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Wickedly Twisted 11
RitaGregory Callahan.The one that pulled the gun on me for the crime of interrupting a meeting.I'll never forget that cold, dead stare. He brushes past me before I can say yes or no. I stand there in shock, not sure what to do, fear ringing down my spine. My mother's forgotten, Cait's forgotten. All I can think of is the offer Scar made me, and suddenly I wish I had accepted."What can I do for you, uh, Mr. Callahan?" I squeak, feeling very small."Gregory," he says, pausing in the little sitting room attached to the bedroom. "I had such a nice meeting with your husband that I thought I'd fly down here and give him the good news myself. We're thinking about hiring him on as our full-time attorney.""That's... fantastic." I let the door shut. Although I want to keep it open. That way, someone might hear me scream while Gregory murders me. I plaster a smile on my face and clasp my hands in front of my lap. "He's very good at his job, isn't he?""So they say." Gregory tilts his head,
Wickedly Twisted 12
ScarRita shows up at my office bright and early wearing the same pantsuit she had on in Boston, looking like she hasn't showered in over a day, her eyes red and bleary, her hair up in a messy bun.She stares at me, standing there in the doorway like she wants to walk over and strangle me.All I can think about is that kiss.That one, stupid kiss. I did it for a reason: to sell the story. That's what I'm always doing, selling the story. To a jury, to a client, to friends and family. Always selling the story.But that kiss was obscene. It was lurid, lovely. Her mouth was a feast. Soft, plump lips. Tongue like heaven, silky and smooth. Even her taste was unreal, spicy and delightful. I held that kiss for way too long because I didn't want to let it go, not after feeling something so good for the first time in a long time."I didn't expect you to show up," I say.She shrugs. "I didn't expect to show up either, but I had a visitor last night."My eyes narrow. "Visitor? Who?""Gregory Call
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Scar"I already took the first steps the second I left the meeting with the Callahans. If Gregory decides to dig, he'll find the proper documentation."Her jaw drops. "Wait. Hold on. Back up. The proper what now?""Documentation." I stare at her straight-faced. I had hoped I wouldn't need to tell her this part. I'd quietly dissolve the whole thing before she ever noticed. Just a blip in the system. "I know a judge in Las Vegas, a friend of mine, and he was willing to file the marriage certificate plus backdate it to a couple months ago. He forged both our signatures. Good guy."She jumps to her feet. "You did fucking what? Scar!""What did you expect? You don't have to play along, but we need proof that we're married. Do you have any idea what the Callahan family is?""You can't just—you can't just—force me into marriage. This is, like, beyond insane."I come around the desk, staring at her. "Listen to me, Rita. The Callahan family is powerful. They bribe politicians. They buy local e
Wickedly Twisted 14
RitaThe motel complex where the fire victims are staying isn't far from the burned husk of the apartment building. I can still smell charred wood and melted plastic in the air as I stroll toward the courtyard.I called Eduardo an hour ago. He said he'd meet me here—he had business with some of his former tenants already. I wanted to get it over with right away, but I figured this was something better done in person, so I agreed. But now that I'm here, I wish I hadn't come at all.It reminds me too much of what I lost. And what all these people lost too.Kids run around on a pathetically small grassy patch. A few adults watch them. Dejected and tired-looking people. My kind of folks. I smile and wave to an older woman I recognize from the building. She waves back. Her kids fall to the ground, a girl and a boy, wrestling in the dirt. She doesn't bother telling them to stop. The slump of her shoulders, the faraway stare, these people are in shock, still mourning the loss of all their be
Wickedly Twisted 15
ScarI try to do some work. I force myself to concentrate for an hour, but every time I find myself getting into a groove, she pops back into my head.Rita. My assistant.I didn't think much of her when the recruiter, a woman named Janine I met in college, brought her to me. "She's smart and really needs a gig, but she's young. Will that be an issue?"I didn't think so at the time. The interviews went well, Rita was poised and intelligent, and I really needed a new assistant. I couldn't keep scaring them away by being too demanding.So, I hired her. I took it easy in those first few weeks. I didn't push too hard, just to make sure she didn't panic.Look where that got me.Fucked, no two ways about it.I knew she was trouble the second she waltzed into my office looking like heaven in heels. I can't deny I find the girl attractive—she has the kind of body she clearly works on—but I try to make it a point not to get entangled at work. My job is my life, and I prefer to keep everything n
Wickedly Twisted 16
Rita"Welcome home," he says as he ushers me into his apartment.It's at the top of an expensive, fancy building in downtown Dallas. I didn't think people actually lived in places like this, but apparently, I was wrong.Scar's space is obscenely nice. Grays, whites, blacks, muted colors. Leather couch, enormous windows, modern kitchen with gleaming appliances and one of those obscene hidden refrigerators that cost like fifty grand. "Not very..." I trail off, tapping my lower lip. "Not very personal.""Personal?" He cocks his head. "You're right. I travel half the year.""I know, but still." I poke my head into the enormous master bedroom. "No pictures. Barely anything on the walls. It looks like you hired someone to make it look good and just—stopped there.""Because that's exactly what I did." He steers me toward the home gym. It's suitably decked out with weight machines and a couple treadmills. Plus a little steam room toward the back."Okay, I'll admit it, I like this," I say, run
Wickedly Twisted 17
ScarIt's been a long time since I shared my space with another person.Since college, over ten years ago now.Even back then, I got my own apartment as soon as it was feasible. I loved my Atlas brothers, but they were messy as hell, and I couldn't handle it.Now, I wake up to find half-finished glasses of water left around the apartment. Mugs of coffee with two sips perched on end tables. Dishes lying on the counter, not rinsed, not put in the dishwasher. Drawers hanging open. Cabinets with fingerprints. Keys tossed on the entry table with no attempt at organizing the chaos.She's Hurricane Rita.Throw pillows appear. Colorful blankets. Some attractive art prints on the walls. Coffee table books tastefully spread out. None of it is my style, but I told her to make the place her own.There are perks. Like Rita in a pair of tight yoga pants and a sports bra lounging on the couch, reading a novel. Or Rita working out, sweat dripping down her stupidly gorgeous body. Or Rita in an old, ra
Wickedly Twisted 18
RitaI do my best to keep pace with him, but Scar pushes all my buttons.We jog through downtown, heading toward the river. "All right, questions time," he says as the sun rises over the skyline.He woke me up early. Three sharp knocks on my door. It scared the crap out of me—yanked me right from sleep—and I nearly rolled out of the unfamiliar bed.Still getting used to my new situation.When I finally crawled into the hallway, heart racing, in nothing but a pair of shorts and a practically see-through tank top, I stared at Scar, pretty sure the place was on fire.No reasonable, rational human being would pound on someone's door that early otherwise.But he only stared at me with that intense glare of his. Like I was the one that woke him up or something. Eyes roaming down to my chest.Only to find out that he woke me for a predawn jog. "I expect you dressed and ready in ten," he said before storming off again.The fucking prick.Yet here I am, jogging away."Go ahead," I say, so clea
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