Page 155 of Wicked Little Lies

There are times when it’s soft, almost gentle. When they simply roll me from one of them to the other, kissing me, touching, until I’m a throbbing, sensitive mass of flesh. I forget where one of us ends and the other begins. It doesn’t matter if they’re in my ass and cunt, or mouth and cunt, or ass and mouth. It doesn’t matter if it’s only one or both.

It’s like we become one wild creature for the night. Pagan. And soon, the softness morphs into feral, borderline violence.

I love it when they worship me. I fucking love it when Jac pins me to the floor, foot on my neck, my ass in the air while he holds me open for Hendrick to drill hard and brutal into. There are times one fucks me, pussy then ass. Times they sit on my chest while the other holds up my head so I have no option but to feed on the cock offered.

Times they have me sit on one of their faces while the other kisses me.

It’s sensation on sensation, and if I live to a hundred and never fuck again, this night will live on, bright and there. A thing to warm myself to.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but in the morning, when I wake, I’m alone and there are heels, red, and a black dress that’s fitted to the hips and then skims down.

No underwear.

Didn’t Jac once say this is how he liked me? I’m pretty fucking sure Hendrick’s said the same.

But I shower and get ready only to find them immaculately dressed downstairs. Hendrick’s in the kitchen drinking coffee, and after kissing him and stealing his cup, I find Jac in the great room, reading the news on his iPad.

“Ready.”

I finish Hendrick’s coffee and nod. “I need to call—”

“Harry’s fine,” he replies, knowing my thoughts. He wraps an arm around my waist, kissing me. “We have to go.”

The building is sleek and modern. It’s like we’ve stepped into a boardroom.

My gaze goes to the table where two piles of jewels sit. The ones I stole from the Quinate, and the ones I stole for Gimboni.

But I’m not the only extra person in the room. There’s a woman, a lot older, lined, still retaining beauty. Some of it’s from subtle work, but most from bone structure. What’s even more surprising is that she looks familiar in her jewels and furs and impeccable makeup. Like I’ve seen her somewhere before this.

I’m shown to a seat, and Hendrick and Jac take their places, too, at opposite ends of the table.

“Crimes,” Jac says, and this is the coldest I’ve ever seen him look. His eyes touch me. “Crimes have been committed, and we can see the fucking evidence right there.”

“Language,” the woman says.

Jac slides her a look. “Shut your fucking goddamned mouth, Leandra.”

“Or,” Hendrick continues, “we’ll shut it for you.”

He sounds colder than Jac, and I shiver.

The woman… She’s the matriarch of the Gimbonis.

“Those are my jewels,” she says.

One of the other Quinate members, Declan, the one who took me to Carlos and Damon, looks at her and puts his hands on the table. “No, these are ours. This thief here, hired by one Francis Gimboni, stole them. Along with these others.”

“Those are mine. Jim Miller told me whoever had them ruled,” she says.

Hendrick’s gaze hardens. “He lied. And you killed him.”

“Had him killed. It’s not the same.”

They all look at each other.

Jac rises. “As I said before. Great crimes have been committed here, and they must be paid for.” He pulls out a gun, and points it where we both sit, me and Leandra, and everything goes cold.

“Time to die,” Hendrick says.

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