Mr. Wicked

by Maya Hughes

  “Yes, me too,” I said, breathlessly. I finally said it out loud. Let myself admit what I’d known since the moment his lips touched mine, standing outside my front door.

  “I can’t wait to see your stomach grow bigger with our baby. We’re going to have to use this position a lot. I’m going to give you everything I have.” He grabbed onto my hair. Wrapping it around his fist. His words made my pussy clench around his shaft.

  “I’ve always wanted you. To start our life together.”

  “We’ve already started,” he said, tapping on my clit and sending me over the edge. I opened my mouth in a silent scream as his weight settled onto my back and wrapped around me.

  We didn’t get much sleep that night, especially when I found the short length of rope tucked in John’s bag. It was just enough to make things interesting, but we came together staring into each other’s eyes, riding the waves of our climaxes together before collapsing into a satisfied, sweaty heap.

  He brushed the hair plastered to my face out of the way and kissed me once again. I wrapped my hand around his, and he smiled. A smile that warmed my heart and made me feel like there wasn’t anything I couldn’t do.

  “John…Grim…I—”

  31

  EPILOGUE

  “HATE YOU!” I shrieked, lying in the bed in the delivery room as a contraction ripped through me. I squeezed John’s hand, trying to transfer a little bit of the pain shooting through my body to his. He grunted, and I slumped back into the bed as the contraction passed.

  “That was really good, Francesca,” the doctor said between my legs.

  “My name is Frankie,” I said, so tired I just wanted to sleep. “Can I please have the epidural now?” Hoping that if I said it sweetly enough they’d change their answer from the last time I asked five minutes ago.

  “Yes, please give her the drugs,” John said beside me. If he got me the drugs. I’d love him forever. Not that I didn’t already, but forever plus one.

  “We told you already. You’re already at ten centimeters and fully effaced. The baby’s practically here. Only a few more contractions and the baby will be out.” The doctor said, talking straight into my vagina. I didn’t even care. I was too tired.

  Another wave began building, and I grabbed onto John’s hand. He grunted as I clenched my teeth and tried my best not to scream. John bent at the knees and put his hand on the back of mine.

  “You’re almost there. On the next contraction, I want you to push. Push really hard,” she said, as the nurses came in with even more equipment.

  “I don’t think I can,” I said, rocking my head back and forth. Whoever came up with childbirth is an idiot. This sucked.

  “You’ve got this, Franks. You can do it. Just think about meeting our little girl or guy.”

  As I laid there and stared into John’s eyes, I couldn’t believe how much happened over the past eight months. Like a movie on rewind, I flashed back through our checkin at the hospital, back to him talking to my belly night after night, tickling me with his five o’clock shadow. Both of us trying to put together the crib before he finally banished me to baby-clothes-folding duty. John down on one knee with a ring in one hand and a Romano’s pizza balanced in the other. How did I ever get so lucky?

  But in that moment, I didn’t feel lucky as another contraction spiked through me like liquid fire. I wanted to use that beautiful engagement ring to beat him up.

  “One more push, Frankie,” the doctor said, with her hands practically inside me. I bore down, pushing with all my might, until there was finally a wave of relief, and the pressure and pain disappeared. The cries of a tiny new voice brought tears to my eyes. My chest shook as I cried tears of relief and joy. I closed my eyes, exhaustion threatening to make me pass out. John’s warm lips were on my sweat-soaked forehead, and I finally let go of his hand.

  “You did so well. I love you so much. She’s here. A little girl,” he said, staring at the little wrapped up bundle with tears in his eyes, before putting her on my chest.

  “I love you, too,” I said, glancing over at him as I lifted my arms and wrapped them around my vaguely alien-looking little girl. I’d never seen a cuter baby. The crowd that had been waiting in the waiting room came bursting in. Thankfully, someone had draped a sheet over me.

