Page 37 of Twice as Twisted

“What are you doing here?” she demands.

“Did you really think you could hide from us, little weasel?” Duke asks.

I lean back against the door, inspecting my finger for traces of ice cream. “You thought we’d let you go? You’re smarter than that.”

“What do you want?” she whispers, fear filling her eyes.

My cock strains, and I want nothing more than to hear her sweet screams piercing the air.

“You,” I say simply. “We want you.”

She draws in a shaky breath. “Why?”

“Every king needs a queen,” Duke says.

“And what doyouneed?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at him.

My insides devolve into riotous chaos when she fixes my brother with that look after casually cutting him down that way—not a wolf in sheep’s clothing but a spider, so inconspicuousyou almost miss it. I can see she hit home, that he is crumbling for her already.

I’ve never been jealous of my brother, but suddenly, selfishly, I regret not confronting her alone sometime in the past six months. After waiting so long to make a move, I don’t want to share the moment. I want her eyes on me, not him. I want her poison tongue, her lethal blows, her heartless delivery. I am her equal, a worthy opponent, her perfect match. I’ve missed the challenge more than I care to admit.

“You,” Duke says, his voice rougher now. “I need you too, Mabel.”

“Why?” she bursts out. “Why can’t you forget me? I’m not special. I’m just like all the other girls you used and discarded. I’m nothing. Leave me alone! What did I do to deserve this?”

The emotion in her voice is delicious, the fear, the panic and frustration. Seeing her break so easily fills me with pure ecstasy. Mabel was never fragile as she seemed, but maybe she is now. She didn’t seem fragile when I was watching her in her apartment, but then, it’s hard to tell by watching someone in their natural habitat. She was comfortable there. No one pushed her. I’m pushing her, ready to hear the rapturous sounds of her cracking to pieces, like she did before.

“You made us care,” I say flatly, stalking toward her with purposeful strides. “We all pay for that.”

“OnlyIpaid,” she cries, ducking around the shelf as I reach for her. She scrambles up the shelving against the far wall, and I consider mocking her pathetic attempt at escape, since she’s well within reach, and there’s no exit in the ceiling.

I step closer, a mirthless laugh grinding out of me. “You think we didn’t pay every fucking day for the past two years?”

“How?” she whispers, shrinking back from me. “How did you pay?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Duke asks, strolling up behind me. “You want all our cards on the table before you show a single one. We’re not going to make it that easy for you this time, my Darling girl.”

She flinches at the reminder of who she is. A new name won’t change that any more than it stopped me from finding her. That’s how we paid—one of a thousand ways. I nearly went out of my mind searching for her, looking for her every fucking day until I found her. Even people in witness protection don’t usually change their first names, but she chose an entirely new identity, including the name Dahlia.

Mabel’s not the type to choose something as important as a name at random, but there was nothing that tied her to that name, no reason for me to look at it. Once I finally found her, I went through her past with a fine-tooth comb yet again, trying to see how I could have missed it, but I still don’t understand. That irritates me. I don’t like being outsmarted, and I don’t like being wrong. But the only record of the name I found in Faulkner was a Delacroix daughter she mentioned in passing once, and she moved away when Mabel was still a child. She never mentioned liking the flower, a book with the name in it, or even the movie “Black Dahlia.” It’s a misplaced question mark, a clue I’ve never solved.

I step closer, wrapping my long fingers around her skinny ankle. My cock throbs uncontrollably at the contact. I remember every detail of her body, how delicate she always felt, even when she wasn’t. I can feel how fine her bones are through the ruffled, white sock she wears with her shoes, the kind of choice you don’t usually see on a girl over five years old. I think about what her coworker said and about the men she meets online. Maybe we broke her too badly for her to ever heal, but she’s not defeated. That thought makes a misplaced flare of pride rise in me, along with the satisfaction in knowing she is forever alteredby her time with us. We have marked her soul as surely as Duke branded her with the “D” of his ring, and she will never belong to anyone else, no matter how fiercely she fights it.

Her foot jerks in my hand, but she’s not kicking out at me, trying to free herself. It takes me a moment to realize she’s stretching her arm up, trying to reach something behind the tubs of ice cream.

“Watch out,” Duke barks.

Mabel swings around, holding onto the bars of the shelf with one hand, a revolver gripped in the other. She stares me down along the muzzle, and fuck, that makes me harder still. Knowing I’ve broken her is a victory I will always revel in, but knowing I get to break her again is priceless.

“Let go,” she commands, her voice low and cold as the room we’re in.

I grip her ankle tighter, just to see her eyes widen the barest fraction when she realizes I could yank her down from there. But that would result in a gunshot wound, and I’m neither suicidal nor masochistic. She’s armed, a possibility I considered likely. Plenty of businesses have a gun under the counter, and Mabel never hesitated to protect herself. Even after those disastrous attempts, she still has a handgun concealed in the freezer. If anything, I’m reassured by it.

I release her ankle and step back, smiling up at her. We’re not lowlife gangsters, so of course we don’t carry weapons on us. We’ve never needed them, and we don’t need them now. Guns are for killing, and she’s no use to us dead. This visit wasn’t about overpowering her or hurting her. It was only meant to start the game, to put the play in motion. You don’t capture the queen in the first move.

“Back off,” she says, her teeth beginning to chatter slightly, though I can’t tell if the cold is already getting to her,or if she’s flooded with adrenaline. That can make a person reckless, so I take a few more steps away from her.

“I’m glad to see you’re prepared,” I say, eyeing her gun. “I’m proud of you, little monster.”

---