Page 2 of Beauty & Corruption

I was confused, cranky, and wanted to go home. The fact was, I was tired of being a prisoner in a world that claimed to be mine. I didn’t ask for any of this shit. I didn’t want to be from a mafia family. For fucks sake, my last name wasn’t shared with my dad. I had lived every day of my life without having so much as a single thought of changing my last name. I didn’t claim my dad and his Russian crime family any more today than I did two months ago when I had zero knowledge that their last name wasn’t Angel but Angeloff. My dad was a ghost, as in nonexistent and dead to me. He walked out of our lives when I was too young to have any real memories of him, leaving my mom to raise six kids. Six fucking kids. Who does that? Apparently, Kiry Angel, that was who. I’m sorry. That wasn’t even his name of our bastard father as we grew up thinking it was. His real name was Kirill Angeloff, which was something I’d learned from Mordy. As sad as it was, I had gained more knowledge about my dad from this messed up back-and-forth with Mordicus than anyone else in my life, including my own mom. So, while I lied to Stone and myself about my motives for allowing Mordy to touch me—to gather info—deep down, I knew the real reason. Somewhere hidden within the depths of my soul laid a pain junkie, and Mordy was the world’s biggest dealer. He scratched an itch I had a delicious hatred for, one I had never mentioned aloud. But it was as if Mordy saw the corruption inside me that no one else did.

“Éan?” Mordy’s piercing blue eyes lifted to meet mine.

“Hmm?” I barely answered, too busy drowning in my own thoughts.

“You know, lass, you didn’t stop me.”

“Since when have words stopped you from doing anything in your entire life, Mordy?” I spat out quickly in a matter-of-fact tone. It was the truth or, at least, had been proven as a definite in the time I’d known him. He bit his lower lip as he considered my question, and I wanted to die from the amount of pleasure his reaction gave me. I didn’t know if he was aware of what he did to me, but I prayed he never found out. I hoped no one did. Wanting him was wrong on so many levels, none of which I ever intended to explore. Every impure thought of him that crossed into my mind made me feel a little more guilty as I crawled into bed with Stone. At this point, the deception alone should have eaten me alive, not motivated me to settle the score between us. I told myself I would stop him, but I never did. I guess lying to myself was easier than accepting the truth. I enjoyed our fucked-up game as much as Mordicus did.

“Aye. You are not wrong, Bird. Perhaps you may never know if it would have stopped me today, and it wouldn’t stop me if Ihadto take your life, but know, if it were me, I would make your killing so beautiful that all the damned souls would be jealous of your death symphony.”

“Erm. Thanks? I think. I don’t know if I should say fuck you or thank you, Mordy…but get the fuck off me.” I half-heartedly chuckled, pushing against his chest with my palms as soon as my hands were free from his.

Every time Mordy’s curious fingertips inched closer to me, I didn’t tell him to stop. Not in those words. Sure, I’d weakly warned him while I secretly hoped he ignored my words and did the reverse. Mordy didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. On multiple occasions, Stone threatened Mordy if he touchedme, but it never fazed Mordy. Truthfully, I think it made him want to do it more. That was the type of person Mordy was. He did the opposite of what he was told, and if someone bluntly told him not to do something, he would do exactly that.

“What are you doing exactly, Mordicus?” I questioned him while his head rose and fell with my chest. He was probably counting down the beats to strangle me, or maybe this was part of his ritual. I’d read a lot of murderers had a certain order to the steps they liked to take before each of their kills, and often, they took a trophy to remember the moment. It wouldn’t shock me at all if Mordy had a stashed suitcase under his bed that was full of a rainbow assortment of locks of hair from his victims or something equally disturbing.

“Memorizing each beat as if it was your last.”

“Why? Is that your ritual?”

“My ritual?

“Yeah. I read that’s what serial killers do. They are meticulous in their process and keep trophies from their kills.”

“Aye, lass.” Mordy guffawed, “They do indeed, but I don’t fall into that category.” His head lifted from my body, and he stared into my eyes.

“How do you not?” I was baffled by his statement.

“Éan,” he spoke the nickname Stone had given me in Gaelic. I used to cringe every time he used it, but I had grown accustomed to hearing him use it. “A serial killer’s victims usually have things in common. Mine, not so much. I don’t take trophies to remember anyone by. In fact, those who I have killed are essentially eradicated from the earth. I would be more of a mass murderer, lass.”

“Semantics,” I briefly said with a shake of my head, quickly grabbing the fabric of Stone’s shirt as it slipped down my arms. My fingers gathered the material together in a ball, covering my bra and the rest of my chest while guilt washed through mybody. Honestly, my mind was so overwhelmed with everything that I hadn’t fully considered that I was standing in front of Mordy basically topless, and the only thing covering most of my body was a shirt that belonged to another man. I was embarrassed and ashamed that I had let this happen…again. I felt dirty and would feel even worse tonight with Stone’s arms wrapped around me. This was all too much. Everything was. I wanted to empty my lungs as I screamed until there was nothing left inside me.

“Don’t cover them up on my behalf,” he said with a nod of his head.

“This is wrong, Mordy. So fucking wrong. I shouldn’t have let you…”

“You didn’t. I didn’t ask permission, Regina. As for it being wrong, that depends on who you ask, and I do not ask anyone for anything. I take. I’m a taker. Okay?Youdidn’t give me anything,Éan. This guilt is not for you to carry. It is mine. I like the fuckery, remember? And I will not let you, or anyone else, take my fuckery from me, aye?” he ranted, and, as if for emphasis, he used my full first name, the one I rarely allowed anyone other than my mom to use. His rough fingers raked through his dark shoulder-length hair, and a smug smile settled onto his face.

What was he doing? If this were anyone else, I would think he was trying to make me feel better, but this was him, and consoling someone wasn’t at all something Mordy did. So, what was his motive? This was another mind game; I was sure of it, but I wasn’t able to figure out his angle.

My lips parted to argue, but I was simply too exhausted. This was useless. I didn’t understand why I fought it anymore. I should accept that I’m a shitty person and move on with my life.

“Tut, tut, tut.” His finger lifted, and he tapped my nose. “You’ll get even with me before the day is over.”

“I will,” I agreed, my voice lacking the usual hatred it held.

Chapter 3

Stone

Viking ran the tips of his pointer and thumb over the scar on his face and lightly traced the edges as he took a drag off his cigarette. As he exhaled, a big plume of smoke bellowed out of his mouth and clouded the air around us. “I don’t know what in the fuck is going on between them, but we need to know,” he barked before hitting his cigarette again. “Sticks dug up what he could with the help of that wild cat, Annie Girl.”

“This is a nightmare,” I said, breathing out a frustrated breath.

“Technically—” Mordy was about to start another one of his notorious rants. I couldn’t deal with any of his long-winded stories. Right now, it was taking everything inside me to not gut the weird shit from his throat to his hips for touching Reggy.

“Mordy, I swear, if whatever comes out of your mouth following that doesn’t benefit the entire club…I suggest you keep your comments and your fucking hands to yourself, you weaselly shit,” I forced the statement through a tightened jaw, staring into his eyes.

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