Wicked Little Games - Book 1 (Little Games Duet)

by Dee Palmer

  “Oh, just chilling,” I retort without humour. He frowns, but just shrugs, and I can feel my blood boil.

  “I could’ve died in there, Cass, and all you can do is shrug?” I snap, my voice pitched with indignation.

  “A little dramatic, don’t you think? It’s not like I knew you were joking, Tia. For all I know, you could’ve just wanted to sit in a lift.” He laughs at first, but his features darken when he adds, “I don’t know you at all, remember?”

  “What are you, twelve? I’m serious; I couldn’t get out.” He stands abruptly, the kitchen stool teetering on its rim before settling back with a clank of stainless steel on marble.

  “Yes, you could.” He stomps past me, grabbing my wrist and tugging me along behind him. I have to run to keep up with his normal stride. He swipes his finger to open the door and stares openly at the same screen I’m staring at as if it now magically holds all the answers.

  It’s still the same screen that says ‘fingerprint here’.

  “And?”

  “What do you mean, and? All you had to do was swipe your finger. You may have thought you were stuck, but you weren’t. Your fingerprint is in the system for all the exits of the apartment and the building. That’s just standard safety, Tia, and even if it wasn’t, all you had to do was press your finger to access the concierge to get you out.” His elevated tone is exasperated and full of disbelief. I snap my jaw shut and have the grace to look a little sheepish when he takes my finger and presses it on the screen, which then lights up with an array of options, open doors being the first.

  “Oh, I didn’t realise.”

  “Clearly had other things on your mind.” He glares at me, a look that is more searching than hurt, and I have to wonder if he is already over me having sex with Logan.

  I go to step past him and his arm slams across the doorway, halting my escape. I look up his towering frame, deep blue eyes smouldering down at me, and I catch my breath. I am about to challenge that assumption when he growls out, “It should’ve been me.” The deep timbre of his voice just adds to the raw urgency and desperation in the words. I start to shake my head when he pushes me back into the lift, slamming my back against the wall. His lips crash to mine, and I let it happen.

  I don’t just let it, I crave it, every touch filled with primal need matches something deep inside me, and as much as I know it’s wrong, he’s wrong, I can’t fight the passion that lights my soul when he devours me like he is right now. His fingers fist my hair, gripping and pulling to the point of pain. I cry out into his mouth, and he just pushes deeper. His tongue dives and takes the very breath from my lungs. His body is so hard against mine, I can feel every cut muscle pressing and grinding against me. I can feel him everywhere.

  My heart is racing and aching, and before I fall any farther, I push him away. Despite his obvious strength, he moves with the lightest of my touches, and only his forehead is still connected, leaning heavily against mine as he draws in ragged breaths, which match my own. Fuck!

  If I could speak, I’m not sure what I would say, but I can see the torment in his eyes, and I know for a fact that they also mirror my own. He pulls back only to brush my now swollen lip with his thumb.

  “It should’ve been me,” he whispers, turns, and walks away. The sliding lift doors closing off his retreating image before I realise it, he’s gone, and I’m once more alone in the damn lift.

  The next day it is like that kiss never happened. I didn’t sleep at all, and the more I thought about it through the night, the angrier I got. By the time the first rays of sunlight creep into my room, I am up and storming my way to Cass’s bedroom. I’m just about to bang the shit out of the door, when I notice a thin sliver of light from beneath his office door. Jeeze, does he never sleep? I walk the remainder of the long corridor and strike three hard bangs with my fist, followed by another three until the door flies open. A soft glow illuminates him from the side and casts a darkly sinister shadow over his face. His eyes look inky black and hollow. I take a step back when he looms forward and into the full light of the corridor.

  He’s silent, and the way he is staring right through me almost makes me forget what the hell I wanted to say. Almost.

  “You’ve got some fucking nerve saying those things and kissing me like that.” I straighten my back and try to make the most of my five-foot frame. It’s laughable that I even try when he looks as intimidating as he does, but I know power doesn’t come from size, it comes from intent, and in that I’m an unquantifiable entity.

