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Wickedly Twisted 44
RitaWe spend the night talking. Then having sex. Then talking some more. I tell him about my parents, about Cait. I share insecurities and secrets with him, things I hate talking about with anyone.I end up falling asleep in his arms. The sound of a car crash ringing in my ears. The sound of an event nearly twenty years ago, reverberating up through time, still changing the present."Sleep in," he whispers as sunlight streams in through the windows. I'm groggy, cuddled around a pillow. "I'll be back later.""'Kay," I mumble and watch him go. It's a little past seven in the morning. How can that man stay up fucking me half the night and still drag himself out of bed for work?I sleep another few hours. When I finally get up, I shower, make coffee, and sit in the living room sipping from my mug, admiring the new climbing shoes he bought me. They're not broken in yet, but they will be soon enough. I turn to the window, smiling to myself.So much about him makes sense. Born poor, raised
Wickedly Twisted 45
RitaI sit on the couch, legs crossed under me, a glass of red wine cradled between my hands. Scar's in the kitchen pouring himself a drink, looking exhausted from a long day at work. He drifts over, glancing from me to the black TV, frowning slightly. Probably wondering why I'm sitting here in silence, doing nothing.I have enough entertainment in my head right now. I don't need more noise.I'm on edge. I try to mask it, but it's like he can see through me. Peel apart my layers, look beyond what I'm showing to the world. I squirm, trying to keep my mouth shut. I don't want to talk about this. But I need to talk about this.It's killing me, this dream job.Killing me because it's so good and so bad at the same time.He speaks first. "What's the matter?""What do you mean, what's the matter?" I smile at him as sweetly as I can, but I must look deranged. "Nothing's the matter.""You're grinning like you want to peel off my face and wear it.""So says the toe-killer.""Sorry, what?""Not
Wickedly Twisted 46
ScarI lean over the bar at the Oak Club. Ford's on my left, Carmine's on my right. The wives are out together having dinner, while the kids are with a couple of expensive nannies.Babies, babysitters. That's a life I'll never have. I grimace, thinking about Rita sitting on some terrace, sunlight in her hair, belly swollen with my baby. That'll never be my future. It's a strange, painful realization, but maybe one day I'll be at peace.I made the right choice, getting her this interview.She made the right choice accepting it.So why does it all feel so fucking wrong?"I can't believe you're leaving," Ford says, sounding depressed. "Scar, bro, I've really liked having you here.""Don't be dramatic," Carmine says, grinning at him. "He's not dying. He's just moving to Boston."Ford groans. "I almost wish he were dying instead."I give him a look. "That's insane.""Boston's such a shitty city." Ford shakes his head. "I wish you were moving anywhere else. But fucking Boston? I'll have to
Wickedly Twisted 47
RitaI stand outside of a chic office building in downtown Dallas, willing myself not to sweat as I hide in the shade. I'm in an outfit Scar bought me for this occasion—all designer, all absurdly expensive, but too flattering not to wear. The garment bag appeared on the back of my door yesterday, and while I was tempted to throw it back in his face, I have to admit that it was an incredibly sweet gesture.And says a lot about how well he knows me. Considering everything fits like it was tailored to my body.Also, I look great. That helps.I'm nervous. I want to march in there, head held high, ready to live up to Scar's expectations and nail this interview. He offered to do some mock practice sessions, but I told him no thanks. I figured I'd only end up crying if we did that, and besides, I already sat through one interview with him already. That's more than enough for a lifetime.Now that I'm here, I'm tempted to turn around and go back to the apartment.I don't have to go in that bui
Wickedly Twisted 48
ScarThe cork pops from the bottle and I pour two glasses. "Congratulations," I say, grinning as Rita takes her drink. "I knew you'd get it."I toast her and pour a long swallow down my throat, stomach a bubbling mess of conflicting emotions. I keep it to myself.She smiles at me, takes a sip, and leans up against the counter. "You were so confident, but, man, I really thought I screwed it up. I mean, the guy asked about my family, and I actually told him my parents are swingers. On an interview! What is wrong with me!""Okay, yes, that's admittedly not the best thing to say.""He must've thought it was funny, thank god, because I'm pretty sure I was like one over sharing story away from a sexual harassment law suit.""At least you'd have a good lawyer," I say with a grin.She sighs, shaking her head at me. But she's smiling. "Seriously, I thought I blew it. Then Janine called the next day and was, like, they're offering me the job, and I just..." She trails off, grinning so big I thi
Wickedly Twisted 49
ScarBoston's a comfortable temperate toward the end of summer. Not too hot, not too cold. Finn Callahan picks me up from the airport in a black sports car wearing dark sunglasses, his hair pushed back. I toss my bag in the back and sit shotgun. "No driver?" I ask, feeling mildly surprised."I like to do my own driving." He pulls into traffic, going faster than he should. I buckle my seatbelt. "Dad's happy you're visiting. The big move's coming up soon, isn't it?""A few weeks," I say, nodding, thinking about what I left behind. Rita, sulking quietly. A week away from starting her new job."You'll like Boston," he says, navigating into the city. "It's not Texas, but it's a good place to live."I shrug, not really caring either way. "I'm not here to sightsee."He laughs. "But you still got to spend your days here. Might as well get a feel for it."Boston's an old city. Where western cities were made after the invention and spread of cars, East Coast cities were too entrenched and dense
Wickedly Twisted 50
RitaI'm lonely without Scar.It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic. I drift around the apartment, killing time until I start work. He left me a credit card, said I could get myself an entire professional wardrobe, so obviously I take him up on it.Shopping only numbs my feelings for a little while.Then I'm back home with half a dozen bags filled to the brim with designer outfits, empty all over again. I pop a bottle of champagne, pour a glass, and start at the window.Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, Scar's visiting the city we were both supposed to move to. I hope he's having a good time with the Callahan boys. I hope he's keeping out of trouble.A stab of jealousy pierces through me, and I have to shove it away.This isn't me. Moping around, feeling sorry for myself. Well, okay, it's a little me, but still, I don't let myself get all soppy and sad over some guy.Scar made his choice. I made mine.So why am I still feeling this way?As I pour myself a second glass, the doorbell rin
Wickedly Twisted 51
ScarI spend a few days in Boston getting a feel for the city. I meet with all the brothers except for Gregory—no shock there—and have dinner with Orin on the last night. He seems as stressed as he was back in the office, only drunker."Don't ever forget, they're out for blood," he says on the sidewalk outside of the expensive restaurant. He grabs my shoulder, stares into my eye. "They're all out for blood, Scar."I have no clue who he means, but I can imagine it's everyone. In his business, in his position, real paranoia must be the norm, and a shiver runs down my spine trying to picture myself working for this man.I can't stop thinking about the difference between Beach Orin and Office Orin on the flight back to Dallas. I keep seeing him standing there behind the desk surrounded by all the trappings of power—huge windows overlooking the city, oil paintings on the walls, expensive wooden furniture, priceless books and artifacts on the shelves—but looking absolutely diminished.Small
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