NEFARIOUS: B723 SERIES BOOK THREE, page 7
B723 was just an opportunity. I don’t know why they ever chose me. Maybe it was because blood didn’t make me queasy, and I have a bomb sense of humor. Regardless, I’m happy that they did because it changed my life forever.
“Oh my fucking God. Did you just jump out of the window?” I quickly rise to my feet and pivot, finding the woman from earlier—the one who called me Mr. Moneybags and that I probably didn’t have enough stamina to fuck her senseless—pulling one of her white headphones out of her ears.
The moonlight hits the side of her face as she lets it drape along her shoulder, the nude tanktop edging out those flawless curves. From her breasts to the arch of her hips and thighs, I take in every inch of her again. This time without the dress she was wearing earlier, hiding some of them.
Now she’s standing in front of me with short-shorts that leave nothing short to my imagination. I’d love to slide my palm down the front of her jeans and shove my fingers deep into her cunt just to hear her gasp at what I’m planning on doing.
Yeah, getting my hands on her is sounding pretty fucking amazing right now if I didn’t have to go.
Turning around because she’s no immediate threat to me unless she screams bloody murder, I’m in a neighborhood filled with mansions and perfectly manicured lawns. I’m about to jolt forward when Amirah’s voice stops me from actually sprinting across the green landscape.
“You know, you’re a grown-ass adult,” she chides like a fucking snob. “You could’ve used the front door.”
I twirl around to glare at her—no clue why. Her voice just makes me pay the hell attention. I need to get the hell out of here and fast, but that shitty little attitude that I’ve experienced twice now is pricking on that last nerve that’s still holding on by a thread.
“Are you fucking serious?” I ground out through clenched teeth. “You’re lucky I don’t kill everyone in that house right now.”
“Excuse me?” She crosses her arms along her chest as if I’m nothing but what she called me. Dumb cunt doesn’t want to know who I am even though she’s gonna find out when I get my bearings. “You dug your own grave.”
I’m in her fucking face quicker than she can take her next blink.
“Are you a fucking idiot?”
Yeah, she is.
And fuck this.
Seizing the fallen headphone dangling from her chest, I wrap it around her neck and pull. Her eyes bulge in shock as I get a good grip on both sides, and she kicks me defensively in the shin.
She has good reflexes, at least.
“Kick me again,” I snarl as her fingers attempt to pry the cords from her throat. “And you’ll be unconscious in less than ten seconds. Then I’ll just finish this out, and you’ll never get to fuck me again.”
Her flawlessly shaped eyebrows furrow at me, and her lips part so fucking temptingly that I almost clamp my teeth around one.
Almost.
Yeah, she fucked me stupid.
“Where am I?” I loosen the restraints a little from her throat so she can speak clearly and quickly.
“Bel-Air,” she stammers, gawking at me like I’m the psycho around here.
“Like the Fresh Prince?”
She shakes her head a tad to my disappointment. “Maryland.”
Damn.
“I need your keys…and your car.”
“They’re in the house.”
“Then your phone.”
“It’s…” I feel her shiver either from me or the cool air. “It’s in my pocket.”
“Grab it.” Reaching down to the thin material of her shorts, the cell comes into my view a second later. “Put it in mine.”
This time she hesitates.
“What’s the matter?” I provoke, slanting my body closer and smelling her sweat and something like coconut. “I’m not handcuffed to a bed, so you can’t use me how you want to?”
She has the nerve to scoff at me, and instead of staying frozen to her spot, she hastily shoves the phone into my jean pocket. Her soft body presses into mine for just that brief second, and I should end this bitch right in these couple of seconds. Except it won’t be satisfying enough.
“Now,” I emit through the crickets chirping around us. “I’m going to leave. And you’re going to say what?”
“That my sisters should find better men.” I pull at the cord around her neck because she believes this is a game.
Of course, she does. The only fight she’s probably ever gotten in is hair-pulling over stealing one of her sister’s t-shirts.
“You need to find better manners, Rus. Maybe when I come back, I’ll teach you some.”
“Please don’t. One encounter with you was enough. And if you don’t let me go—“ Her eyes slit in on me, flashing the first sign of courage since we’ve been standing here. “—I’ll scream.”
My lips curl viciously at the thought of her mouth open, but no sound leaving her throat.
So I put the theory to the test.
