Twisted (A Zeta Cartel Novel Book 5)

by AJ Adams

  To my astonishment, there was a crack – and I was flying across the floor on my bum. "Bloody hell!"

  Rubbing my tailbone, I examined the cuff. The leather was soft thanks to the bath and I could push it back and see underneath. While solid, it was made for fun, not actual permanent restraint. So, they soldered the bracelet to the chain and with my constant pulling, it had snapped.

  I was free.

  For a horrific moment, I wished that it hadn't happened. The sure knowledge that Jorge would be very, very angry, paralysed me. But then my brain kicked in. He might be furious but I would be well out of his reach.

  Jogging into the bedroom, I tossed the bedside drawer and found the key. Chucking the cuff onto the bed, I raided his cupboard. His clothes were way too big for me but he had some running gear that would do. Two pairs of socks helped me get into his shoes and keep them on as I slopped about.

  To my utter shame, I ground to a stop in front of the door, getting up the courage to open it. "Sod it!" I wrenched it open. No alarm bells went off. No cartel heavies shouted at me.

  There was only a very nice hall, decked in marble and with one of those super expensive floral arrangements on a pedestal you see in the fancy hotels. And a lift. I punched the button and waited a decade for it to inch up to the penthouse floor.

  Stepping inside I had a choice of buttons. Reckoning any guards might be in the lobby, I went for the carpark. The second the doors closed, I kicked myself for not having picked up a weapon. Even the vase would have done.

  By the time we slid into the basement, my heart was beating wilder than a Keith Moon solo. I stepped out, feeling horribly exposed. I was in a private parking spot within a huge underground garage. I'd seen the sleek Lexus before but from the massive bike and luxury SUV next to it, Jorge liked his luxury vehicles. But wherever he'd gone, he'd not taken his car.

  I slid out of there in a slick of nervous sweat. Head down, walking fast, I aimed for the exit ramp – I ran up it, racing for the road and crashed straight into a six-foot guard.

  "Hello." Heavy-lidded eyes flickered over me. "Where did you come from?"

  A squeal of tires meant I didn't have to answer.

  "Khara!"

  He shoved me behind him, and before I could even think, the world shattered. A piercing whistle and a dazzling flash followed by thick smoke that blinded instantly.

  All around me, people were screaming.

  "Run!" Hard hands grabbed me, turned me around and pushed me into a stumbling run. "Go! Fast!"

  One moment I was in hell and the next I was in the street, sucking in clean air. Well, not clean, not in London, but certainly breathable.

  "Fire!"

  "It's a fucking terrorist attack!"

  "Ohmigod, call the police!"

  Behind me, it was chaos. Smoke poured out of a street level lobby. At the door, one colossus wielded a fire extinguisher while the man who'd rescued me hauled figures out of the building and shoved them into the street, out of harm's way. It was ruthlessly efficient.

  I wasn't hanging around. I scarpered.

  I ran, and I didn't quit until I was a full block away. Ducking into a park, I sat on a bench and considered my next move. Home was miles away, too far to hike. I had no phone and not a penny on me.

  Luckily, Londoners are kind. "Sir, may I have some bus money?"

  He looked me over, super white turban gleaming. "Bus money?"

  "I need to get to Chingford." I had my story ready. "I've left my abusive boyfriend. I'm going home to my family."

  He sighed as he handed me a fiver. "Don't spend it on booze or drugs."

  "Cross my heart. If you give me your card, I'll reimburse you."

  The smile matched the turban. "No need. Just pass it on."

  "Will do."

  The bus dropped me off at the end of our road and for a moment I was ten years old again and coming back from school. The trees were a little bigger and the street a little smaller but Mrs Smith and Mrs Ohakim were out as always, pretending to garden but actually gossiping.

  I said hello as I walked past and got hard looks and no response. As our street is like one big sprawling family-like community, I put their response down to one of the many mini feuds over a borrowed mower or prime car parking spot.

  Collecting the post from the box, I stood on the step and rang the doorbell. A smell of garlic and onions wafted in the air, Mum was cooking lunch. The familiar scent filled me with teary relief at being home safe again.

  "I told you to get lost!" Dad ripped open the door, red-faced and bad tempered. He looked me up and down. "Oh, it's you."

