Dirty Ex-Mas

by Denise Wells

  “That’s normal,” I tell him.

  “You think so?”

  I nod in response. Then I take a chance, one that I know I shouldn’t. “I have a friend I found out does something that most people would find reprehensible. But I know why my friend needs to do it and I accept it about them. Love them anyway.”

  “Reprehensible, like, selling people into human trafficking for money?”

  “Not exactly, no,” I admit. “But kind of close depending on how you look at it.” I lean my head on his shoulder, with my face tilted toward his neck. He smells so good, like pine and spice and the outdoors.

  “I can’t forgive him for this, Quinn. I can’t forgive him, I can’t understand it, and fuck me if I won’t have to arrest him for it.” I watch the skin of his neck move as he talks. The smooth ivory color dotted with tiny specks of black, the whiskers that will grow anew tomorrow but remain mostly hidden for now. I want to drag my tongue up it, like I did earlier, but I don’t think it’s appropriate.

  Of all times for me to be responsible and monitor my actions.

  “That can’t be easy—” The more mature me says, before I’m interrupted by a loud knock.

  “Reed? Need you out here,” Mack says gruffly through the closed door.

  Reed stands, knocking me from my position on his thigh. “Sorry,” he pats my shoulder distractedly as he opens the door and exits the small room.

  I should have enjoyed our brief interlude more while it lasted.

  Damn.

  I take a quick second to sniff at Reed’s jacket one more time before following him to the other room.

  19

  Daria

  When Mack tells me he wants to let David Tremblay go, I tell him he’s crazy. To me, that’s the worst possible plan. You don’t just let the bad guys go free. Especially not bad guys who hurt innocent women.

  “It’s not a good plan, Mack. And then what, you’ve gone through all this tonight for nothing?”

  Instead of answering me, Mack heads down the hall and knocks on the bathroom door, calling Reed to come out, before returning to stand next to me.

  “I think we should let him go,” Mack tells Reed once he reaches us. I see the relief blanket Reed’s face before he masks it. I know Reed just wants this all to go away. I can’t blame him. It’s never easy to realize that someone you love is guilty of anything, let alone something as horrific as this.

  My family in Russia does not do things above board, as Mack would say. So, I’ve been in Reed’s same position multiple times. My father punishes first and asks questions later. He rules our family with an iron fist. If it wasn’t for my great-grandmother’s wishes, my sister and I never could have come to America, and they almost forced me to return to Russia after my sister died.

  When I admitted to my father what I’d done to the men who had captured my sister, he applauded my actions. He believes wholeheartedly in the vengeance that I carry out, it’s the only reason I’ve been able to stay and continue to receive the financial reward. My father is an Oligarch, as was his father before him. That is where the real money in our family has come from.

  I have my money, left to me by my great-grandmother, Lidya Limonov, the original femme fatale in WWII. She was one of the top military snipers of all time, credited with over 300 kills. But it did something to her conscience, and she found it easy to slip into contract killing after the war. Which turned out to be very profitable, and my great-grandfather was good with money. This gave my grandfather a considerable advantage during the privatization of state companies after the fall of the Soviet Union.

  Hence the first of the Limonov Oligarchs was born. And the money just keeps coming.

  Besides the obscene amounts of money handed down through the years, is a near-obscene lack of regard for human life. They taught my siblings and me to shoot at an early age and shoot to kill shortly thereafter. I’m the one who forced my code of conduct on myself. Killing only those who deserve to die. No one else in my family follows such a creed. I’m able to carry on since people are still dying. Because, the Limonovs are cold-hearted killers, and we’re exceptionally good at it.

  Mack doesn’t know all of that, and neither does Quinn. In Russia, my family name is akin to some of the greatest gangsters in American history. Not exactly something that comes up over cocktails or after sex. And even though both can understand my need for retribution in my sister’s death, no way could they grasp the craving for causing death embedded in me since birth.