  “You didn’t like the kiss?” He stretches his arms up and leans on the doorframe, his t-shirt rising high and his boxers hanging low. The distraction is not what I need, and the effort is considerable, when all my eyes want to do is drink in that blond happy trail. I suppress a sigh and power through.

  “Not the fucking point, Cass.” I cross my arms when I feel my nipples tighten.

  “So you did like the kiss?” He notices. Of course he notices.

  “You’re right.” I’m irritated my body is the equivalent of a sex-starved runaway train, but I haven’t come to play.

  “About the kiss? So you did enjoy the kiss.” His smug arrogance is momentary.

  “It should’ve been you, but it wasn’t, and you know why?” His eyes narrow, and I can see the emotions dance behind his eyes when my voice catches. I dig my fingernails hard into my palm to give me something to focus on. I need to get this out there. This isn’t a game for me, and he has never played fair. Now it’s my turn.

  “Because you left me to rot in prison where my first time was at the hands of three mental lesbians with a penchant for ramming objects into tiny holes. So I happen to agree with you…it should’ve been you, but it wasn’t, and now I’m with someone who won’t ever let me down, won’t ever lie to me, and won’t ever hurt me like you did. So back the fuck off with whatever you think we have.” I poke my finger hard against his pec and jab to make my next point. “Because, trust me, Cass, it’s more likely that I have stolen your money than I am to have feelings for you. And as I’ve said before, I don’t have your fucking money.” I’m impressed I kept my tone level when I finish my speech. My heart feels like it’s trying to escape through my ribcage, I drop my hand, and they would both be trembling if they weren’t now in tight fists.

  “I didn’t know.” He pushes out the words through his clenched jaw, and I snap back my reply with venom.

  “What, you didn’t get the t-shirt?”

  “Tia, please…I didn’t know.” He reaches for me but pulls back before he makes contact. He looks unsure, and the pleading tone in his softly spoken words starts to weaken what strength I have.

  “I was raped Cass, tortured for hours, beaten to a pulp and left to die. I can never have children because of what they did and the fact you didn’t know any of that is fucking irrelevant. Because you did know I was in jail, and you did know I was innocent?”

  “I didn’t know the truth Tia. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.” He holds my shoulders as the only option in my rigid frame, but from the pain in his eyes it looks like he couldn’t not touch me. His fingers press hard enough to bruise.

  “Yeah, Cass, me too.” I turn and walk away, softly repeating the redundant sentiment. How can my heart thump so hard and break at the same time? I didn’t think there was anything left to break.

  The next day is the same, like the kiss never happened, but Cass’s cocky, confident air is more subdued, and actually, that makes this harder rather than easier. It was easier when I knew he didn’t care. It was easier to make myself numb, to focus and finish what I’d started.

  I decide to retreat mostly to my room, keep my distance, and do my time. It’s not the first time I’ve had to do this, but it will be the last.

  The week passes, and we seem to move like ghosts, silent and hollow. I avoid him, and he avoids me. There are moments of life when he brushes past me or says something that makes my heart ache from a memory we shared, but I push it aside. I talk to
Logan every night and that helps. I have asked if I can visit again, but Cass isn’t going to let that happen any time soon. I think my revelation shook him, but it hasn’t softened his demeanour, and I am going to need to try something else if I am going to get my way. I also need access to his office, which despite lifting his fingerprint, is going to be impossible if he doesn’t leave the apartment sometime soon.

  I decide to break the silence over late morning coffee.

  “Don’t you ever need to go in to work?”

  “I am working here, location is irrelevant.” He barely looks up from his laptop.

  “Really? Because I thought a big CEO would have to show his face at some point.” I keep my tone casual but he raises a suspicious brow all the same.

  “I would normally spend more time in the main offices, only I have this special ‘project’ that needs my undivided attention.” He fixes me briefly with his icy blues.

  “Cute,” I flash a tight smile, and instead of falling silent, he continues to talk.

