Page 15 of Twisted

His eyes narrowed, brows pulling together. He was swallowing her whole with that gaze—knocking back her sorrow, her despair, her fear, her pain, like a stiff shot of the strongest whiskey. Their exchange, though silent, was somehow more powerful than any conversation she’d had in her entire life. Slow, for the third time since their meeting, he raised his thumb and forefinger, pressing the pad of one to her scarred lip, the other to the remaining jagged line. She inhaled sharp, eyes fluttering closed at how hot his touch was, and as quickly as she’d fallen down into the depths of her damaged psyche, that gentle touch coaxed her back from the brink of drowning.

“I see you, Maisie. All of you.”

By the time she opened her eyes, he was gone.

The drive to the scene of one of her crimes was familiar. She’d only been there twice; once to scope it out, once to burn the evidence. It was just her shitty luck that this freak had been close by. Perhaps he’d witnessed her burning all those documents and other things, perhaps he’d become involved at that point. She glared out the tinted windshield of her car, her hands cuffed behind her, her wrists aching as the cool metal bit into her flesh and bones. She hated feeling so out of control. Even Carter had always made Maisie drive.

He was always too drunk.

The man driving sighed, capturing her attention. She knew her musings were missing the mark; he’d known her before this. He must have worked for Carter and Randy, and therefore she needed to kill him, too, and run. Disappearing hadn’t been her first option, ever. It would lead the cops to believe she’d been the one to kill those bastards. And then, there was the aspect of revenge. It was just too tantalizing to frame Lindsay for everything. That bitch deserved to rot in a cell for all she’d done. Her betrayal cut deeper than Carter’s and Randy’s combined.

“Interesting outfit choice, Maisie Jane.”

She felt her eyes narrow into a glare, but she kept her face forward. She’d made the mistake of glancing at this man once when they were on the highway, and it had sent tingles of heat throughout her entire body. The way he sat, casual, leaned back, broad chest and bright face on display as though he were a Grecian titan, here to slay the gorgon—it all morphed into one darkly delicious sexy package that promised pain before pleasure.

She glanced down at her outfit; hiking boots, two pairs of wool socks, jeans with long-johns beneath, a thermal, a long-sleeve shirt, and jacket with a beanie and gloves shoved into the pockets. Sure, it was hotter than hell, but she had plans, and she’d succeed. She felt a bead of sweat race along her spine. Just a little longer.

“Almost like you’re thinkin’ you’re gonna get away from me and live with the bears,” he pressed, trying to net a reaction. She snorted, shifting in her seat to alleviate the pain in her wrists. The trees that lined the highway blurred by in an emerald streak.

“I get cold easily,” she hissed. Her words were met with a dark chuckle. Keeping her face forward, she peeked at him sideways. His smile was broad, his teeth gleaming and white in their perfection, his mouth bracketed by those laugh lines. How could someone clearly insane be this hot, this charming?

“Got no problem warmin’ ya up, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she hissed again.

“Got no problem doin’ that, either.”

Maisie felt her cheeks burn and her eyes water with her quiet fury. She was trembling from head to toe, ready to spew but unable to find a retort. This man was an enigma as well as infuriating in a way only a teenage boy could be. She peeked at him again. He was a man with a boy’s charm and wit. Dominant and self-assured, cocky and fiery, impish yet brooding. It was making her head spin.

He didn’t want to kill her. So at least there was that. But he was still ruining all her carefully constructed plans, and his intentions were still sinister. Would he keep her? How? Chained up in his basement like a psycho serial killer? Locked away in his cabin in the woods? And then what? She’d be his toy until he grew bored, until she died? Until he killed her?

For the first time since he’d appeared in her room, despair rocked her to her core, and she felt utterly hopeless tears threaten. As he turned off the highway to the side road, a few tears slipped loose. She didn’t even know this man’s name, and here she was, about to become some sort of whore to his sick fantasies. Fantasies, her subconscious told her, that sent a deep thrill through her. But she knew the ghosts of her past would ruin any sort of tantalizing daydream. She couldn’t fuck someone without thinking of Carter, Randy, all the others. She couldn’t make love. Never again. That part of her had died the night her childhood had, the night she met Carter.

Maisie

8 Years Ago

(Maisie is 18)

This summer is gonna be a scorcher, Maisie thought as sweat pooled between her thin shoulder blades and raced down the rounded hills of her spine. More humid, too. Maybe her science teacher had been correct—maybe global warming was happening. Her parents would huff at that and muse aloud about wasting money sending her to the conservative private girls school, Iller Trail Academy. She hated school enough as is, always picked on by the sporty girls and teachers, doing well enough to pass but not given the time and attention she needed to excel.

That was her big sister, Marie. She’d graduated two years ago and had already completed her bachelor’s degree, and she even had a job at some company that made anti-venom for hospitals. She was about to be married, and though it was still hush hush, she was just shy of her second trimester. Maisie grinned at the thought of a little niece or nephew as she flipped idly through the gossip magazine. She loved Parker and Marie together, for they still made her feel included even if she was the bratty kid sister that always stirred up trouble.

But, she was graduated from high school just two weeks ago now, and holding down a job at the gas station off highway 59. The old window unit clunked on, blowing the most pitiful amount of tepid air her way it could. She frowned at it, wondering if the humidity, thick as it felt, was somehow clogging it.

Bell chiming on the glass door, Maisie groaned to herself and straightened up. Marie was the one who would get a career for a few years before she told everyone she needed to settle down and focus on their family. Maisie was the one who had no hope of a future in the corporate world, so she knew she needed to do well at this job in order to climb her way to a comfortable spot in middle class North Carolina.

But when her bright blue eyes settled on the tall drink of water before he rounded the corner into the back restrooms, something like opportunity mingled with lust flittered in her chest.

“Shit,” she hissed, brushing the crumbs of her Twinkie off the counter, wiping the corners of her mouth and fussing over her hair and tube top shirt. She tugged it up, showcasing the flat plains of her bronzed stomach, pulled the top down to give him a better view of her cleavage, what little there was for a young woman her age. Hooking her thumbs in her Daisy Duke belt loops, she hiked those up until she was sure the bottoms of her ass cheeks were more than visible. After combing her fingers quickly through her hair and pinching her cheeks to bring some pink into them, she settled once more, leaning on the counter to nonchalantly pretend she had never stopped reading.

She rolled her eyes to her own thoughts. She could barely read. Magazines just meant more pictures and less words, something she could grasp without actually stumbling over the tiny print. Those wide blue eyes kept flicking to the short, dark hallway by the beer cooler, the apprehension for his reappearance making her sweat only double. She dashed away for a second, standing right in front of the fan on the window unit, but all it did was blow her hair around her face and plaster it to her sticky skin.

“Fuck,” she hissed, hearing the bathroom door squeak open. She resumed her post and feigned indifference, popping a Butterfield peach bud candy in her watering mouth. The man emerged, white sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to reveal thick forearms, his blue slacks tight across his shapely ass. He paused in front of the cooler, taking his time to select a bottle of sweet tea. She could see him above the racks of candy, tall and broad shouldered, his back one long muscle. He was a man, not a boy, and a damn fine one at that.

Just as she was biting her lip to prevent a groan of bliss, he turned his gaze to hers, his face stoic before morphing into a kind sort of smirk that melted her to the yellowed linoleum floors beneath her converse clad feet. He had a wide nose, deep set almond eyes, dark scruff along his jaw and lighter hair swept to the side across his skull, and lips so full she could kiss them for years and not get to every centimeter of them. He dipped his chin in acknowledgement before his deep, velvet voice spoke to her.

“Never know which brand is the best.”

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