NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 1
IF WE DIDN’T STRUGGLE THROUGH SOME THINGS, WE WOULD NEVER DEVELOP THE STRENGTH AND STAMINA WE NEED TO SURVIVE IN THIS WORLD.
— JOYCE MEYERS
NEFARIOUS IS A PART OF AN INTERCONNECTED SERIES AND IS A STANDALONE.
IT IS HIGHLY RECOMMENDED TO READ OVERCAST AND DECEIT FIRST JUST TO GET A FULL VIEW OF B723 BUT IS NOT REQUIRED.
THIS BOOK MAY HAVE WHAT IS CONSIDERED DARK ELEMENTS AND DOES HAVE TRIGGERS…PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
XOXO,
HAZEL
NEFARIOUS PLAYLIST
My “buddy”, Bishop, kicks me from underneath the table, all because I politely asked his sister if I could get her another drink.
A drink.
Not if I could go fuck her in the bathroom after the next song that’s currently blaring off the bar speakers is over or if she’d like to secretly come home with me after her brother and wife take off.
No, I got a heavy boot to the shin over a cosmo.
I mean, I get it. Bishop doesn’t want me to touch, hurt, or even think about messing with his baby sister, Scarlett. If I had one, I’d probably be close to the same way, minus the violent kick and glare that he won’t fucking relax in my direction.
However, he never asked me if I was interested in the first fucking place. I’d have to be blind as shit because Scarlett is beautiful with wavy medium-brown hair that hits the top of her shoulders, bright blue eyes, a few faint freckles that line the bridge of her straight nose, and a bangin’ ass body. If Scarlett wanted to save a horse and ride me—I mean, I’d have to begrudgingly turn that once-in-a-lifetime deal down because Bishop would murder me.
We’ve been there, done that already—literally.
And regardless of a little payback, I wouldn’t mess with him like that. I’ve already played my share of pissing him off with his now wife and my best friend, Emmy Lou. I pretended to be her baby daddy—her idea—to her first set of twins, and it set a whole range of bullshit in motion.
Which consisted of Bishop playing bow and arrow with my body as target practice in the middle of the woods near my condo.
Let’s just say I don’t wanna try it again.
The motherfucker has good aim, and I’m not as fast as I used to be, apparently. He got my ass with his dog in tow and I still have the marks of that little bastard in my forearm.
It all started when Emmy’s baby daddy attempted to kill her. She faked her death, needed someone to take care of the kids, and my name got put on the damn birth certificate after a bunch of arguing, pleading and being between a rock and a hard place.
It obviously didn’t go well.
Bishop believed I fucked his girl behind his back—one he’s been in love with forever but didn’t have the balls to tell her—and I was roped into a promise that I couldn’t spill.
As much as I wanted to because I became a walking and talking target for all the men in Emmy’s life that wanted to hardcore slaughter me where I stood. Men that were like brothers to me.
And when they thought I put my hands and other things on and inside Emmy Lou Rhodes, I signed my death certificate.
Except all I did was be an amazingly, fucking awesome best friend.
Steering my gaze to said buddy and fucker that never apologized to me, I’m met with blue eyes that matched his sister’s and a scowl that mirrors the Grinch.
“What?” I ask before shaking my head and releasing a heavy sigh. Bishop might as well make out with me if he’s going to keep angry eye-fucking my face with his piercing stare.
Emmy slides her tiny hand down his bulgy forearm and laces her fingers between his two that are clenched tightly together. “I’ll take another martini too, please.”
She smiles at me, trying to lighten the mood, but it’s thick and annoying and expected if you knew Bishop. And with Scarlett in tow, there is no him lightening up since he believes I’m after everything he has in his life.
I’d rather not.
Who the hell wants to be handed down an atrocious ass attitude and an even worse past. Bishop’s life wasn’t easy. Mine was practically the American dream.
“Sure.” I slide off my high-seated stool and look over at the woman originally in question. “Another one, Scar?”
“Please.” She sends me a sweet grin with teeth, either used to her brother’s broody nature or a little too buzzed to care. Meanwhile, I’m going to make sure my next drink is a double.
Striding to the bar, I sandwich myself between a few females to gain the attention of one of the bartenders. The place is packed for a typical Saturday night, filled with people of all ages and music of all genres. The bartop is sticky as I put my elbow into it, alluding to the fact that the waitstaff are overloaded with business and not enough time for cleanliness.
The redheaded bartender who served me earlier comes over, flinging a white towel over her shoulder, and pushes back some of her hair away from her face. The need to flirt like last time not a thought in her head because she probably has a line long of people to get to after me.
“What can I get you, babe?”
“A cosmo, lemon drop martini, and a double shot of tequila.”
She perks a perfectly shaped brow at me. “You gonna be able to carry all that back in this crowd?”
I smirk. “Half of it will be gone by the time I get there.”
She salutes me with two fingers and goes off to make my drinks while I listen to two girls debate about approaching some “totally GQ model” guy in here somewhere.
A soft body then nestles up at my side and if the boys knew I was aware of who it was already, it’d hint that I’m aware of more things than I should be with my best friend.
