Wicked Things (Chaos & Ruin #3)

by Callie Hart

  “If you love her, you’ll stay,” Roberto calls.

  I stop dead in my tracks. Spinning slowly on the balls of my feet, I about face so that I’m staring at the sick fuck once more. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snarl.

  “It means you need to sit back down and survey the contents of that envelope, Zeth. I’m sure you’re going to find it a very interesting read.”

  Damn him. I am going to enjoy gutting him from stem to sternum so fucking much. If he’s hurt her…If he’s so much as breathed in her general direction, I’m going to unravel his intestines from his body through his fucking mouth and I’m going to be laughing like a fucking psycho while I do it.

  It kills me to sit back down at the table. Fucking kills me. But I do it.

  Inside the envelope is a DEA report. A short one. I scan the pages quickly, my eyes scanning over the information, my blood pressure rising by the second. Lowell’s been at it again, but this time she’s not gunning for me. She’s doing something far, far worse. She’s going after Sloane. Lacey’s autopsy report is difficult to read. There are photos. Photos of her body. I slide them back inside the envelope, face down, refusing to look at them.

  Cause of death: overdose.

  A series of records, showing Sloane checking an extraordinarily large number of morphine vials out of the dispensary follows in the next report. There are a list of dates, all only a couple of days leading up to Lacey’s death, showing exactly when Sloane requested the morphine. Unlike all of the other entries in the report, Sloane’s requests for the painkiller don’t have a patient’s name or case file number next to them, which leaves the reader of the report left guessing the purpose for such large quantities of the drug.

  “Lacey was shot,” I say slowly. “She wasn’t poisoned.”

  Roberto pouts, his mouth drawing down at either corner. “The coroner’s report indicates otherwise, it appears.”

  “Did you do this?”

  “No, I did not. It seems your friend at the Drug Enforcement Administration has grown tired trying to pin something on you and appears to be pursuing other avenues.” He continues eating. “You know how long a new mother is allowed to spend with her child after she gives birth inside a state facility? It varies from state to state, prison to prison. Maybe the lovely Doctor Romera will be lucky and find herself remanded in a liberal establishment. She might be allowed to keep your bastard with her for a month or so. Maybe even three, before he or she’s taken by the state.”

  Ice is forming inside my lungs now; it’s almost impossible to breathe. “Sloane did nothing wrong. There’s no way she’ll be convicted of murder.”

  Roberto shoots me a pitying looking. “I’m a criminal, Zeth. I spend a lot of my time breaking law. I also spend a lot of time reviewing police reports, assessing whether I need to have one of my men killed because he is likely to go to jail and can’t keep his fucking mouth shut. I can recognize a concrete case when I see one. I know exactly what’s going to happen to you girlfriend. As soon as that file hits any judge’s desk, a warrant for Sloane’s arrest will be issued. Following her arrest, her bail will not be granted. There will be public uproar. A caregiver in a position of power, murdering a fragile, mentally disturbed young woman, poisoning her and then burying her body out in the woods? The media will have a fucking field day.

  “There will be a trial, an unsuccessful appeal process, and then Sloane will be sentenced to life imprisonment if she’s lucky. If she’s not lucky, she’ll be given then death sentence. They’ll want to make an example of her. Did you know, the preferred method of capital punishment in the state of Washington is hanging? I thought it was lethal injection. Turns out I was incorrect.”

  There are no words to describe my fury. I can’t seem to see beyond it. My vision is strobing, lights flashing, and a sharp, stabbing pain is lancing through my head. I don’t know what to do first—leap across the table, grab hold of Roberto and repeatedly smash his head against the table until his skull cracks open, or head straight back to the airport so I can find Lowell and torture the ever loving shit out of her.

  “I can understand your anger,” Roberto says. “But I’m showing this to you so it can be avoided. There’s a way to make this case file disappear. There’s a way to make sure it never even makes it in front of a judge. I can make that happen.”

  I know where this is going, and I don’t like it. He’s going to want me to work for him in exchange for burying this and making it go away. So fucking predictable. Lowell is going after Sloane because she knows how much it will hurt me. Roberto is using Sloane’s safety as a carrot, so he can get what he wants from me.