  I shake my head to clear it and return my attention to Mack and Reed’s conversation, in time to hear Reed agree to all Mack’s ideas. I scoff in my head. Reed agreed to let David go. They think he’s the small fish who will lead them to the bigger fish. A common crime fighting device used in America that I don’t understand. Rarely does it work that way. It reminds me of a Russian proverb my grandmother used to recite incessantly, bez truda ne vylovish' i rybku iz pruda, which loosely translates to mean, “without work, [one] cannot pull a fish out of a pond.”

  It is purely ironic that both sayings involve fish. What I will avoid reminding Mack of is that the only way he will get the bigger fish, is to get the bigger fish. Because in the real world the small fish always die, the big fish eat them.

  “If we make him wear a wire, and they find it, they’ll kill him,” Reed argues.

  “Then we’ll just have to pay attention and make sure that doesn’t happen,” Mack responds.

  The two walk over to the chair where we’ve restrained David.

  “When’s the next time you have a pickup?” Mack asks.

  “A pickup?” David plays dumb.

  “A date? A girl you plan to grab?”

  “Not until a couple days before New Year’s Eve.”

  “Move it up,” Mack says.

  “I can’t just move it up. Plus, tomorrow is Christmas.”

  “Move it up or go to jail. Your choice.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll see what I can do,” David says.

  “Now.” Mack tosses him a burner phone and Reed moves to cut one of David’s hands free.

  “It’s not like I just have a phone number I can call,” David argues.

  Mack just stares at him. David picks up the phone and makes a call. Mack grabs the phone from him and puts it on speaker.

  It rings ten times before someone answers. “The fuck you calling me for?” The voice is harsh and low. “It’s Christmas fucking Eve.”

  “I know, man. Sorry. Did you hear what happened tonight?”

  “What?”

  “At my engagement party, man. Someone tried to kill me.”

  “Pity for you. What’s that got to do with me?”

  “I need to move up the next girl.”

  “Why?”

  “Security is getting tight around the family. With the holidays and the wedding right around the corner. I get married in a week, man.”

  “Not my problem. We stick to the schedule.”

  “Make it your problem.”

  “What did you just say?” the voice growls.

  “Look, I’m stressed the fuck out. If you want this from me, move it up.”

  “Fuck. Lemme see what I can do. I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay, on the other phone though, not this one.”

  The line disconnects before anything more is said.

  “Thanks,” Mack grunts before moving off to the side of the room to take a call on one of his other phones, returning after a moment. “We gotta get him back.” He nods to Reed, some sort of non-verbal communication happening between them. Then he comes over to me.

  He puts his hands on my shoulders and squeezes them lightly. “I gotta go. You okay driving you and Quinn back?”

  I nod.

  “Thank you for tonight.” His words are casual, his expression is anything but, gripping my heart in my chest and squeezing tightly. He pulls me in for a quick hug, before he and Reed are out the door, half dragging-half carrying David between them.

&nbs
p; I hear the SUV start and peel out of the drive, then turn to Quinn. She looks at me, eyes big, mouth agape. “What just happened?”

  “They’ll use him as bait to get the other guy.”

  “Will that work?”

  I shrug in response. “I don’t know.”

  “What do we do now?”

  I want to say, “Good question.” But instead, I take her hand and lead her outside to the other SUV so we can leave. “Now? We wait and hope their plan works.”

  TO BE CONTINUED IN

  DIRTY DARIA - LOOK FOR IT EARLY 2020

  Acknowledgments and a note

  I got to meet one of my literary heroes recently: A. Zavarelli. After I was finished fan-girling and hyperventilating I told her that I’ve always wanted to write dark romance, but everything comes out funny. She responded that she’s always wanted to write rom-com, but her characters keep coming out broken. Such is life, I suppose. But it made me love her all the more.

  Dirty Darlings is a new world for me and my wish is that it pushes me over to that ever-compelling dark side. Or maybe the dark side with some black comedy thrown in for fun. I’m still not sure how emotionally capable I am of living in the dark. But I’m going to try it anyway.