  "I lost my key."

  He didn't move. "And?"

  I felt tears pricking behind my eyes. "Dad, don't, okay? I'm in trouble."

  "Don't we know it," he said bitterly.

  "Gavin?" Mum appeared in the hall. "Just tell them no comment." She stared at me, "Oh. Persia."

  I pushed Dad aside. "Mum!" and then I was in floods.

  "Persia, where have you been?" Mum hugged me but her heart wasn't in it.

  "I got in a bit of a jam," I stammered but I couldn't go on. Standing in our hallway with the familiar blue carpet and cream walls, the past few days didn't seem real.

  "We saw the video," Dad said dryly.

  I rubbed my tears away. "What video?"

  "That sex video you made."

  "Oh." I thought he meant Rick's. "Is that doing the rounds again?"

  "I mean the one with your new boyfriend."

  "Boyfriend?"

  "The Mexican," his tone dripped sarcasm. "Not the Pole you're living with and engaged to."

  I simply gawped. "What are you talking about?"

  Mum wouldn't look me in the eye. "Sandy Ohakim showed it to us. It's you with a Mexican man."

  The ground was opening under my feet. "Oh, my God. Jorge videotaped us?" I felt sick. "And he put it online to piss off Kowalczyk?"

  "Is that his name? Jorge?" Dad asked awfully.

  My mind was in a tailspin. "Yes, but are you sure he did this?"

  Dad pushed his phone at me. "See for yourself."

  I gazed at it, afraid of seeing myself vulnerable again. But then I looked again. "But that's not me." The girl had my face, but it wasn't my body. "And that's definitely not Jorge. He doesn't have tattoos."

  "It says it's you," Dad said.

  "But it's not," I said with relief. "It's a fake."

  "But you don't deny you are with this man," Dad wasn't letting go. "And you think he would make sex tapes?"

  My new education kicked in. "It's a good way to humiliate an enemy."

  Dad was horrified. "You really pick them, don't you, Persia?"

  "It's not my fault," I started.

  Dad cut me off. "It never is."

  "But -"

  "We had this discussion before, remember? When you went off with that Rick? I warned you about him."

  I was dying of shame. "I know. But I was a kid."

  "You're not a kid now, and yet you traipse from one hoodlum to another." Dad wasn't ranting. He was quiet, tired almost. "Your mum has resigned from her church group."

  "Oh God, I'm sorry."

  "The newspapers have been on the phone, and the Rampage came knocking on the door."

  "Oh, no." I was seeing spots again. "How did they find out?"

  "Does it matter?" Dad asked.

  "Maybe if I talk to them." But I knew that would only fuel the fire. "No, wait. I need to think."

  "Persia, I don't understand," Mum whispered. "The man from the newspaper said that Kowalczyk is a criminal, and the Mexican is the same. Why are you involved with those people?"

  It was on the tip of my tongue to spill the beans. But telling them Colin was in hock to a loan shark seemed impossible. I couldn't dump my brother in it. "It was a business deal gone wrong," I started carefully.

  "Really," Dad was scathing. "Why are you in business with crooks?"

  "What's going on?" Colin walked in, looking strong and depen
dable. It did my heart good to see him. "Persia? Where did you go?"

  "Colin!" I couldn't help but cry. "It's been so dreadful."

  He sighed. "Oh God." He was patting me with one arm around my shoulders and handing an envelope to Dad. "It's all settled."

  "Thanks, son."

  Mum heaved a sigh of relief. "Really?"

  "Yes." Colin was still hugging me. "I have made the last payment. The house is ours."

  My relief was as big as theirs. "It's paid off? The whole loan?"

  Dad jumped right in. "What loan?"

  Colin simply talked on. "I put in some cash and wrapped up the mortgage, Persia. Everything is now shipshape."

  I didn't want to drop him in it, so I nodded. "I'm so glad."

  Mum was watery. "Thank you, Colin. We were so worried, weren't we, Gavin?"

  "I knew our son would come through."

  I couldn't help but ask. "But Colin, how did you get the money?"

  "From Delicious," Colin replied tersely. "Persia, where have you been? We've been out of our minds with worry. You just vanished."

