Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

“Would you let me go off with Axel?”

  “Axel doesn’t do this,” I mutter, scowling. “Would you even want to go off with Axel?”

  “No, but that isn’t the point,” she implores, laying her hands on the table. “I want to know that you trust me to make decisions.”

  “You’re not independent in this realm.” I glance around the relatively empty restaurant. “Your collar means that I make the decisions concerning your body.”

  She scoffs, “Overlord.”

  I smirk. “Not at all. But I won’t stand by and watch you get hurt, either. I prefer protective over feudal dictator.”

  “Asshole,” she teases.

  I lean closer and growl, “I’m taking you to the hotel. Bathing you. Tying you up. Spanking your ass over my lap. And fucking all of your holes until you cry my name, bitch.”

  Her eyes spark. “Keep talking dirty to me. You’ll return the car with stains.” She bites into her taco as I attempt to remain unaffected, which is almost pointless with my dick pounding at the word, overlord. She rapidly shifts gears with no warning. “How is the Ahi?”

  She is hell on my transmission.

  Grind the gears, youngun’.

  Why be easy on the fly when we can jerk around?

  “Amazing,” I say, scooping a decent-sized bite into the spoon. “Eat my tuna, baby.”

  Her slender fingers shield her mouth in an attempt to hide the laughter I bring. “You’re so bad!”

  “I did nothing,” I innocently remark, taking a swig of beer. “You like being with me?”

  “I do,” she boasts, grabbing my hand. “A lot.”

  “I like you too,” I say, leaning closer and kissing her lips. “A whole fucking lot.”

  I’ve become a doting boyfriend.

  I’m not sure how the fuck it happened.

  One minute I was all about one-night stands, never going for round two, playing the field, and now, I’m seriously considering putting a ring on this girl’s finger and begging her on my knees to take my last name.

  Bubbly-and-spry-fifteen years my junior-can’t get enough of this girl ransacked my world, unapologetically stole my heart, and captivated every ounce of my attention.

  “How far is the hotel?”

  “Across town,” I reply, picking at my plate. “So, what does the dream wedding look like for Echo Maines?”

  Her expression blossoms like a spring garden where petals cradle thick and heavy morning dew. “Don’t laugh.”

  Setting my fork down, I assure, “I won’t laugh.”

  She sucks in a breath and reveals, “I always wanted a beach wedding.”

  I smirk, rubbing my scruff, as my brows wiggle with appreciation. “… It just so happens, I know a fabulous location.” With a deep crimson flush spreading on her cheeks, she tucks her chin low to her chest, but I refuse to let her shy away. I gently run a finger to lift her face. “If you want a wedding on a beach—any beach, mine or another’s sands, you will have it. I promise you.”

  “Jynx…” she whispers, blinking. “If you want to get hitched at the justice of the peace, we can do that. Or even in Vegas.”

  “I only mentioned Vegas to see your reaction.”

  “You’re an ass.”

  “I’m aware,” I laugh, holding her hand. “But I want to give you everything, Ek.”

  “Sunset. Beach wedding. White dress. White suit. Barefoot. Beautiful.”

  “Wow,” I mutter. “You really have this down. Keep going.”

  “Platinum wedding bands. Honeymoon someplace simple. Maybe even the beach house.”

  “How many people at the wedding?”

  “Small, but formal, elegant, sexy.”

  With a dastardly grin, I inquire, “And the groom?”

  “He loves me just like you.”

  36

  A Gilded Mirage

  Jynx

  Staring at the fading sun, I wait for my date to emerge from the bathroom. She’s been dolling up for over two hours. I consider busting down the door in my casual business attire—slacks, dress shirt, and sport coat.

  I need to secure my place in Texas, beyond my cousin agreeing to partner up with me. This meeting at the fetish club will do that. Madame Tilda’s club is a far more controlled environment than a strip club, not to mention we both know her quite well, and security is always rigorously monitored.

