Page 12 of Twisted

Thrusting faster, he brought her within inches of climax. She cried out, tensing in preparation for that onslaught of euphoria when he pulled out his fingers, cruelly interrupting the pleasure she rightfully deserved. She’d get it, eventually, but he needed an angle, and right now this was his way in. She sagged into the bed, breathing erratic, eyes flying open to his face in confusion and hatred—toward him and toward herself.

“Don’t like this game, baby doll. Wanna feel you come all over my tongue and fingers and cock until tomorrow morning, but bad girls don’t get that pleasure.”

Her cheeks flamed, her face screwed up, her eyes gathering more and more tears. She was ready to spew. Jaeger smirked, the sight pushing her over the edge. She screeched and kicked and writhed. He chuckled as he subdued her easily, but she made the mistake of thrusting her head up just as his was coming down. And if there was anything to know about a Duke, it was how fucking thick their skulls were.

The crack reverberated around the cozy, teenage room. She immediately slumped in his arms. He wasn’t concerned; it took more than that to kill someone. He pulled her eyelid up for inspection, satisfied that her pupil contracted and dilated at the appropriate times.

“Maisie, Maisie,” he whispered against her, reaching up to swipe his thumb across her naturally plump lips. “Gonna get ya to confess, and soon. Time’s wastin’.”

He bent his head over hers, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. He pulled away just as quickly, brow furrowing, his eyes falling to her top lip—to the end of her scar. Fire blazed in his chest but settled like a stone in his stomach. He knew that however this had happened to her, her husband, Randy, and Linds had been involved.

One handed, he freed her wrists from the prison of his belt, adjusting her so she lay the correct way in her queen sized bed. Stepping back, he pushed down his jeans, kicking them away and throwing off his hoodie before he climbed in after her.

Her parents would be home in two days. He’d get her to lead him to the evidence tomorrow. But, he knew, things could never be that simple.

The cost of Lindsay’s freedom would be Maisie’s imprisonment.

Jaeger

10 Years Ago

(Jaeger is 18)

The stone mansion was dimly lit, the lights fixated on the walls giving off a soft glow. It was quiet, but not that eery kind of quiet. It was just peaceful—dusk in the middle of summer—where the crickets and cicadas and frogs all sang in unison, where the AC units kicked on with a low, vibrating buzz, where sprinklers hissed and spit and dogs a few blocks away barked, their muted sounds just heard over the hushed cacophony of peace.

Jaeger’d never been so fucking nervous in his life, though. He stood at the back gate, concealed by lush shrubbery, cheap, shitty cig so tight between his teeth he’d crushed the filter. His hands shook, his palms sweating. Looking to his left, his eyes found his partner’s—a man everyone called Rancho. Jaeger figured it was a racial slur, since he was Latino, but no one ever said anything else about it.

He jerked his chin to him.

“Why they call you Rancho?”

The man’s almond eyes slivered, and he crossed his bulging biceps over his barrel of a chest. He was tatted from head to toe; his neck bore a cross, but his knuckles said FUCK YOU in stark black letters with a heart to end the sentiment. He was medium height, bald as a baby, and wore thick rimmed black glasses, the old school kind. But Jaeger’s smile was wiped clean by the devil in Rancho’s eyes.

“You finish the job tonight, kid, I’ll tell ya.”

Jaeger was too young, too green to talk like a man, so he shut up and chose to stay quiet, to listen and observe how he should talk. He’d just graduated from Iller Trail Academy for Boys—the girl’s school was a two mile hike through dense North Carolinian wilderness. Jaeger knew. He’d paid his visits there quite often during his four years imprisoned by those brick walls.

What Jaeger didn’t know was how the hell he’d gotten this job. All he’d done was use his fake ID to get into a strip club…a few times, and the owner began to take notice. They finally nabbed him over three months ago, and instead of getting his ass beat, they’d offered him a job working security for some of the higher ups in the business. Jaeger’d said yes immediately, for it meant an escape from the wrath of his perfectionist father, bitch mother, and spoiled but still lovable sister.

He’d yet to meet the man in charge, and it seemed very few that worked for him had ever actually met him. He was mystical, a shadow along your wall in the middle of the night. Jaeger intended to meet him, this man everyone trembled to behold. He would size him up, see if he was worth the hype. Jaeger was good at reading people, even from a young age. He wanted to look his boss in the eye, wanted this man to see the value of Jaeger—wanted someone with power to be proud of him for once in his life.

He kept that motive deep within his heart.

Rancho shifted out of the corner of Jaeger’s eye, and he soon held up the F-tatted finger. Jaeger’s heart gave a sharp thud. He reached to his back, to the Glock 19 at his waistband, slowly withdrawing, already loaded. Rancho held up the U finger along with the first. Jaeger’s brow was dotted with a sheen of sweat, and his muscles ached from holding so still and tense for so long. The C finger finally appeared, and they moved in.

He could see the map in his head. Rancho disarmed the alarm, and the two at the front of the house made their entrance as well, quiet as a whisper. Jaeger and his partner went in through the back, up the stairs to the master bedroom. They all moved like phantoms, indecipherable from the shadows. The door at the end of the hall beckoned them, the man asleep within seconds away from his death. Jaeger wasn’t allowed to ask why; he was given a name, a hit, and he and his selected team would act.

Tonight would mark his third job.

Rancho paused outside the white door, the three other men grouped around him. Silent as a ghost, his tatted fingers twisted the knob, ratcheting everyone’s nerves up another notch. The door, heavy, expensive wood, swung open without much resistance, revealing the two slumbering forms in the California king bed. Jaeger thought it strange how early this couple went to sleep until his eyes focused through the dim light and on the man’s face.

A face, he knew, that was also the face of Charlotte, North Carolina; he was the news channel’s most beloved anchor, as recognizable as Jaeger’s own face. Some kind of dread pooled in his young gut. Why was there a hit on him, on someone so popular and affable?

Shaken to his core, it took Jaeger a moment to notice the rest of the crew had moved into their respective positions; Rancho by the man, flanked by Willy (lovingly referred to as Iron Willy most of the time for various reasons) and Buck, a bear of a man who spoke more with his fists than his tongue. Jaeger’s initial job was to bind the woman and gag her, get her out of the room so the rest could take care of the gritty part of the job.

His feet shuffled him forward across the dense, expensive carpet, the soft shushing of his boots like gunshots in his pounding ears. The length of rope in his pocket poked out, bidding hello to its victim as he rounded the end of the bed and stared down at her. She was peaceful, save for the lines between her brows and around her frowning mouth. Although in her fifties, she was still elegant, beautiful, thick blonde hair covering her pillow, thin, elfish features, and a body that Jaeger knew he could easily overpower. He may have been young, but he’d fought his way to this position by means of sheer force and his keen mind, and he would continue to fight to keep it.

His eyes snapped across the bed to meet Rancho’s, and after a slight nod, Jaeger knew his time to act had come. Steeling himself, breathing slowly through his nose to calm his nerves—more excitement than fear, now—he acted, striking out quick as a snake, clapping his wide palm and long fingers over her mouth while his other gripped her arm and yanked her out of bed. Her sleepy limbs stiffened and she screamed and thrashed against him, but he was already towing her toward the door, her nails raking lines down his hands, one catching his cheek. In the bed before them, Rancho and the others pounced on the awakening target, giving him no time to come to the aid of his wife.

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