  “Besides, Mother has the day-to-day covered.”

  “Wow, she’s really that involved. I always thought it was just an on-paper title.” I knew she took over when Cass’s father died. It was very controversial, and Cass’s grandfather, Oskar, hated the idea. He tried to fight it, but he lost the backing of the board. It was a long time ago, but I do remember Oskar sharing the details, and we both shared our hatred of Inga, Cass’s mother.

  “Hmm, she had you fooled, too, did she?” Cass quips.

  “No, she underestimated me, but I was never fooled.”

  “Good, she won’t always be in charge. She has always held the power, though, even if I didn’t appreciate how much,” he says wistfully, and the tone alone piques my interest. “Still, things change.”

  “Vague much?” I’ve done my research. If Oskar taught me anything, it’s to always check your sources. Information is the lock, and truth is the key; only with both do you have real power.

  “I could say the same,” he counters, and I shrug lightly.

  “Ah, but I’m an open book, Cass, you know all there is to know.” I sweep my hands along the smooth granite countertop, leaving them wide and open. It is a gesture of a truce rather than of a complete surrender.

  “I thought so. Even when you said I didn’t, I didn’t believe you, but now, I’m not so sure. I didn’t know about—” His voice catches, and he doesn’t need to say another word. I can see the tortured pain etched in his face. I know it’s low, but I strike when I think I have the best chance to get what I want, and with pain and regret swirling like a storm in his eyes, I happen to think I stand a very good chance.

  “I want to visit Logan, for a whole day and night.”

  “No.” His response is instant. I didn’t even finish the last word.

  Why the hell I thought I could manipulate him, when I never could in the past, is beyond me. Still, desperate times…

  If I’m to get to see Logan and gain Cass’s trust enough for him to leave me in his apartment alone, I need to give him something he wants.

  “Please, Cass, please, I’m begging.” The words slip from my mouth in a breathy plea.

  “Hmm, if only,” he scoffs and, just when I think he’s going to refuse, he stops and stares at me. I can almost see the wheels turning. My tummy drops when his lips curl in a wolfish smile. “I’ll let you visit, but I want something in return.”

  “I don’t have your—”

  He interrupts, and I’m shocked it’s not for his standard request of the return of his stolen money. “I want to take you home next weekend,” he declares.

  I hate that my heart jolts at the same time my stomach clenches.

  “Home?”

  “Tartarus Hall. I want to spend the weekend with you there, just you and me. I want to leave all this behind and—”

  I interrupt, shaking my head emphatically. “You know that’s not possible, Cass.” I soften the words, because he sounds almost desperate for this break from reality, because that’s what he’s suggesting. A weekend where we could step back in time or maybe not step back at all, but where it’s just me and him. He’s delusional, because that suggestion is simply a fantasy too far.

  “Just one weekend, and you can have your visit. I’ll take you over tomorrow and pick you up the following night. I want to prove to you I’m not the devil in this scenario, Tia, and I can only do that if we go back to where it all started.”

  “Oh really, Atticus, are you sure about that? Because I believe I made my deal with the devil a long time ago, and his eyes look an awful lot like yours.” I hold his unwavering gaze. “You have your deal, but I’m not sure what going back will prove.”

  “It will prove you belong to me.”

  She spins on her heel and disappears back to her room. It takes all my strength not to storm after her and…and what? Hold her? Shake her? Make her mine again, when I know full well I don’t deserve her? I thrust my hand across the surface of the kitchen counter sending my plate and coffee cup careening across the room, splintering into a mess of broken pieces when it crashes to the floor. It’s a mess; everything’s a mess.

  My shoes crush the pieces further when I walk from the room. I have to get out of here. I need to clear my head. The fury, confusion, and unbearable pain are tearing me up, and I can’t see past Tia in prison, innocent.