  All I could do was sob, "It's been so awful."

  "The press won't stop calling. We've switched off our phones." Dad was grim, putting his arm around Mum's shoulders. "Maybe I should call our solicitor. He will keep them away."

  "Don't worry. I'll deal with it," Colin reassured him. Then, taking me by the elbow. "Mum, Dad, give us a minute? Persia and I need to talk."

  The second the door closed, I was rattling away. "Colin, it's been awful. I was kidnapped. Jorge Santos snatched me off the street, right in front of Kowalczyk's place."

  I told him everything, and was so relieved to see my brother again, that it didn't register he was quiet.

  "Santos may come after me," I ended. "Or maybe not. I'm not sure."

  While I talked, Colin was fussing over the kitchen table. He straightened a placemat that was perfectly fine and adjusted a knife that was also perfectly placed.

  "I don't know what that video is about but it's probably part of their war." As I faltered to a halt, he moved the pepper grinder into the centre of the table. "Colin, did you hear me?"

  He finally looked up, his mouth a thin line of unease. "Persia, please don't do this. Just tell the truth."

  I felt as if he'd thrown a bucket of ice water over me. "What?"

  "You weren't kidnapped. You were enjoying yourself. We all saw."

  I couldn't believe my ears. "Whatever you saw, was wrong." I showed him my bruised wrists. "How do you think I got these? And you should see the welts on my arse."

  Colin shrugged. "You told me yourself you like a walk on the wild side."

  "Being belted is not my idea of fun!"

  "Yeah, okay." Colin was fidgeting with the tablecloth, the cutlery – anything to avoid looking at me.

  I'd not believed it either and clearly my brother couldn't take it in. "It's true," I whispered. "Honest."

  Colin's face was stone. "That video has gone viral. I've got customers cancelling bookings. In fact, I've closed for the time being."

  Guilt flooded me. "I'm so sorry."

  "It's just like last time," he banged a knife down. "You make a sex tape and I get it in the neck."

  "I didn't make it." I spoke carefully, trying to stifle the rising horror. "I told you, I spent the last week chained to a bathtub."

  "Oh, don't give me that." Colin folded his arms and intoned, "After that row at lunch, you decided you'd had enough and quit."

  "I didn't!"

  "Kowalczyk said you told him to piss off."

  "No! I only said that because I was angry."

  "Yes, I'm sure you did it in a rage." Colin moved to the oven and tapped the thermometer, clearly not believing me. "But did you have to make those tapes?"

  "I told you, I didn't!"

  "Oh, come on, Persia! There are more than a dozen," his mouth pursed with disgust. "With all kinds of men - women, too."

  My stomach roiled, and I almost threw up. "What? That can't be true." My voice came from a million miles away.

  "I've seen them myself." Colin was fiddling with the table setting again. "You know I don't judge, Persia, but these are... extreme."

  "Oh God, no." I tried to clutch at a straw of hope. "You're sure it's me?"

  "I can recognise my sister," Colin shuddered. "What possessed you, Persia? I thought you wanted a career in design. Those films may pay in the short-term but you'll destroy your future chances."

  My jaw almost hit the floor. "You think I make pornos?"

  "Well, you have been taking your clothes off for years."

  My breath whooshed out in horror. "I was a model. It's not the same at all."

  Colin's mouth narrowed. "And sleeping with photographers to get deals?"

  "What makes you say that?" I whispered.

  "The Rampage bloke told me," Colin snapped. "It seems you have a reputation for it."

  I was hot with shame. "Oh, well, that was years ago." The words whooshed out of me as I tried to explain. "I did it because you can't get ahead otherwise. It's put out or get out."

  Colin shuddered with horror. "I'm not judging, Persia. I suppose it's not illegal, but I can't approve." He was back to checking the oven. "As for Mum, this will break her heart. And Dad isn't well. I know you don't care -"

  "I do!"

  "- but he suffers and this might push him over the edge."

  He didn't believe me. "I swear I didn't make them. I've not even seen them!"

  Colin dug in his pocket and brought out his phone. "Here. It's a series, Slutty Persia."

