I wouldn’t trust my father to give it to me. Dante would be a better bet and he offered it first, yet I don’t want it from him either.

  “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I don’t own majority. Sorry,” I mutter sarcastically. I’m not fucking sorry at all. I don’t want Dante to have it, but I sure as fuck don’t want Daddy Dearest to get his greedy hands on it. That’s what Grandfather meant by the lesser of two evils. I totally get it now, but what I still don’t get is why he would have to choose between the two in the first place. He still fucked me over so fuck him too.

  “And who would that be?” He asks calmly. He’s holding it in. I don’t know my father well, but I do know he has a bit of an anger problem.

  “I’m sure it’s a matter of public record if you would take the time to look it up,” I inform him. Gritting his teeth, he nods once.

  “I will find out who it is, London, and I will take it. It should’ve been mine years ago, not some strangers, and certainly not a child who knows nothing about a hard day’s work or what it takes to run a company like this”.

  “Good luck with that. You’ll be prying it out of his cold, dead hands, and I don’t see that happening.” Even I couldn’t get it from Dante, and I’ve fucked him.

  Marching towards the exit, he turns and lays it out for me. “You’ve made a huge mistake, little girl.” Whatever. It’s not like I made the decision. No, my huge mistake was letting Dante into my pants and my heart.

  Jesus Christ, these dumb fucking men are all getting on my last goddamn nerve. Fuck them all, Dante and my father. I’ll sit back and let their dumbasses fight it out. Fuckwits.

  Dante

  London left about an hour ago. She left ranting and raving about men and how she hates them all. I don’t see what her fucking problem is. Any other woman would be flattered I wanted to “stare” at her all day, as London put it. She can be mad because I don’t regret it.

  I took her fucking door off, so sue me. She left me little choice. I didn’t wake up that morning with a plan in mind, but it did hatch somewhere between arriving to work and her immediately slamming the door the second she walked in. Does it feel wrong? About as wrong as loving her does.

  She didn’t want me staring at her? Well, that’s just too goddamn bad. She started it, so I retaliated. See, that’s the thing about me. I’m good at rearranging and I’m even better at getting what I want, so I removed all the doors. It was a bit extreme, but I never claimed to be anything less. Now we’re right across the hall, face to face, where I get to keep a constant eye on her.

  It worked for one solid fucking day, but London is smart, and sometimes I forget that.

  I came to work the next day to find that she had moved her desk. The little fucking monster is seriously testing my patience and pushing my boundaries. She’s lucky I love her. She shoved her desk all the way to the other side of the room and rearranged her entire fucking office. No I’m not happy about it, but I’ll adapt. I’ll adjust and I’ll re-fucking-arrange, again. At this point, it’s nothing new for me.

  ~~~~~

  “DANTE!” she screams. London storms her way down the hall, her heels beating on the floor with each stomp as she approaches. She must be extremely upset, but I’m happy to see that she made it to work safely this morning.

  “Yes?” I answer her evenly. Scrubbing a hand down my face, I try to rub the painful expression off before she catches it. No need in feeding her rage. This will get ugly.

  “The doors, Dante, and now the fucking walls?” There she is, full package and all.

  “Will you watch your fucking mouth, London?” I scold in vain. I’m in trouble and I fucking know it. This is what love makes you do.

  “Shut up!” She huffs. Oh, she’s adorably irritated this morning.

  “Do you hate me, Dante?” She gripes, head thrown back and hands pleading. Is that supposed to be a serious question?

  “Seriously?” London can’t honestly believe I hate her. I don’t like her a whole hell of a lot most days because God knows she makes it hard on me, but there is no real hate in my heart for the little monster.

  “You must. You just keep pushing me.” She jabs a black painted fingernail at me. The only thing I’d like to be pushing is her, over my desk so I can fuck some sense into her.

  “Why are you always so dramatic?”

  “Dramatic? You’re the crazy bastard who replaced solid walls with glass ones so you can stare at me all fucking day. I mean, they are glass, which means no fucking privacy. That is pretty fucking dramatic.” I seriously have to fight my eye roll. At times like this, I wonder why I fucking bother.

  “London―” Her hand whips through the air, stopping me mid-sentence. I’m never able to get a word in with her.

  “You took my company from me, then you moved it from a place that I spent most of my life at. You’ve taken the doors, and now you’ve removed walls and replaced them with glass. Why? Is it just because you can? What more do you fucking want from me, Dante? What more can you possibly take from me that you haven’t already?”

  “You know what I want.”

  “You’ll never get that back, so you have to give up. Don’t you see? It’s been over and there is no going back. You have to let it go.”

  “Never.” I will never give up.