  I love romantic suspense, am an action movie junkie, and can pretty much live off any adrenaline high where the actual high part (read: heights) aren’t involved. That said, my hope is that the Dirty Darlings world brings us all on a crazy, semi-fucked up, suspense filled ride. Let’s see how it goes, shall we?

  Dirty Ex-Mas is really just a brief glimpse into four of the recurring characters throughout the series, with a bit of background information on each and a (dreaded) cliffhanger. Which I will try not to do again, because I hate cliffhangers!

  I never would have been able to write it, were it not for the help of a substantial number of people.

  Rachel Radner - Man, I can’t wait until you start publishing so people can read your brilliance and pull from you what I get to everyday. Thank you for being my friend and for your never-ending support. You are my rock.

  Stephie Walls - You never fail to help me when I need it. No matter the issue: personal, writing-related, displaced mommy-issues. Pretty sure I would die without you. Like, literally.

  Susan, Jaime, and Rochelle - my beautiful, brilliant, badass BETA readers. Thank you for your honesty, your counsel, and your support. You help bring the words alive.

  Susan - yeah, I’m thanking you again. At the risk of sounding gushy, and (mis)quoting awesome 70’s lyrics, “Heaven must be missin’ an angel. Missin’ an angel, child ‘cause you’re helping me right now. ” I can’t thank you enough!

  Tammy Long D'Angiolillo and Sonja Tonjer - you two are fantastic! I write sloppy and don’t self-edit well, so thank you for catching the numerous things I miss.

  ARC Readers - That you take the time to read my words and review them means so much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are invaluable.

  My Dirty Darlings Reader Group - Thank you for keeping things fun. All y’all are amazing.

  Linda Russell and Alissa Marino - I’ll admit, I’m still a bit of a wreck with you, but I would be an ever-loving mess without you. Thank you both for your dedication, hard-work, and guidance!! (Linda - how about that branding, huh? Naming a book world after my reader group???)

  Missy Borucki - Look at you sliding in there at the last minute to save my day! Thank you for remembering me even when your world is upside down. You are a lifesaver. Cherry flavored, because that’s my favorite.

  Danielle Norman - One phone conversation with you, late on a Saturday evening, changed EVERYTHING for me. You are a true inspiration, a constant source of information, a guiding light for all other authors around you. Everyone should aspire to be more like you, cause you fucking rock!! Thank you so, so much!

  My Remi-kins - Hurry up and stick the kid in daycare so you have book reading time again. I love you! Thank you for all your suggestions and input - you’re the best!

  BW - You joke about the life you’ve given me (which I fucking love), but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Every day is better because you’re in it. Thank you for listening when I kept talking through this book and not laughing at my far-fetched ideas on victim abduction and crime solving. I love you more than anything. Even reading.

  Most days, anyway.

  About the Author

  Denise Wells has been reading since before she could talk. And to this day, escaping into a book is her go-to activity before anything else.

  She’s the author of seven romance novels and one YA novel to date. She likes to write about sassy women and semi-flawed alpha-esque men. Denise’s female characters always have strong friendships, potty mouths, and like to drink—a lot.

  Denise is loyal to a fault, a bit too sarcastic, blindingly optimistic, and pretty freakin’ happy with life overall. As a diehard fan of the band The Replacements, Denise would be a rock star in the band if she couldn’t be a writer. She’s even kissed the lead singer, Paul Westerberg, ask her about it sometime.

  Home is in the Pacific Northwest where she lives with six special needs dogs, one cat (who’s busy plotting the demise of the six dogs), and a husband (BW) who has the patience and tolerance of a saint. And, lest she forget, Denise also lives with too many to count characters inside her head, who will eventually have their stories told.

  For more about Denise visit her website at: www.DeniseWells.com

  Or follow her on any of the social media sites below.