She just hugs me all the time is all, fucking perverts.
“Ignore him,” Emmy voices softly. “He’s cranky.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Lou Boo.” I crane to turn my neck, finding her apologetic stare at the top of my bicep. She’s short, even with heels, as her features transform into a sympathetic grin next.
She needn’t bother. I’ve known her husband longer than I’ve known her, and it’s just what it is. He’s a cock-sucking dickhead minus the cock sucking.
“He’s in his feelings.”
“About?”
“The boys turning into assholes like him. He believes they’ll terrorize me for the rest of my life. Dude’s a nut job.”
The short stack of woman next to me just gave birth to her second pair of twins three months ago, and this is her first night out without Bishop’s spawns. Why she wanted to spend it with me, and Bishop’s sister is beyond me. It was a random conversation when I was over at her crib hangin’ out, and we planned for tonight.
I snort. “Does he know you? You’ll bust their asses faster than the rest of the thought left their brain.”
“You try telling him that.” She reaches around to tighten her long whitish-blonde ponytail, before she gets bumped into by someone behind her. I pull her closer to me and mount my arm against the edge of the bar behind her, so she doesn’t get touched again.
I’m overprotective of my best friend, sue me. She’s the sister I never had, sometimes don’t want, but she’s the only one that gets me fully. While we work with a bunch of alpha douchebags who are scared of voicing something that might get them looked at as weak and pussy-like, I have no problem telling it how it is.
She’s my fucking rock. Ever since day one, we clicked and have been inseparable since. I’d do and have done everything and anything for her. I may have judged her a few times for her stupid ass choices, but I still did it.
“I’m not sweatin’ him if that’s what you came over here for,” I convey. “I can handle Bish.”
“Nah—“ She taps her fingers along the bartop. “—I came over here so you didn’t spill my drink.”
I smile. “Don’t get too fucked up, or he’s gonna blame it on me.”
“I wish he’d try it. We haven’t fought in, like, four months, and it’s driving me crazy.” I raise a questioning brow and wish I hadn’t afterward. “Our pissed off sex is—“
“Stooopppp,” I drawl, raising a hand between us. “Geezus Christ, Emmy, chill out with that shit.”
She rolls her eyes and allows a shit-eating smile to illuminate off her pretty face. Then she waves down the male bartender closest to us.
“Two shots of whiskey, the best stuff you have.” Fishing out a twenty from her jean pocket, she lays it out on the bar and glances back at me. “Best friend drink.”
We down our shit the moment it arrives, then receive the drinks I ordered for all of us. Carefully, we’re able to make it back to our table, where Bishop and Scarlett are talking about more renovations at his old house that Bish gifted Scarlett and their brother, Hardy. They live less than half a football field away from each other, and I crash most of their family dinners when I’m not out on assignment.
But in my defense, Emmy invites me over a lot with the other boys from our squad—B723.
We’re not just a team, a group of people that were assigned together because of our skillsets. We’re family.
We’re motherfucking, low-key, only a handful of folks knows about us, assassins.
We kill evil. We’re the knights on the white horse. We don’t get written about in the paper, spoken about on the local news, or slandered in social media because to everyone—we’re nothing.
I don’t know how much time goes by, just the additional shots that show up in front of me from waitresse
When times seem to always be stressful with our job and the non-stop shit in our lives, moments like this have been hard to come by lately. Seeing Emmy happy and rid of her real baby daddy and with Bishop—not to sound like a complete sap—warms my heart.
I love them both.
She deserves better, but I’d say that with any motherfucker she married, so Bish will have to do. Besides, he needs a strong female like Ems to keep him in his lane.
Forever and Ever, Amen by Randy Travis blares over the space, and my inebriated ass glides off my seat and pluck Scarlett’s hand off the table.
“C’mon, woman,” I quip, maneuvering her to the crowded dance floor. “You owe me a dance.”
My sloshed state decides to worry about her big brother with an extra forty-some pounds on me later as we find a small spot between other couples and groups.
Spinning Scarlett around once, I swing side to side, and she mocks my actions, probably as half in the bag as I am.
We have zero dance moves, making our shit up as we go as I sing the chorus out loud to her. She smiles ear-to-ear as we sway and kick our feet out a few times. I twist her around, she almost stumbles once, and this nostalgic song—one my mom used to play all the time when I was a kid—throws me into one of the best nights I’ve had in a long while.
Scarlett attempts to whirl me around herself, but I’m too tall. However, I dip down and go under her arm to complete the circle just to appease her and receive one of those attractive smiles.
We dance to a few more songs.
I laugh more than I have in months.
Then she puts my name on her brother’s hit list when Scarlett suddenly presses her soft lips to mine.
It shocks the shit out of me, to which she laughs it off like it’s nothing at all but her being silly. My immediate attention should go to Bishop, but it doesn’t. I’m too fucked up to fully comprehend what the consequences are if he did see what just happened. I probably should lay off the drinks if I need to run through a dense throng of woods again tonight.
“Why are you single?” Scarlett yells over the Lil Jon song that’s currently beating off my chest from the heavy bass.