  ~~~~~

  London knows I’m here. I knew after the wall stunt she’d push back, and she
’s succeeding. She tracks me the moment I walk in, her eyes on me. She knows exactly where I am and exactly what I’m doing. She doesn’t let on but she knows, and that’s all that matters.

  Unbuttoning my jacket, I loosen my tie from around my neck. Leaning back against the red vinyl, I try to get comfortable before waving over the waitress to order a drink. I tell her to keep them coming because I’m settling in for the long haul, willing to stay here all goddamn night.

  Hands in the air, London is grinding her ass and every other conceivable body part on any man with in a twenty-foot radius. She’s smiling and so fucking sexy. They’re all falling hard.

  Matt’s twirling around her with a drink in his hand and instantly I wonder where her drink is. She sure looks drunk. Scanning her table, I see the little pink fruity cocktail sitting on the table, unattended. I swear to God if she drinks that, I’m going to beat some sense back into her. She knows better than that.

  The club is dark, loud, and crowded. It’s not a place I’d bother with if it weren’t for the whirly, twirly little monster working the room like she’s on a mission. London ignores me most of the time, but occasionally she will throw a glare over her shoulder at me. I’m touched. At least she’s thinking of me.

  “How the hell do you deal with that?” Josh asks as he watches London’s performance.

  “You mean watching other men touch her?” Watching her grind against some asshole, I ask myself the same damn thing sometimes, but it’s only obvious.

  “She’s doing it for me. Every fucking thing she does is for me, whether it’s to piss me off or turn me on, it’s for me. She wouldn’t fuck him because she’d be too busy trying to stay ten steps ahead of me so she can win this game she seems to believe we’re playing. Her mind is so wrapped up in breaking me, she can’t see past me to bother with anyone else.”

  “Fuck, she’s mean,” Josh grunts, nodding over at London who is now crouched down in front of some guy who’s enjoying her show a little too much. Her face is pressed way too goddamn close to his soon to be removed dick. Yes, she is mean. She’s fucking evil.

  “It’s her little game.” I simply say. No one gets it but me.

  “Clearly, and if you hadn’t noticed, she’s winning.” Of course she is. I’ll be on my hands and knees, crawling, begging after her until the day I die.

  ~~~~~

  I’ve put in two hours, and London is now sloppy drunk. Her dancing has gone from mild to extreme. With every twist of her hips, her dress rides up higher, exposing more skin. My limit has been reached.

  I know she can feel me staring, so she looks over to me. Good. With a nod, I motion her over to me and surprisingly, she comes. She stomps and pouts, but she comes.

  “What?” she breathes. Jesus, even in her drunk, sweaty state, she’s beautiful. I’ve never seen a woman who could look like a fucking train wreck and still look sexy as fuck. All five foot five of her is perfect.

  “I think you’ve had enough fun for tonight.”

  “Just trying to blow of some of that steam you created.”

  “You’re done. I think you’ve had your fun and blew off plenty of your own steam.”

  Cocking her head slightly, I watch a sweet smile spread across her lips and I know she’s down for a fight this evening.

  “I think you should kiss my fucking ass,” she whispers softly. Waving a hand out, I offer her carte blanche.

  “Bend over, Il mio amore.” Whatever makes her happy.

  “What is wrong with you?” Is that a question or a statement?

  Turning on her heels, she takes a step before I’m on her. Wrapping an arm around her, I hold her to me. She’s not running tonight.

  “You know better, London. You’re not going anywhere without me.”

  “What’s new,” she grumbles, dropping her arms down at her sides.

  “Nothing, baby … nothing at all.”

  ~~~~~

  Wrapping a hand around the back of her neck, I push London down and fold her body over the low table. I’ve had enough of her nonconforming shit this evening. She wants a fight? I’ll give her one.

  “I hate you, Dante.” Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t already know. It’s always the same story, different day. Too bad I don’t believe a goddamn thing that comes out of her pretty little lying mouth. Her bent over, ass in the air, is all for me. This tells me all I need to know.

  Trailing a hand up the back of her smooth leg, I push aside her tiny pair of panties. There’ll be nothing sweet or nice about this. Shoving two fingers deep inside wet pussy, I marvel in the mess she’s already made and I can’t help myself. I get down on my knees and roughly spread her legs farther apart and start working her over. I stick my tongue into her tight little hole and fuck it. I lick, suck, lose my goddamn mind over how good she tastes.