  Also by Denise Wells

  LOVE IN SAN SOLOMAN

  Love Undecided, Love in San Soloman, One

  Love Undiscovered, Love in San Soloman, Two

  Love Unforgettable, Love in San Soloman, Three

  Love Unavoidable, Love in San Soloman Four

  Love Resurrected, Love in San Soloman Five (the final book in the series)

  STANDALONES

  Rebel without a Claus, a holiday novella (Stocking Stuffers Anthology)

  Dirty Ex-Mas, a holiday novella

  I Heart Mason Cartwright, a romantic comedy

  How to Ruin Your Ex’s Wedding, a romantic comedy

  Breaking Dylan, a coming of age story

  Continue reading for a sneak peek of How to Ruin Your Ex’s Wedding:

  Sneak Peek - How to Ruin Your Ex’s Wedding

  KEEPING TABS -

  SEASON ONE, EPISODE EIGHTEEN

  ANNOUNCER VOICEOVER: Tabatha and her husband, Pax, are enjoying a rare date night at home with nothing but the near-hidden cameras and producers watching them. Such is life since they agreed to allow their lives and marriage to be broadcast via an online streaming service. And, once you get used to having cameras around—all day, every day—it becomes normal and much easier to forget they’re there.

  Tabatha buries her head in Pax’s chest and covers her eyes. Her long red hair cascades down, hiding her face.

  “I can’t watch,” Tabatha says. “I just know Mary will be eaten by zombies and I don’t want to bear witness to it.” A light squeal lends credit to her statement.

  “Hey, Tabs? It’s okay to look now.” Pax chuckles, and tightens his arm around Tabatha’s shoulders for a brief beat before resting his arm along the back of the couch again. “She’s still alive. Bill sacrificed himself so she could live.”

  Tabatha spreads her fingers slowly to peek between them. “Ohmigod, really? So now Bill is dead?”

  “Sadly, yes.” Pax turns and kisses her forehead before returning his attention to the movie.

  TABATHA VOICEOVER: Even from the safety of our living room, the threat of zombies feels real. And Bill and Mary like friends, even though they are only characters in a movie. And movies are fake. I would know, I starred in them as a kid. Besides, growing up in the land of make-believe isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure the fame and the money are great, but you are forced to exist in a constant state of suspended belief with unrealistic expectations of how the world works. Like now, I know that
only the character Bill is dead, not a real person. But that doesn’t stop me from mourning his passing anyway.

  “What a sacrifice.” Tabatha sighs. “I can’t believe he would do that. That’s so romantic. Giving your life for someone you love is, like, the ultimate gesture.”

  “That’s not romantic,” Pax scoffs. “Bill’s a (BLEEP) idiot.”

  “It is romantic. It is,” Tabatha says. “He saved Mary’s life.”

  “Baby, who cares?” Pax counters. “If she’s not complaining, she’s screaming and crying. All she’s done through the entire movie is slow Bill down. She lost the keys to the car, can’t aim a gun to save her life, literally. Not to mention she dropped their entire food supply in the river, and it washed away. Mary’s life wasn’t worth saving. Definitely not by sacrificing his own.”

  Tabatha sits up and leans away from Pax.

  “Of course it was,” Tabatha says. “He loves her.”

  “Pfft.” Pax’s eyes don’t leave the screen.

  “It’s the ultimate gesture of love.” Tabatha crosses her arms over her ample chest.

  Pax looks at her, his dark eyes wide. “That’s the ultimate gesture of love?”

  “Yes! He’s putting her life above his own. Showing her that she is the most important thing in the world to him. Even over himself,” Tabatha says.

  PRODUCER VOICEOVER: Do you really think that Bill should let Mary be eaten by zombies?

  PAX VOICEOVER: (BLEEP) I don’t know. No, probably not. I mean, regardless, it’s a stupid thing to be arguing about.

  PRODUCER VOICEOVER: You really think so? I don’t know, man, if it were me and my woman was wanting me to throw myself to the zombies just so she could live, when we both knew she’d die anyway, I’d be pissed. That’s just not rational thinking.