  I hear the door open, but I hold back for a moment, giving her the time and space she needs to adjust. I’m shocked she even decided to come with me.

  She whispers, “Jynx…”

  “Holy fuck,” I mumble, eyeing the sex kitten with awe. “Where did you get that outfit?”

  “I ordered it with someone’s help,” she says, winking. “… Do you like it? I can’t decide if I feel sexier than ever before or if I should take up streetwalking as a second career.”

  “You look fucking amazing—angelic and perfect.” I twirl my finger, and she spins like a ballerina in a jewelry box before me.

  The absolute brat shaped for my beast.

  “Say something,” she begs.

  Her long, curled locks are pinned into a messy bun with wisps falling, teasing, around her beautifully made-up face. “Again. Slower.”

  “You’re driving me nuts.”

  My eyes scan over the diamond collar around her neck and sheer, loose sparkling blouse revealing an intricately embroidered black and red bra. The pleated white and black short skirt leads to thigh-high lace and mesh black stockings down her feet trapped within a sexy pair of Victorian-style boots. “How tall are the heels?”

  “Seven inches.”

  “Jesus, Echo…you look hot as sin.” I rub my palm over my face. ”We’re not making it out of the hotel.”

  “Oh! To make it out of the hotel, I have this.”

  “That’s not exactly what I meant,” I snicker.

  She conceals her schoolgirl uniform with a tapered red gothic cloak. “Am I alright, Daddy?” She winks.

  “You look incredible.”

  “I can’t go into this club looking like I have years of experience because I don’t. I’m a twenty-two-year-old college student. I hope I’m good enough to meet your business associate.”

  “You’re more than enough for me.”

  With a hint of panic in her voice, she asks, “Will I be out of place in this?”

  “Not because of the outfit,” I reply, grabbing my jacket and taking her hand before she has the chance to chicken out. “But because you’re the woman the other submissive want to be and the Dominants want to take home for the night.”

  I glance over at her as we walk toward the elevator. I’m accustomed to her in heels, but these are significantly higher, elevating her stature and position beside me. We step onto the elevator, and she lays her head on my shoulder.

  “I’m so scared.”

  “I know,” I reassure, peering down. “But you’ll be fine.”

  “How long will this take?”

  “At the most, eight hours.”

  The doors open, and I latch my fingers in her hand. “Why eight?”

  “Tilda’s closes at four.”

  “Shit,” she mutters as we stroll through the hotel lobby. “I can’t do this…”

  “Jynx!” I hear my brother’s voice and tense up. I do a one-eighty with Echo by my side. His eyes flare with intrigue over her boner-inducing outfit. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I’m going back home to deal with some things at the farm.”

  “Where should I go?” Unable to keep his eyes off of my girl, he asks, “Home or Texas with Wang?”

  “That’s up to you.”

  “I’ll catch a flight to Texas tomorrow and go help Wang,” he volunteers, patting my shoulder. “Have a good night! And Ek, you look fanfuckingtastic!”

  “Thank you.” She blushes as he walks off. “Why is he here?”

  “Because he had meetings yesterday and today, bringing Peacock to a place of completion.”

  “Tonight
is the final celebration,” she guesses, muttering, as we walk to the parking lot. “It solidifies the merger.”

  “Pretty much,” I say, opening her door and praying she doesn’t ask for more details. “All the best deals happen when surrounded by hot young things.”

  Echo

  Half an hour later, we’re driving down a deserted road as my hands shake, and I text Bran. He has a buyer for the house and wants to know if I can help him pack up our childhood home because he hasn’t spoken to our parents in two years. He doesn’t want to do it alone.

  Realizing what he said, I huff, “You don’t like hot young things…”

  Doubts creep in my veins crippling my heart’s expanse.

  “No,” he corrects. “I said I don’t like taking them to the dungeon because they tend to not listen.”

  I rub my glossed lips together. “… Do I?”

  “Better than most,” he says as a large building with golden lights shines like a temple—his holy house of worship—in the distance.