  I stared down at my little girl as she cracked open her eyes. John came in beside me and wrapped his arms around the two of us. We’d been lucky to get this second chance at love, and I was glad I’d taken the leap and stopped being afraid of the unknown. John rested his forehead against mine as we both ran a finger down the tiny cheek of our newest edition. She was perfect. We’d made her. Our perfect little girl.

  If you’d like to see a night in the life of these new parents, check out their extended epilogue HERE!

  Acknowledgments

  Grim and Frankie were a fun and emotional couple to write with so many ups and downs along the way! Their sparring, their hurt and eventual forgiveness brought me back to all those old relationships growing up. They don’t all get a HEA, but that doesn’t mean my characters can’t.

  Dahlia made a quick little pop in at Killian and Rachel’s wedding. I’ll be bringing you her story Ivan in March! It’s a second chance mob romance that brings all the feels!

  To my readers, thank you for reading my books!! Thank you for the emails, comments, messages and more, telling me how much you love my characters, and telling your friends about them.

  I’m so looking forward to bringing you even more amazing ones in the days, months and years to come!

  To everyone who helped me with this one, Becca, Tamara, Lindsay and Donna, I’m learning more and more from each of you with every page I write and I can’t wait to learn more.

  To Vivian for making this cover even more beautiful than I thought it could be! :)

  Lots of love and happy reading,

  Maya xx

  P.S. You can sign up for an Under His Ink Live Alert HERE!

  Also by Maya Hughes

  Misters

  Mr. Control - Single Dad Romance

  Mr. Ruin - A Revenge Romance

  Under His Series - Mob Romance

  Under His Ink - Second Chance

  Breaking Free Series

  Blinded - Second Chance Secret Baby Romance

  Mixed - Enemies to Lovers Romance

  Served - Enemies to Lovers Romance

  Rocked - Rockstar Romance

  Standalone

  Passion on the Pitch - Sports Romance

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  https://www.mayahughes.com/

  maya@mayahughes.com

  Sneak Peek at Mr. Control

  She’s the one woman I should stay away from, but I can’t help myself…

  They say being a billionaire has its perks, but I hardly notice. After being widowed, my beautiful little girl is the most important thing to me. Esme hasn’t spoken to anyone but me since her mother’s death. When she goes missing, I’m thisclose to losing it.

  When Esme turns up safe and sound with a cute waitress, I’m ready to give the lady a reward and be on our way, but then Esme speaks to her. It’s simple, a mere “thank you”, but I know I can’t let the waitress get away.

  Melanie is nothing like the women who throw themselves at me. Her big brown eyes take my breath away from the minute I lay eyes on her. She fills out her pink waitress uniform with curves I can’t wait to get my hands on. I can’t get her out of my head.

  Melanie’s bringing my little girl out
of her shell, which means she’s strictly off limits. But having her under my roof and close enough to touch is too much of a temptation. My legendary control is beginning to slip and I don’t know how much longer I can resist breaking every rule I have.

  Chapter 1 - Rhys

  “We would like a round of applause for one of our most generous benefactors to the Ashton Foundation, Mr. Rhys Thayer,” said the rotund man with the bright red cheeks. I stood, buttoning my suit jacket and waving to the crowd as applause filled the room. You’d have thought the announcer just ran a mile in six minutes flat, the way sweat poured down his face and soaked through his shirt right at the center of his chest. But no, he’d just walked up a few steps to the top of the stage. The man, what was his name? Gary? Grant? Graham? It didn’t matter anyway.

  The G man went for a handshake, pumping so hard, like he wanted to detach my fucking hand from my arm. I gripped him by the shoulder, keeping that stupid smile plastered on my face, and squeezed. Grant/Gary/Graham released my hand from his sweaty grip and I wiped it on my suit pants that probably cost more than this guy’s toupee. At least I hadn’t paid for them.

  “Would you like to give a speech?” the G man said, spittle flying in my face.