  Being with Sloane makes me weak. She is a weakness. I fucking fell in love with her though, and I wouldn’t, can’t change that, so these are the cards I have been handed. What’s going to happen when our child is born? Are people like Lowell and Barbieri going to go on the hunt, trying to kidnap him at every possible fucking turn? Woe betides the person who fucking tries.

  “Say it,” I growl. “Name your terms.” It’s funny how a plan can change so dramatically in such a short period of time. Half an hour ago, I was wondering how many people were going to be witness to me planting a bullet into the head of the Barbieri family patriarch. Now, I’m wondering what I’m going to have to do in order for him to help me. I hate this. I fucking hate it so much.

  Roberto cuts another piece of steak, spearing it, eating it, chewing it in the most infuriating, disgusting manner, his jaw working overtime. “I only want your help. A temporary solution to an ongoing problem. You see, I’ve had a change of heart. I know now that having a man like you working for me all the way across the other side of the country is a horrible idea. You resent me. I’d go so far as to say you hate me.” My expression must let him know he’s right on the money. He laughs softly. “So all I’m asking of you is this: you know the lay of the land in Seattle. You know the organizations and factions who are going to cause trouble during this shift in power. Instead of you keeping the peace and maintaining order yourself, I’m asking you to train my chosen representatives to run the west coast for me instead. Show them how things work out there. Introduce them to the people they’re going to need to know. Most importantly, keep them out of trouble.”

  “You’re asking me to be a glorified babysitter?”

  Roberto sighs, nodding just once. “If that’s what you want to call it, yes.”

  “And how long exactly do you expect me to play nanny?”

  Roberto appears to think on this, as if he hasn’t given it much thought until now. “I propose you help me in this way until the day your child is born. Once that day arrives and the lovely Doctor Romera forces your progeny from her cunt, I will release you from your debt to me.”

  A low rumble of displeasure vibrates in the base of my throat. “If you talk about her like that again, I’m going to take that steak knife, cut off your dick and ram it down your own throat, motherfucker.”

  Roberto’s laughter is loud this time—loud enough to startle the tables surrounding us into silence. I’m guessing hearing such a thing is a fairly uncommon event around here. Roberto grins, displaying a set of half rotten teeth that make my stomach twist. Wouldn’t take much to knock those fuckers clean out of his head. “You’re right, that was very rude of me,” he says. “Our Barbieri women are revered and respected. I shall make sure I refer to Sloane only in the most reverent of ways from here on out. Providing you are in agreement, and you are going to take this job?”

  I know what I have to say. I know I have to agree, I don’t have another choice, but fuck…it’s so hard to part with the words. Part of me wants to kill this bastard right here and now and go back to Seattle, where Michael and me can figure out the Lowell situation on our own, but I’ve seen the file with my own two eyes. It’s a fucking miracle it hasn’t been placed in front of a judge already. If Sloane’s arrested, if she’s stressed, if she’s hurt when they take her, how will any of that affect the baby?


  I can’t risk it. I just fucking can’t. “And what happens once I’m no longer working for you? I’m just allowed to go back to running my gym? You’ll never bother me or my family again?”

  Roberto places his hands flat on the table. He looks down at them, apparently studying them. “Well. I’m not one to ever make a promise,” he says. “In my experience people are very upset if and when a promise is broken. The very best I can do is assure you that I won’t personally request your execution. But if you interfere with my representatives in Seattle once you’re done training them, I won’t stand in the way of whatever action they deem to call justice. My advice would be to leave Seattle altogether. That way, it will be impossible to consider you a threat.”

  I laugh under my breath. “I won’t leave. I’ll never leave.”

  “Then you are aware of the potential consequences.”

  “And what if your representatives interfere in my business? Am I free to deliver the same kind of justice to their doorstep?”