  “That’s it,” I mumble, trying not to freak. “What the hell am I doing?”

  “Yes, it is,” he maintains, gripping my hand and speeding toward my eternal damnation. “You need to calm down.”

  “I can’t,” I whimper as he turns into the packed lot. “Oh, my God, there are so many people here.”

  We wait in line for the valet. “Ekky, look at me.” I can’t. I know this isn’t right. These people are not mine. I belong in a quiet library pouring overly scholarly texts until my eyes bleed, not dressed up like a hooker on Halloween. His finger eases under my chin, demanding my attention. “You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. Do you trust me?”

  “Yes, but…”

  “Listen to me,” he says, calming my nerves. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “What if I need to go to the bathroom?”

  He grins. “Then I will take you and wait outside the door. You’re such a babygirl.”

  I sulk. “Don’t insult me.”

  “It wasn’t an insult. It was a compliment,” he replies, staring at me. “You’re fresh, innocent, and mine. Own this moment.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  The valet waves him forward, and he pulls up. Our doors open as things start happening way too fast for my comprehension. Before getting out, he says, “Fake it.”

  Like faking it is so easy. I take a deep breath. “Pull your shit together, Abs. It’s about to go down.”

  A rhythmic beat rumbles from my feet through my core as I take Jynx’s hand and step out. “Are you being my brave girl and leaving the cloak in the car?”

  “I am,” I reply, tossing it in the backseat. He offers his arm, and I slip my fingers around his elbow. I wish the skirt were more Amish-style, skidding along the pavement and not showing off peeks of my ass cheeks with every sway of my hips.

  “Hello, Mr. Monroe,” the attendant says inside of the door. She fastens a black band onto his wrist. “Who is your lovely companion?”

  “This is Pea.”

  He snarls at me. “Welcome to Madame Tilda’s, Pea,” she warmly greets. “If you need anything, look for someone in one of the bright neon yellow shirts.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, staring at my red wristband as we walk down a slight incline to two double doors. “Why the red?”

  “You’re a collared sub; white is an available—uncollared—sub,” he shouts, pulling a red lace masquerade mask from his pocket. “It’s Saturday,” he replies, placing it on me. “A great night to experience this.”

  “Is this required?”

  “Unless your Dom takes it off.”

  The door opens.

  And so does every fantasy I ever dreamed.

  With my hand sweating against his palm, we walk through the exclusive member’s only club. The noise thunders through my entire body, feet to fingertips, as a hostess escorts us to the second-tier. The lights project whirling, dynamic flashes of white.

  We skirt past several tables, but a woman in a black full body catsuit, gyrating with all of her curves, ensnares my focus. I search for a red or white wristband but am taken aback to see her wearing a black one as we move past to a table in the far corner where a man waits, alone, in a suit.

  I’m not ignorant. I know women can be Dominant, but the notion breeches the levee as I imagine submitting on my knees to her every desire. I shove the thought aside, refusing to pay it any more attention. I have my Master and he is the only one for me.

  Jynx pulls out my chair like a perfect gentleman. I awkwardly sit at the end, staring down at the table as the two men face one another. I feel the heat of his gaze flowing through my skin. I want to plunge my body into an ice bath.

  The stranger extends his arm toward me and lifts my chin. “Head up, beautiful.”

  “Sorry.”

  He shakes Jynx’s hand from across the table, and while I find it rather odd that he didn’t stand, I think nothing about it. “I’m pleased you’re finally coming back to your family.”

  “It’s time,” Jynx says with a humble tone. “The past is in the past, but I don’t think for a minute that everyone will be happy to see me.”

  “Probably not,” the man agrees as I note his well-kept hands. They’re pampered, unfit to work on an engine, with slim knuckles and long fingers. They appear soft and manicured. He’s handsome, older than Jynx, with slicked-back black hair and an imposing, strict focus. “If it were a different time and place, I’d tell you to avoid it.”

  “I understand, but I need your resources available to me.”