“Busy.” I shrug because there really is no stellar excuse on why. I’m not emotionally damaged or afraid of commitment. I just spend a lot of my time with B723 and the kids. Nothing much more to it.
“That’s it?” She bops along to the music, but she’s more interested in more of an answer. When she raises an interested brow at what I’m going to say next, I inwardly groan.
Aw, fuck.
I think Baby Bishop has a crush.
“Not really interested in dating right now. Taking a woman out to cater and spoil isn’t something that’s on the agenda of shit to do right now.”
Scarlett’s face falls, confirming my suspicions and not that I told her I hate iced tea or the New York Yankees. “Oh.”
Yeah, oh.
No matter how hot Baby Bishop is, my dick isn’t going to get hard when I know that my brothers are a group of fully trained and equipped assassins with torture methods that would make people shit their pants. I’ve already gone through enough bullshit thanks to Emmy, I’m not looking to add any more.
“Plus, like I said—“ I grab her hand again and twirl her around for the millionth time. “—super busy with work. Your brother is a real asshole.”
I see the tight smile on her face, but I think I shattered her dreams a little. And there’s nothing like disappointment that a little tequila can’t solve.
“C’mon, girl.” I give her one of my award-winning smiles and wrap my arm around her shoulders. “Lemme buy you a drink.”
Scarlett seems to get over me pretty quickly, thanks to the shots. And my night ends in a colorful blur of laughter and driving Bishop crazy.
My temples painfully throb as I coerce my heavy eyelids to open to look at the time. I remember ear-splitting music and Scarlett’s ripped jeans that she tried to grind on me at the table we sat at with her brother. I recall side-stepping away from her, so Bishop didn’t pelt me with one of his fists.
So many shots of random liquors.
So fucking many.
Shit, I think I promised to watch Emmy’s kids tomorrow.
Is tomorrow, today?
I attempt to roll over on my bed, but my body is anchored, and the tug at my wrists is the first red flag that snails its way through my foggy and hungover brain.
Did I break my hands?
Did Bishop break my hands?
I open my jaw, cotton-mouth coating the inside of my lips and tongue from that joint I lit outside last night when I needed to cool down.
I don’t think I went back inside the bar. I can’t summon that I ever said goodbye to everyone.
How the fuck did I get home?
Reaching for my forehead, those hands of mine that I just couldn’t move still don’t.
I jerk weakly, still nothing.
“What the fuck?” I hear myself mutter than realizing that my chin is draped into my chest, and I believe I’m sitting up.
My eyes crack open, immediately snapped shut from the abundance of sunlight coming through my room.
I groan, then suddenly realize that my room does not have light hardwood floors like the ones I just sneaked a peek at.
Holy fuck, did I go home with Bishop’s little sister?
Begrudgingly, I coerce my eyelids to slowly split and face the music of a night full of alcohol and apparently some possible bad decision-making I’m startled by a voice at my side.
“He’s all set,” a woman quips lightly. The room was just so scarcely quiet, and now I’m pondering the fact that I ventured off with someone else last night.
Which isn’t like me.
Not anymore.
I outgrew my fuck-boy phase a few years back and prefer screams of pain over pleasure these days.
My focus begins to adjust, coming into color as I see black and blurry outlines of bodies standing in front of me.
I blink some more, hauling consciousness to the forefront of my vision so I can aim at where I am and who else is with me. It’s a chore to pull my chin up just to study the room as a rich and powerful scent of roses and jasmine hits my nose, creating my stomach to knot as the mixture wafts around me aimlessly.
That’s not Scarlett, which makes me ease a tad that I won’t have to answer to anyone about my inebriated decisions.
“You may leave,” a deeper female voice conveys flatly. “Thank you.”
I see a separate red and yellow figure approach. Their features slow to come in for me to fully recognize as I wait for someone to tell me what the hell is going on.
You banged two girls.
“How old is he?”
Pain registers at the back of my skull as I lift it, and when I try again at my hands, it all comes crashing down on me again like my brain shoved that flag away from being important.
Zip-ties.
I either picked up two females with kinks, or I’m wrapped up in my leather coat, maybe? The hell do two women have with zip-ties. There’s seriously no way.
“Thirty in a few months, I think.”
“Perfect,” another says while I tug at my ankles that match my bound wrists, and if this is kidnapping 101, then I’m a fucking drunk idiot if I don’t notice it.
Fuck me.
“Rhett Byron Mills.” My spoken name has me drawing my weighty chin higher to find two different expressions staring back at me.
Amused and analytical.
The one to my right in a short red dress moves forward, biting down on her lower lip that’s full and pink. A button nose peers down at me with stunning green eyes and flawless, creamy skin while she takes her time staring at me like she’s found a hidden treasure amongst junk.
I don’t recognize her.
“Yeah?” I flick my gaze to the woman in yellow who matches many of the features of the previous female, but she’s thinner and taller. Her long, flowy dress doesn’t illuminate any curves that wouldn’t normally draw any of my attention, but it obviously did last night. “Are we going for round two or something?”