  The smile that slowly spreads across Roberto’s face is sickly and cold. “No, Zeth. That would be very ill advised indeed. You see, the men I have chosen to run Seattle in my stead are more than just representatives of the Barbieri family. They are the very life and blood of the Barbieri family.” He holds up a hand, palm up, gesturing behind me. “Zeth Mayfair, may I introduce to you my sons, Theodore and Salvatore Barbieri.”

  TEN

  MASON

  I wake up groaning. It’s not the groan of a hangover, though I’m definitely feeling that. It’s a groan of pleasure. My dick is hard, and someone is stroking it softly, teasing me, rubbing their fingers over the slick, wet head. I rock my hips up and forward, pushing into the gentle grip that has hold of me, and a shiver races down the length of my spine.

  “Fuck. Uhhh, that feels so good.” It takes me a second to place myself—where I am and who I’m with. When I do remember, I freeze, placing a hand over Kaya’s, stopping her.

  She’s laying behind me, spooning me, her small body flush against mine, her tits crushed up against my back. She huffs, her breath rushing over my skin. At some point in the night I shed my shirt and pants, and from the feel of things, Kaya lost most of her clothes, too. I don’t think anything happened, though. The cold shower I had before I climbed into bed was sobering enough; I would remember if we’d fucked. Kaya applies a little pressure, squeezing me, and I roll over to face her. “What are you doing?”

  Her eyes are open, clear and focused. She studies me for a moment, her features completely blank. Her hand’s still resting on my dick. I want to take it off, but then again…my body is reacting to her in a very typical fashion. I’m turned on, and I’m angry at the same time. Kaya must ascertain this during her in depth study of my face.

  “I want you inside me,” she says.

  Rolling onto my back, I cover my face with my hands, groaning again, this time with frustration. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Kaya.”

  “Why not? Because you think you’re going to hurt me?”

  I don’t say anything. I hold my breath.

  “Fine. Then hurt me. Bite me. Break my skin. Bruise me. Hit me if it’ll make you feel better. Punish me for stealing you away from Millie.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” I hiss.

  “I mean it.” She starts up again, stroking her hand up and down my dick. It feels good. It feels really fucking good. I hate that I’m so turned on by her, but at the same time it feels completely natural. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen. She’s fascinating. She’s fiery. She drives me crazy, and she lights me up from the inside. Honestly, I’m in love with the girl. I know I am. I don’t try and deny it, even to myself. But I can’t seem to get past this stupid fucking barrier inside my head that makes me want to pick her up and throw her out of this bed. And the words coming out of her mouth right now are like gasoline on an open fucking fire. The things she’s telling me to do…to use my body to cause her pain, to break her skin with her teeth, to press my fingers into her flesh hard enough to leave a mark? I want that more than anything. I want to fuck her, and I want to cause her pain. My need to do it is literally making me feel queasy. When did I turn into this animal, focused purely on my basic requirements for survival? The need to drink, to numb myself, to forget? The need to sleep, to check out of reality altogether, so I can disappear into my dreams, where even my nightmares are preferable to facing the fact that Millie is really, truly gone.

  And this. This dark, filthy need in my veins. It disgusts me that Kaya can see it so clearly, can probably smell it on me. I don’t even feel like myself anymore. She sits up in the bed, looking down at me. Her bare breasts heave as she breathes, her nipples peaked and tightened into small pink rosebuds. “You’re not the only one who feels guilty, Mason. She wasn’t my sister, but I know what she meant to you. I can’t sleep at night, either. I can’t eat, or focus, or think of anything but that night. We both know that what happened was no one’s fault. Not really. Neither one of us are to blame. But we both feel this pain. Keenly. So let’s just accept it and move on. You’re meant to be with me, and I’m meant to be with you. Are you going to let your anger and your hurt consume every bright, good thing in your life forever? Or are you going to fight to live in a way that would make Millie happy, Mason? Because this isn’t what she would have wanted, surely?”

  I close my eyes, grinding my teeth together, breathing jagged down my nose. “Please don’t do that. Please don’t use her like that.” It feels so wrong. So, so wrong. Because it’s easy for me to cling onto thoughts like that, like they’re a motherfucking life raft. She would want me to be happy. She would want me to have a rich and full life. It’s all bullshit, though. She was a baby. She would have wanted to live. She would have wanted to grow up, and learn, and play. Nothing more.