  “Don’t let mistakes happen again,” he sternly warns. “There won’t be a second chance.”

  “I’m aware, Sir.”

  I blink between them, not breathing and realizing this is not just any meeting. This man is a mobster—and an important one at that. And Jynx is promising to stay sane and on the level.

  The man clearly doesn’t understand the monster Jynx keeps caged.

  “How old is Abigail?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Better than last time.”

  I shiver, feeling as though I may hurl. Jynx keeps secrets hidden in the dark, but I must be stronger, braver, and more determined. “How old was the last one?”

  Two sets of eyes—green and blue flare to me—as if I wasn’t supposed to speak at all. Jynx clears his throat. “It was right before the wreck. I did some things I shouldn’t have done.”

  Feeling a bit petulant, I ask, “How old was she?”

  He doesn’t answer, but the man does. “Jynx was not the only one to blame. She was a tramp making her way around the club, rebelling against her parents and taking advantage of the situation. Old enough to know better, but not old enough to vote.”

  Fear silences as truth screams.

  I may pass out. My head spins, dizzy, whirling—knowing what all I have given up for this predator to exploit me. Clasping my hands in my lap, I straighten my posture and mumble, “And was he involved with her?”

  “Only for a minute,” the man snickers. “Jynx was warned, punished, and took off on his bike before running into a concrete barrier.”

  I nod, concealing my feelings as Jynx assures, “She didn’t matter.”

  “But the accident did,” I whisper, sensing the purpose of his intent. There was no accident. He failed a suicide attempt.

  The man bravely lays his hand upon mine under the table. “We all make mistakes, Sweet Pea.”

  My heart stops when he says my pet name.

  “We do,” I reply, rubbing my hand against the fabric. “And I don’t want Jynx Monroe to be a major trauma upon my heart.”

  It’s too late for that.

  “He won’t be,” he replies with a generous smile. “This man sitting here is not the same man he was then. Are you the same person you were a decade ago?”

  “No,” I emphasize, knowing how much I have changed. “I’m not the girl I was at twelve.” We all laugh. “Or my teenage years for that matter.”

&n
bsp; The man soothes my worry, but he doesn’t alleviate Jynx’s guilt.

  Lights dim in the club as the crowd goes wild. The dance floor clears as four people—two men and two women, including the one who we passed as we entered—are clad in leather with whips, starting a jolting performance. I stare longingly, wishing Jynx would shepherd me into his darkness.

  “You’re fascinated,” the man mutters, still holding my hand. “Has your Master whipped you?”

  “Not like that.”

  “He should,” he informs, stroking my fingers. “Jynx is a master whip snapper.”

  I blink at Jynx. His lip curls up with a crooked grin as his brows lift high. Pieces of his true identity surface in the light. I examine them underneath a microscope and wonder if his name isn’t the glaring admission of who he is—bad luck, set to influence, and destroy. Maybe Jynx’s game is nothing more than a hoax like his nickname.

  With sass, I persist, “You should tell him that despite his past age-related issues that he has permission to love a girl properly.”

  “May I take her for a spin, Monroe?”

  Jynx glances away and licks his lips as my breathing increases to such a rapid rate that I fear hyperventilating. His broken blue eyes meet mine, and I know everything is not what it seems.

  This stranger is someone important to him.

  And this meeting wasn’t a celebration but a warning like a father to a son.

  Stay out of trouble.

  Don’t make me bail you out.

  Listen to the head on your shoulders, not the demanding snake in your pants.

  “That would be her choice.”

  I should want to know who this man is—before agreeing to a scene with him—but I’m so hurt by the unspoken truths that I no longer care.

  Things said but not said.

  My skin tingles as they await my answer. I don’t give a shit what Jynx thinks. I’m pissed and punishing him for the words he didn’t say. “Yes, please,” I reply as Jynx camouflages the heartache with a daring snarl. I pour salt into the wound of those critical, overlooked details left unsaid by adding, “Whip me, Sir. And call me Abby.”