  I’m still holding onto her legs as they start to shake and she pushes back against my face until her orgasm takes her over. I continue to fuck her with my tongue and lick all that cum as it flows out of her sweet little body. Once I feel her start to relax, I undo my slacks, and before she can try to get away, I yank her panties all the way down and stand up, shoving my dick inside and slamming into her with such force, the table moves.

  “It feels like you love me, London,” I say as she meets me thrust for thrust.

  “Just because I fuck you, doesn’t mean I love you.” I don’t believe a goddamn word she says, but if she wants to play this her way, I’m okay with that … for now.

  “I think the mess running down your thighs, baby, means exactly what you refuse to let yourself say.”

  Forcing her dress up higher so her ass and back are completely bare to me, I watch as my dick disappears between her round cheeks. I can’t control myself. I reach back and bring my hand down hard, smacking it with enough force to leave a red, hand sized welt on her smooth skin. Her pussy tightens around my did and I do it again, same spot. Looking over her shoulder at me, she licks her lips and says, “Come on, you fucking pussy.” She’s testing me.

  Lifting her hips up higher, I push myself in so deep, she gasps. Yeah, that’s right, now shut up. Fuck, she’s dripping wet.

  “All of this for me?” I grunt.

  “No, all of this,” she growls, grinding her ass into me, “is for the guy out there who was trying to stick his fingers in my―”

  “Shut up, London.” I swear to God, if she finishes that sentence, I’m going to fuck her to death. “He wants some of me too, Dante,” She taunts, but can’t stop the moan that leaves her lips. “I know you don’t mind sharing me.” Fuck, she plays dirty.

  I fuck her good and hard in a dark little corner of the lounge, bent over the table that keeps moving us closer out of the dark. I know people can see us. I have her ass up in the air and my dick so far inside her I’m surprised she doesn’t feel it in her throat.

  “You like me fucking you with an audience?”

  “Yes, only so I have a different face to stare at,” the sinister little thing laughs as she rolls her hips.

  Wrapping a handful of hair around my fingers, I jerk her head back hard, forcing her to cry out in pleasure and pain. “Fuck, Dante, just like that.” Fuck is right. Fuck you. Fuck this whole sick, twisted bitch attitude of yours.

  I fuck her to remind her who the fuck she belongs with. She belongs with no one but me. Pulling her hair a little harder, she arches her back and I take my other hand to snake it around her neck, squeezing it enough to remind her of who the fuck I am. “Don’t you ever talk about another man while I’m balls deep in my pussy. I’ve killed for less, London, so this is something you will never test me on. Don’t you ever forget it.”

  When I finish my words, I feel her tighten around me and she screams out, causing me to thrust into her and get my own release. Yeah, this only proves that she’ll be ruined for any other man if she ever thinks again about fucking someone else. I’ve ruined her for all others, and knowing that shit as fact makes me feel like a motherfucking God.

  Si
x

  Miss Twisted

  London

  I stumble into my building used, abused, and fucked like a goddamn porn queen in front of a small audience. My heels hang pathetically from my fingers as I step barefoot into my mirrored elevator. Why do they put mirrors in elevators, anyways? Is it so you can see what a mess you are when you come home from a night of dancing, drinking, and debauchery?

  Slumping against the wall of the elevator, I reach a heavy arm up to press my button. The door starts to slide closed, but I’m just not that lucky. A big hand slides between the closing doors, popping them back open.

  “Thanks.” A man says as he steps inside. For what? I didn’t hold the elevator for him.

  He’s a man I’ve never seen before, but I don’t spend much time staring at random men, either. Glaring down at my bare feet, I should be embarrassed but I’m too damn tired to care. I do register the fact that this is all Dante’s fault, though. He pushed me to drink, pushed me over that table, and then pushed me away, looking exactly like a drunk and fucked woman. Goddamn him.

  My elevator companion doesn’t say anything. He stands quietly in front of me with his hands folded in front of him, staring straight ahead. I’m aware of the fact that he can probably see my pitiful reflection in the door of the elevator, but he makes no comment, which is much appreciated.

  The ride up is quick, but not quick enough. I need my bed and I need it now. Looking around the man to see how close I am to my sanctuary, I notice the button to my floor is the only one lit, which begins o scare me. I’m the only apartment on that floor.

  The elevator pings its arrival. The doors slide open and the man doesn’t step out, but steps aside. My heart starts beating heavily against my chest. Side-stepping his large body, I step my bare foot onto the cold marble just outside the elevator. Hesitating a moment, I take a deep breath. Why would he be up here? My skin prickles and my heart dips.

  Looking over my shoulder, the man is still standing in the elevator, hands clasped in front of him. The doors start to slide closed and the man nods, “Have a nice evening, London.” What the fuck?