  Kaya shifts on the bed. She pulls back the sheets that cover the lower half of my body, and the bed dips as she climbs on top of me, straddling me. I suck in a sharp breath as her body makes contact with mine. She feels so warm, so wet, her pussy on top of my hard erection. She rocks, just once, grinding herself against me, and my back arches without my permission.

  “Stop, Kaya. Seriously.”

  She doesn’t. She lowers her weight down onto me further, until she’s not supporting herself at all, and then she rubs her fingers against the tip of my cock, trapped between our bodies. I’m so sensitive, I can’t help but hiss.

  “I’m not going to fuck you,” I growl. “I can’t.”

  “But you want to. You want me. Do you think denying yourself this small mercy is going to make any of this better? Because it’s not. It’s only going to make it worse.”

  She angles her hips forward again, and the pressure sends lightning racing around my body. This ungodly desire inside of me rattles against the bars I have constructed, trying to cage it. Yesterday, those bars felt strong. Impregnable. Right now, with her on top of me, the smell of her filling my head, the feel of her skin like silk against mine, the bars feel weak and flimsy, nothing more than kindling. I already know I’m not going to be able to deny this savage need. I’m crumbling even as I think this to myself, but still I try and maintain the illusion that I’m strong enough to say no.

  Kaya leans forward, her nipples grazing my bare chest as she lowers herself. My hands remain by my sides. I want to touch her so badly. I want to grab hold of her, take her, claim her…

  Her lips brush against mine, a contact so feather light and soft that it’s barely there. I allow her to kiss me, holding my breath. I don’t trust myself. If I kiss her back, I won’t be able to leash myself. I refuse to open my eyes.

  Millie’s dead. Mille’s gone. You’re never going to see her again. You didn’t get to say goodbye. You weren’t there to hold her hand. She’s dead. She’s dead. She’s dead…

  Kaya’s tongue gently traces upwards over my mouth, exhaling slowly. I share her breath, my entire body vibrating with energy, on the brink of collapse in every sense of
the word. “Fuck me, Mason,” she whispers against my mouth. “Fuck me like you hate me.”

  Something inside me snaps. I can’t hold on any longer. Her words…her words are like a knife cutting through my bonds of self-control. I feel like I’m being taken, overcome by a sea of liquid fire. It singes my skin, prickling, burning, biting relentlessly at me. The iron bands that feel like they’ve been constricting my chest, making it hard to breathe for so long now, suddenly shatters, and I’m moving before I can stop myself.

  I take hold of her, my hands on her hips, spinning her, spinning myself, then throwing her down on the mattress beneath me. I close a hand around her throat, and a flash of panic flickers in Kaya’s eyes. It disappears as quickly as it comes, leaving behind a glittering defiance that turns the blood in my veins to molten lava. That look is dangerous. With it, she’s daring me, provoking me, challenging me to act. She doesn’t need to use it. It’s too late for me to pull back now. I couldn’t even if I tried. I close my fingers tighter around her neck, feeling just how delicate and fragile she is. Her pulse thrums like the wing of a frightened bird beneath my grip, but there is no more fear on her anymore. Only desire. Only lust. Only her own need, echoing mine, shouted back at me.

  I don’t kiss her. I don’t rub my free hand between her legs, readying her, priming her for what’s to come. I use it to pin her by the hip to the bed, leaning my full body weight on top of her, preventing her from moving. Her eyes dance with excitement, and it’s too much. I do it. I release my fragile hold on all of the anger and resentment I’m carrying around with me. I slam myself into her, snarling like an animal, and Kaya’s body jolts with the force. She eyelids flutter, her mouth opening and closing as she fights for oxygen around the steel grasp I have on her throat. Again, I thrust myself inside her, growling, no longer in control of myself. She gasps again, her hands closing around my wrist. I think for a second she’s going to try and pry my hand free from her, but she doesn’t. She merely holds on to me, nodding her head as I plough myself into her again and again.