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Wickedly Twisted 42
GregoryKeely returns to Boston empty-handed. "Sorry I couldn't be more help, but you've got one hell of a wife," she says before she goes."I appreciate your help."The house feels quiet once she's gone. Allison promises not to leave the premises and doesn't try to test her boundaries. Instead, she's depressed, staying in our room for long stretches at a time. I try to lure her out with good meals, but she's not interested in anything. Watching her spiral like this is one of the hardest things I've ever done.But there's one way to fix this. At least there's a path, and I have to take the steps myself, because I'm afraid Allison can't do it herself.It takes a week to set up the meeting. Orin, Sean, and I work tirelessly, making phone calls, begging, threatening, cajoling. I offer promises of safety, cash bonuses, whatever I need to say to get everyone to agree.But come Monday, the ten owners of the ten largest marijuana-producing farms in the state are seated around a conference ro
Wickedly Twisted 43
AllisonI can't do much these days.Wake up, shuffle to the bathroom, shuffle back to the bed. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Sunlight hurts my eyes. Noise hurts my ears. It's safest under my covers.I think about Freya in her final moments.Hoping for a way out.Was Papa there in the room? I don't think so. Whatever Papa did, that happened before Freya got in the bath.Did she know she was dying? Did Papa tell her to take all those pills? Did he force her on them?I see my sister terrified and alone. Abandoned by her own father. Abused by her husband.I was the last person she tried to reach, and I didn't know how bad things had gotten.How could I have known?But I could have.I'm stuck in a self-reinforcing loop. I couldn't have known. I should have known. Over and over. Shuffle, back and forth. Shuffle, shuffle. My mind feels like a deck of cards flipping back over itself, never in the same position twice.Freya's dead. She can't come back to explain herself.Those emails said too muc
Wickedly Twisted 44
GregoryTess stands by my side overlooking a burned-out field. It's nearly midnight, the waning moon still casting a gray light over the wreckage, the sky spattered with stars. "I want to be long gone before it happens," she says, her face grim."I'm going to be honest with you. I'm surprised you're willing to play a part in this at all."She wrinkles her nose. "I'm more pragmatic than the rest of them. Besides, I'm still young, I have to think about my future.""I could give you a bunch of easy platitudes about the Callahan family's gratitude, but I suspect you won't care about that.""No, I won't. I care about money and opportunity.""Then we're in agreement."She grunts as she turns away. "Just make sure you clean up after yourself.""What, you don't want him left behind? It might makes good fertilizer."She doesn't respond as she walks off. I watch her go, my smile slowly fading. She's going to be a problem—the fact that she's aware of this operation at all is a massive risk. Howe
Wickedly Twisted 45
Allison"You smell like smoke again." I gaze at him across the bed, blinking sleep away."I really did shower twice.""I believe you." I sit up, rubbing my face, then lean closer to him. I'm exhausted from staying up all night, sick with worry. He made the mistake of telling me what he planned on doing last night, and while it sort of comforted me knowing that Paul was about to die, it also freaked me out. "I was pretty terrified, you know.""Of what?""Losing you." I laugh at the absurdity of the words. "Which doesn't make sense, since I've thought about strangling you myself maybe a hundred times since we met.""Ah, my sweet wife, you're fond of me, aren't you?""I would say that I've grown very tolerant.""And yet here I am, sick with want for you." He comes closer, that beautiful man with his intense, lovely eyes, and those lips. Those amazing lips. He kisses me gently. "Does that bother you?""No," I say. "Not really.""Not really?" His smirk is like a velvet whip. "Come now, pri
Wickedly Twisted Wickedly Charming
Twenty-two-year-old Rita Hunters has finally hit rock bottom. Separated from her best friend, her parents in the middle of a messy divorce, and student loans piled way up to the ceiling, her once organized, serene life is burning to the ground right before her very eyes.But life isn't done fucking her up just yet. When she walks into her hot, gangster boss, Scar Scarfoni discussing some very illegal plans with his cohorts, she almost loses her life. But thank heavens that Scar is considerate and makes her an unusual offer so she can stay alive.Rita would be his bride. A fake bride.But Rita knows the kind of man Scar is; cold, ruthless and borderline psychopathic. Add to that his wickedly charming eyes, and Rita wants nothing but to bolt for the door.There are no alternatives, unfortunately, so Rita agrees.Scar is a neat, treats her like an actual bride, and teases her endlessly. Rita hates his jokes, his guts, the entire arrangement.Well, until she doesn't. Not all fake marriage
Wickedly Twisted 2
RitaIt's not the kind of bar I imagined.Scar Scarfoni is a martinis-in-the-lounge kind of guy. He likes high-end everything, from suits to cars to whiskey. He works hard, earns obscene amounts of money, and spends like he's never heard of the word retirement.He's not shy about it, either.But this place is a dive. There's a drop ceiling—an actual drop ceiling with probably-not-but-maybe-asbestos tiles—and fake wood all over the walls. Neon signs advertise beers I'm pretty sure don't exist anymore, and some ancient-looking faded pictures of retired Boston sports stars are tacked up on the walls—with actual tacks.It's quiet at four in the afternoon. Scar scowls around for a moment until he leads me to the far end and deposits me at the end of a curving bar in the shadows of what I assume must be a kitchen. Or maybe where they send discontinued beers to die. "You'll stay here," he declares."I thought the meeting wasn't until six," I say, blinking rapidly. "You want me to sit here fo
Wickedly Twisted 3
RitaI sip my non-alcoholic drink, eat my healthy deep-fried wings, and think about the way Scar shoved the seatbelt over my body. It's hard not to daydream about that man, with those big hands, beautiful eyes, his shoulders like mountains, his slim-fitted suits—if he weren't such a nightmare, I'd probably find him attractive.Fortunately, I don't. He's handsome, but that's different from being attractive. I want to look at him in a purely clinical way, like how I look at statues in museums.I don't want to get anywhere near him.Except for when he gets all bossy and shoves the seatbelt down over me.Then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't mind if he got a little bit more exploratory. With his hands. On my body.God, Rita, get it together.An hour passes. Then another. Then I'm creeping up on hour three and the bar's jam-packed. I'm on my third basket of fries, my second order of wings, and like my tenth club soda. At this point I'm pretty sure the bartender hates me for taking up valuable
Wickedly Twisted 4
ScarI accept the cigar from Orin Callahan, clip the end, and light it with my own torch. "Very nice," I say, nodding with satisfaction as I take a deep puff. "Cuban?""Of course," Orin says, grinning. He sips a whiskey, ice clinking in the glass. The room is dim and smoky, dominated by a large table and surrounded by storage shelves. We're deep in a back room, hidden behind racks of dry goods. The door is lost in shadows somewhere behind me. Orin dominates the space, though his four sons take up plenty of room on their own. I'm at the far end, closest to the door. "You know, Cubans aren't even all that much better these days.""Status symbol," his son Nolan says, a tall boy with dark hair and light eyes."Like you know a fucking thing about status," Carson says, another Callahan son, this one broader with freckles and a loud laugh.Nolan's about to rip into his brother but Orin waves them off. "Enough, boys." He glares at his children, all four of them. Finley, the youngest, sits bac
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