  I grab my jacket and keys and head toward the lift. My finger pauses for a moment over the button, and I give a cautious glance over my shoulder toward Tia’s room. Some playlist ‘to hang yourself by’ is now blaring, and it actually make me smile. She always loved to lose herself to some seriously depressing shit, but I know it always seemed to help, in some sort of reverse psychological way. I press my fingerprint over the call button and the doors instantly glide open. I only need an hour, maybe two.

  I’m about to step into the underground garage but change my mind. I need fresh air, not the A/C, and this time of day, the traffic will be at a standstill. I doubt I’d get above 8 klicks per hour, and I can walk quicker than that. The air is sticky warm and has a density to it that you only get in an overpopulated city filled with fumes, smells, and a million sweaty bodies just existing. I’ve adapted to city life, but my heart will always be in the country, specifically Tartarus Hall. If I ever manage to get the shit sorted with Kraus Corp, I can quit the city for good. It’s only part of my plan, but it’s a start, as is getting Tia back there, first for a weekend and then for good.

  I draw in a deep breath once I reach the brow of the Blackfriars Bridge. The light breeze carries enough freshness from the river that I don’t feel the need to cough my lungs up. I’m exaggerating, the city isn’t that bad. The oppressive heat of the long summer days makes it worse, that and the weight of my mistakes. I drop my head, as a heavy cloud of regret descends, and I recall with high definition the conversation that changed my life.

  “She did what?” I drop the pen in my hand. My mother has brought some documents for me to sign. She rarely visits me, even when she is in the States. She prefers to keep her distance, especially since I was arrested. I got caught with Misty’s brother in his car running a stop sign. That wasn’t such a big deal, but the illegal firearms and half a kilo of cocaine he had stashed in the trunk were. It’s still up in the air whether I’m going to get charged at all. I didn’t know about his haul. Still, anyone with a brain cell would say the same.

  My uncle hired the best lawyer, but since I have dual citizenship and two passports, the courts thought it was best that they keep them. The whole thing is a fucking nightmare, dragging out and making it almost impossible to get home, almost. Once Tia’s exams are finished, I will tell her everything, but she needs to focus, and usually, I like being a distraction, but not like this. I stare at my mother’s twisted expression. I think she’s trying to look sad. If her face wasn’t so frozen, she might pull off mild concern, but since her lips have a cruel smirk, I know she’s relishing this moment.

  “She stole your great
-grandmother’s diamond bracelet and had the audacity to claim Oskar had given it to her. Even said he had it written specifically in his Will.” She tuts at the silly notion, derision coating each work like treacle.

  “He may have given it to her, Mother. He was very fond of her. I believe he loved her like one of his own, so it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that this is just a misunderstanding.” I keep my tone level, even if I can feel the rage bubbling in my gut. Sometimes it feels as if my mother has hated Tia long before she was even born. It’s wholly disproportionate and pisses me off at every turn.

  “Your signature is on the Will, Atticus. Did it have her name anywhere?” She tips her head and gives a sly, knowing smile. My jaw twitches with tension, and my fingers slowly curl into tight fists. Her eyes dip and widen with worry.

  “No, no it didn’t. This is a mistake. She wouldn’t do this. I know her.” The edge in my voice makes her step back and then, with obvious effort, she walks toward me and places her trembling hand on my shoulder.

  “Darling, she’s not the same. Money changes people. Atticus, my love, I’m so sorry.” Her voice is saccharin sweet and just as sickly.

  “Please mother, don’t feign compassion. Tia is nothing like you. It’s one of the reasons I love her.” I stand and her hand falls from my shoulder. She steps back as I brush past. I need some distance. Taking a bottle of water from the cooler, I take a long pull before I fix her with my own icy glare. “We both know money is the only thing that holds your interest. Cruelty runs through your veins, and I have no idea what makes that stone heart of yours beat, but it isn’t fucking love.”

  “This family. This family is what keeps my heart beating, and I will do whatever it takes to protect what’s mine.” Her words are punctuated by her palm hitting the hollow shell of her chest for emphasis.

  “Whatever, hmm?” I raise my own knowing brow, but it does nothing to settle the turmoil churning up my insides.