  “No, that’s quite all right. I wouldn’t want to keep everyone from enjoying their wonderful lunch. Plus, I’m sure everyone would much rather listen to the beautiful song that’s been prepared rather than have me squawk up here,” I said. In three, two, one, peals of laughter broke out across the crowd. It wasn’t even a funny joke. But when you had money like me, it didn’t matter. I could whip out my dick out and piss on someone sitting in the front row and they’d applaud.

  Derek appeared by the side of the stage to escort me out. Saved by the fucking bell. The music swelled and some opera singer took the stage and belted out her song. I excused myself and made my way down the stairs at the back of the stage.

  “What took you so long?”

  “I had to make sure Esme was settled in okay with Hunter before I left,” Derek said, keeping his eyes forward as he led me out of the hotel. He needed to lighten up. I hadn’t received a death threat in months.

  “How was she?” I asked, matching my stride with Derek’s, which was quite a feat considering that Derek dwarfed me by at least four inches even though I’m six two.

  “She was fine. He was going to take her to the toy store.”

  “Okay, good. That’s a great way for him to ingratiate himself with her.”

  “Did she say anything when you left?”

  Derek shot me a hard glance. “You know what I mean,” he said, shrugging. Esme hadn’t spoken to anyone but me since the day she’d been found next to her mother’s body. Derek was the only other person alive who knew that fact.

  “No. She didn’t.” And that was the end of the conversation. Derek held open the door to the black SUV and I climbed in. Next stop, the bank. You’d think the life of a billionaire philanthropist leant itself to lots of free time, but it felt like all I did was get shuttled from meeting to meeting, event to event, gala to gala. I hadn’t had a day off in the past six months. It drained every ounce of energy I had. Especially when I hated every minute of it.

  Chapter 2 - Mel

  The din of chatter and silverware clinking filled the air. The pungent smell of carbs and coffee clung to every surface in the diner, including my uniform. I tucked my pen behind my ear as I stood in front of my eighth table this shift. At least tips would be good with so many tables packed in my section. The middle-aged couple at my table continued to flip through their menu. I’d visited this table three times now waiting for them to order. I could cut to the chase and let them know that whatever they chose would suck. The only thing that kept this restaurant open was the prime NYC location luring in a continual flow of unsuspecting tourists with their wallets wide open.

  Martin reminded us time and time again that customers came to the diner for the atmosphere, not the food. I glanced around at the cracked tiles and dingy paint, tapping my foot. He was a greedy little weasel who capitalized on the fact that he’d allowed a movie to film in the diner ages ago. He’d been trading on that little gem for decades.

  “We’ll have the—” Yes, finally! My enthusiasm of finally getting an order out of them was cut short by the clattering of a chair behind me. I spun and caught a streak of blue as the customers from my fifth table of the evening dashed out the front door. Fuck. I dropped my note pad on the table and raced after them, my sneakers squealing on the broken tiles as I pushed through the door.

  Martin was crystal clear about the waitress’ responsibility when it came to dine and dashers. As in, it was our complete and total responsibility to stop them and if they got away, well, that came out of our paychecks. Totally illegal, but there wasn’t much choice other than quitting.

  The frigid wind and raindrops stung my face as I pushed through the crowds of people with umbrellas wandering aimlessly down the sidewalk. Out of the way. The temptation to start body checking old ladies grew strong as the bright blue jacket of the guy I chased got farther and farther out of sight.

  One second I spotted a gap in the crowd and bolted for it, and the next, the world tilted as I slammed my knees into the hard, cold, wet sidewalk.

  “Ahh!” I yelped as the crowds surged past me like a rock plunked down in the middle of a river. The rain kicked up a notch and pelted me. The concrete dug into my palms, scraping them as I pushed myself up. I glanced down as a thin trail of blood rolled down my shin. My leg throbbing, I cursed the rain and the asshole who skipped out on the check. I limped off to the side of the sidewalk and found a dry spot under an awning. Shielded from the elements, even a little, I lifted my knee to check out the damage.