  Me, heaving away with two men on a heart-shaped bed. Me again, being buggered by a biker. Not my body but definitely my face. My stomach flipped again. I made it to the sink just in time. "Oh God. Oh no."

  He didn't even run the tap, hug me or help me. Colin stared into the oven, watching his pie crust browning. When I finished heaving, barely standing on shaking legs, he still avoided my eyes. "I'm done, Persia."

  I gawped at him. "What do you mean?"

  "I've paid off the mortgage, the loan and the interest." He was still not looking at me. "Whatever is going on, those videos, your reputation, Santos, it's your mess."

  "My mess." I could not connect. "But it was you who got us into this."

  "Your troubles are nothing to do with me."

  Bewilderment gave way to anger. "Is it hell! Have you forgotten that it was you going to Kowalczyk that kick-started this?"

  Colin was completely switched off. "I've had it, Persia. I won't be drawn into any more of your issues."

  There was an eon of silence. I felt the world pull away from me. "You're denying your part in this?" Surely it couldn't be true.

  "It is what it is."

  The door banged open and Dad marched in. "I forgot. The property agent also rang this morning. She wants to talk to you, Colin."

  "I'll call her after lunch." He acted as if I weren't in the room. "The pie's ready, Dad. I've opened up a nice Chianti for Mum." Then, as an afterthought. "Persia, are you staying for lunch?"

  "Lunch? Are you kidding?" I stood there, not getting it. "Is that all you're going to say?"

  Colin shrugged. "I've said my piece, Persia. It's up to you."

  "You're dumping me in the shit?"

  Dad rounded on me, snarling, "How dare you speak to your brother that way?"

  "It's okay," Colin said. "Never mind, Dad."

  "She has no right," Dad fumed. "Not after everything you've done for her."

  I just couldn't stand it. "If you must know, my saintly brother got into trouble with a loan shark." I clenched my fists, no longer caring.

  "Liar!" Dad was red-faced and furious.

  "What's going on?" Mum came in, wringing her hands. "Why are you shouting?"

  "Persia has a new story," Dad sneered. "Everything is now Colin's fault."

  "I am not lying!" I was desperate to make him see the truth. "Colin got into a huge financial mess. Ask the bank!"

  "
Nonsense," Dad insisted.

  "You don't believe me because he's your son and I'm adopted?" All that bitterness was flooding out.

  "No, Persia, don't," Mum whispered.

  Dad didn't say a word and from Colin's expression, I knew I wasn't getting anywhere. I stuck to the facts. "It's always like this. Whatever I do is wrong, and whatever Colin does is right. It's just like the mortgage payments."

  Predictably, Dad blew up. "Throw that in my face, will you, girl?"

  "I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying that Colin and I both helped, but he got all the credit and I got none."

  "Rubbish!" Dad yelled.

  "It's bloody true!" I screamed back.

  "You talk but never do a damn thing!"

  "Are you blind? You never acknowledge any good thing that I do!"

  "Okay, that's enough." Colin pushed in between us. "This isn't getting us anywhere."

  Dad and I fell back instantly. My brother had always been the peacemaker.

  Colin's pink face indicated he was wrestling with his own temper, but he got to business. "Persia redecorated the restaurant. I took out a loan to cover expenses. I didn't realise until too late that the company was shady."

  I breathed again. This was all a huge misunderstanding.

  "I should have checked," Colin admitted. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have touched it with a bargepole."

  "You weren't to know," Dad propped up the golden boy immediately.

  "I blame myself," Colin insisted.

  Relief flooded through me. Now we'd get to the truth.

  "Persia went to see the owner, Kowalczyk. She informed me he'd give a discount, in return for her helping him out with his publicity."

  Again, just what had happened.

  "I shouldn't have let Persia near the man but she told me she could handle it," Colin sighed. "I understood it was just them hanging out at a few celebrity parties."

  "Persia does that all the time anyway," Dad grumped.

  I thought it would be okay but Colin straightened up. "I wasn't keen on Kowalczyk but Persia seemed to like him."

  "Liar!" I gasped. "You knew I hated him. I was with him because of your debts."

  My always cool brother flushed. "Oh yes? Then why did you never say one word to me about giving up your flat and moving in with him?"

  "I was protecting you!"