Page 6 of Twisted

Jaeger snubbed out his cigarette in a planter before he pushed through the shadows and into the backyard lit by tiki poles and string lights. Linds screeched for joy when she saw him, jumping over and planting her drunk self to his side in a tight hug. He patted her shoulder and pushed her away as kindly as possible, his long sleeve t-shirt beneath his vest now soaked with two big boob prints. He rolled his eyes. He’d much rather have that little vixen next to his sister be the one rubbing all up on him in a drunken stupor.

“Jaggy! You came!”

He smirked, unable to keep his sass locked in for long, even with Randy’s acidic gaze blazing like a blow torch over his skin. He wanted to be the son daddy doted on now. Jaeger felt his smirk widen.

“Not yet, sis, maybe your friends can help me take care of that, though.”

He could hear Lindsay’s snort of laughter, a giggle she tried to hide because she was downright crass and trying to prove to her new, uptight husband she wasn’t. But he kept his eyes on that man, watching those pale orbs glint in malice and contempt as he faked a smile. He leaned forward, reaching out his hand for Jaeger to shake. He happily clasped it, squeezing hard and staring him down.

“Always good to see ya,” Randy lied through his teeth. Jaeger nodded.

“Likewise.”

“Carter,” the man next to him said, leaning around Randy to shake his hand. Jaeger sized him up as well. He looked to be around Randy’s age, which soured his snide remark. What was it with these old guys targeting young, sexy women to marry?

“My wife, Maisie Jane Hale,” Carter said, tacking on his surname in a show of possessiveness, peering around the gathered group to nod to the dark haired beauty.

“Walkup, still, sweets,” she said, and her voice sent lightning strikes through Jaeger’s spine, melting him into a puddle. Carter’s eyes tightened. Jaeger took the opportunity to glance at her. She wavered on her feet, a beer in her little hand. She was a goner, that much was clear to see, but judging by the feistiness in her voice, she was a spitfire.

Jaeger had a type: women with blue eyes. And Maisie Jane Walkup had the purest, richest sapphire eyes he’d ever had the pleasure of seeing. Set in contrast with her dark hair, she was the epitome of perfection. The women Jaeger usually chased, though, were lacking one specific thing; fire. He prided himself on his ability to read people, their true, inner selves, cutting right down to the core.

Most women were meek and submissive. They could play at being stubborn, feisty, fiery—but when it came down to it, none had ever matched his own flames, his own passion and need to dominate. He craved submission, but the struggle was where he got off. The cat and mouse, the chase, the battle of wills. So a newly married woman was his perfect target, but even better still were those eyes and the truth they held; deep down, at the very heart of her, she had a spine of steel that would not bend unless there was no other choice.

It both excited and infuriated Jaeger, for the very thing he’d always sought was the same thing he couldn’t have, at least not right now. He could convince her to be unfaithful, of that he had no doubt, but to tie himself to his very favorite kind of addiction before he had to disappear again wouldn’t do. If he was gonna have something be his, he would be balls to the wall.

“Walkup?” he parroted to her with a quirk of his brow. Old name, deeply southern. She pursed her ruby red lips and gave a sharp nod back.

“Love my hubby, but love me my daddy’s name.”

“My father,” Carter grumbled, correcting her grammar and wordage. Jaeger bristled at the slight, but Maisie—drunk as a skunk—didn’t notice. Jaeger understood her deep southern accent and connotations just fine, though. She was proud of who she was and where she came from, and she wanted everyone else to know it. If he had on a hat, he’d tip it to her.

“Very nice to meet y’all,” he said, throwing in that little bit at the end to annoy the yankees. They may be southern geographically, but not in their roots, not in their blood. Why Linds and her fine little friend Maisie had married such pompous assholes was beyond him. He made a few laps around the party, chatting with old friends by the keg. His eyes often wandered through the crowd, picking them all apart in an attempt to find the one he really wanted to see.

He was doing just that when she teetered off into the house in front of him. He gave it a solid ten minutes, wrapping up his chat before he followed. The party was petering out, but he was good at finding people, and his little doll of a woman had left quite the trail of chlorinated footprints. He chuckled, the path winding as though she were on the deck of a ship at sea rather than steady ground.

They led to the side of the house, to the shadows and quiet, the edges wavering with the sounds of the party just beyond reach.

“Mmm, no, no.” He heard coming from the greenhouse. Themmmwas not a moan, but the sound of lips pressing together in protest. He knew it was his woman’s voice, so quipped and high and southern even in single syllable words. His hand dashed into his front pants pocket, producing his favorite switchblade that he flipped it open with a hiss and clip of biting metal.

Hand splayed on the glass door, he pressed it open, the scent of fertilizer and dirt thick in his throat. It was humid in here, as if this greenhouse needed to beat the natural humidity of the south. When he dragged his fingers away from the fogged glass, his handprint lingered, tendrils of water racing down and creating veins that would be his wrists.

His eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see his little Maisie, pressed up against the wall, eyes closed, face pinched in confusion and fright. Wet, sloppy noises greeted him. Judging by the way the man between her legs was thrusting, Jaeger should be leaving. But her voice rang out again, clearer this time but obviously sluggish and wasted.

“Cart…er…No, no, you’re not—”

The man slapped a hand to her mouth and grunted. It was all the proof Jaeger needed. He was stealthy still, and judging by the state Maisie was in, she couldn’t see shit. He was swift, pressing the blade of the knife to the man’s throat, ceasing his thrusts as a panicked gasp left his lungs.

“You her husband, motherfucker?”

The sweating man shook his head quickly, shaking all over like a frightened dog.

“Get off her,” he hissed. He backed off, allowing the scum to pull away. With one arm across Maisie’s slack chest, he held her pinned to the wall. His other kept the knife pointed at her assailant. A man he’d seen at the party but didn’t otherwise recognize. Jaeger swallowed hard. Killing was new to him, so it was a surprise when he felt the urge at the back of his throat, thrumming deep through his heart. He wanted to watch this man bleed like a stuck pig.

He wanted to smear his own cheeks with that blood. He wanted to carve out his heart, keep him alive to watch his own torture. No one would touch his woman. No man would ever be allowed in her but him, once he had her. Even if she didn’t want him, it didn’t matter. Jaeger would claim her, would chain her up and lock her away if that’s what it took. She was his, and it snapped through him like a spring that had been set loose after so many years of coiled numbness.

“On your knees,” he seethed. Trembling, with hands up, the man obeyed. Jaeger bit back a laugh as the man pissed himself.

“Car…ter?” Maisie mumbled behind him, sending even more rage shooting through him. She would forget Carter and think only Johnathon Jaeger Duke. He would forgive her when that time came.

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