  “Hey, baby, looking good,” someone from the surging crowd called out. I dropped my leg, suddenly aware of how short my uniform skirt was and the fact that I hadn’t found any clean underwear, so I had gone without that day. I flipped the bird to no one in particular as people flowed by. I hope whoever had called out to me had enjoyed the show.

  My pantyhose was ripped and there were a few runs along the length of my leg. Martin required all his waitresses to wear pantyhose, like we were living in the ‘70s. I’d have to stop off and buy a new pair from the corner shop. I leaned my head against the brick wall behind me—and got out some money to pay the check of the dashers. Dammit. Today was not shaping up to be my day. Just like every other day this year.

  I limped down the sidewalk, wrapping my arms around myself as icy rain hit me and stabbed right through my cheap pink uniform. On my way back to the diner, I came to a bank and popped inside their toasty vestibule to use the ATM. I slipped my card in, rubbing my hands together and breathing into them. My warm breath temporarily thawed my fingers enough to punch in my pin. A twenty should cover the food and some new hose. A blinking blue message flashed on the screen, “Insufficient Funds.” I checked my balance. Less than twelve dollars. That didn’t make any sense. My breath caught in my chest.

  I punched in the numbers again. There had to be a mistake. Again, the same flashing screen popped up. I still didn’t understand it. I’d had over three hundred dollars in there last week. I gritted my teeth as tears welled in my eyes. I hated crying. And I hated even more that when I got pissed, I cried. It was an involuntary reflex that had given me so much trouble over the years. I told Colleen not to touch this account without letting me know first. She rambled on about not having the card anyway. She hadn’t touched it in over a year, and I hadn’t had enough money to open a new account anywhere else. The sting of regret ran through me. I rested my head against the cold metal of the ATM and retrieved my card.

  The door behind me opened. A cold blast shot straight down my spine as goosebumps peppered my skin, making my wet uniform even more uncomfortable. What the hell was I going to do now? A white, delicately embroidered handkerchief appeared under my nose and I jerked my head away. Standing beside me with her arm outstretched was a little girl.
>
  “For your boo-boo,” she said, pointing to my leg. The blood had congealed some on my knee, but the long drips of blood had stained through the pantyhose.

  She couldn’t have been more than six or seven. She looked up at me with her big, bright blue eyes and motioned with the handkerchief. Raindrops sat on her hat and coat. The water didn’t seep in and soak through her clothes, as it did mine. Instead, it rolled right off.

  “Thanks, kid, but I’ll be okay,” I said, crumpling the ATM receipt and dropping it into the trash can as I headed toward the door.

  “For your boo-boo,” she repeated and followed me, insisting I take it. I felt bad. I didn’t want to get blood on this super nice piece of fabric.

  “Thanks,” I said, taking the handkerchief from her. What the hell was she doing with a handkerchief anyway? Weren’t these only for people fifty and above? I ran my fingers over the thick, luxurious fabric. This thing probably cost more than I made in a week. I took a closer look at the little girl. If ever there were a kid to walk around with a lush handkerchief, it was her.

  “Where are your parents, kiddo?” She shrugged.

  She had on an adorable navy pea coat, dark tights, soaked ballet flats and an honest-to-God beret on top of her sandy brown hair, with a mini purse slung across her body. Who was this kid? I glanced around, trying to spot her parents.

  “You shouldn’t do that. You shouldn’t run away from people who care about you,” I snapped, nausea rolling through me as I thought about how much trouble she could have gotten into. She shrank back and I cringed. Chill out. I took a deep breath, relaxed, and bent down to her.

  “Sorry, kiddo. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” I scanned the people walking around on the other side of the glass vestibule. I looked for someone who looked like they were searching frantically, but everyone as far as I could see just milled around, umbrellas up, doing their own thing. I checked my phone. I needed to get back to the diner before Martin had my head, but I didn’t want to leave her here. Indecision warred in me as I peered down at her. I’d have to take her with me and hope we ran into her mom or dad on the way back to the diner. I didn’t want her getting picked up by the cops. Who knows what kind of shitstorm could rain down on her.