Jerking the twine, her eyes bulge as the plastic digs into her windpipe. Her fingers attempt to pry it away again at the reduction of air, but I’m stronger than her, and she fucks up. She allows the toes of my boots to press into the tops of her, keeping my weight there so she can't kick me again.
Amirah opens her lips, her eyes questioning me on why I’m doing this as if she doesn’t have a clue.
I can’t fucking help myself. I lean in.
I bend forward and clamp my front teeth down on her soft bottom lip, causing a strangled gasp in her throat. I’ve wanted to touch it ever since she slid down on my cock with her tight pussy and rode me like she owned it.
She’s a goddamn demon and the most dangerous kind. Getting away with what she wants, when she wants because she’s beautiful and rich and entitled.
But, damn, she’s pretty and a waste of good looks.
“Still thinking about that dick, Rus?” I taunt, giving one last pull as her eyelids begin to flutter closed. I fight the urge to drop the plastic and snap her neck. “You believe because you’re a rich bitch that you can just take whatever you want?”
A slight and weak shake of her head and those green eyes teeter-totter from rolling back into her head.
“I’ll be back, Rus. Keep your eyes open at night.” A second later, her weight gives out, and I don’t catch her, allowing the ground to break her fall and hopefully knock some brain cells into her beautiful little head.
Wish I could say the same when something like the butt of a gun slams into the back of my skull and sends me crashing along right after her.
My fingers gingerly wrap around my neck, still able to feel the indentation of my thin headphones wrapped around it.
I’ll be back. Keep your eyes open at night.
I don’t want to sound like a whiny child, but the moment Dad comes home later this evening, I’m spilling all my guts about what happened.
I’m not sure where Odette and Solange found Rhett, but he’s some unbalanced waste of space that can’t be allowed back in this house. The dude is bipolar with anger issues and some sort of vendetta against me.
The man literally could’ve killed me, and with the threats spewing from his lips, he’s clearly not right in the head. I’ve never been that close to anything like that before in my life, and I never want to be again.
Pulling my hand away from my throat, they begin to shake at the remembrance of the transparent malice in his outraged eyes.
It was so genuine. It posed no falseness in his tone, and he looked like he wanted to fuck me first then kill me right afterward.
When I woke up with a violent start, he was the first thought slamming into my brain this morning. I’m not sure how I got back into my room, but I try to welcome the sun pouring friendly rays through my windows and welcoming me to another day.
Inhaling, I wipe at the sweat that begins to bead at my forehead, his words a winding carousel in my mind again.
He did it to scare me, nothing more.
Putting on gray sweatpants and a pink crop top, I pull my hair up in a bun and go downstairs for breakfast with purpose.
First, to find out what the hell my sisters were thinking. And secondly, to tell them what he did to me, so it doesn’t happen to them.
Entering the overly large dining room, the red Dalbergia wooden table—I only know this because my mother bragged about the damn thing excessively during a party for my fifteenth birthday—is set with all of her finest china.
And that’s pretty much about it.
No food, just teacups and a glass teapot of hot water. My stomach growls angrily at the lack of sustenance, and when I move my vision all the way to the right to ask my mother why the hell I can never seem to eat around here, I find Rhett Mills—crazed psycho from last night— sitting at my mother’s side.
“Que fait-il ici?!”
What is he doing here?!
I rudely point my index finger at him while he returns a fuming glower in my direction. My heart instantly pounds unforgivingly in my chest, watching him like the terror he is and how his presence is untainted peril.
Meanwhile, my mother daps the corner of her red-painted lips with a napkin and gestures for me to take a seat without even looking at me.
“Il est notre invité, Amirah. Et ne crie pas.”
He’s our guest. And don’t yell.
“Pour quelle raison?” Oh, I can’t wait for the stupid reason my mother thinks he should be invited into our home.
I mean, she doesn’t know yet what happened but has he been here before? Is one of my sisters dating him? Highly doubt it since Odette is still hung up with Cyrus, but Solange is crazy enough to date someone like him.
No, no. Solange would never allow me to fuck her boyfriend. She’s too possessive.
“Sit down,” Mother replies before finally steering her attention to me right before her eyes widen in pure horror. “What in God’s name are you wearing, Amirah?”
My own eyes run over her mint green dress. Her hair is perfectly styled in wavy curls, every bit of the French elegance that she maintains every day of the week.
“Walmart,” I reply with zero shame in my voice. There is not a damn thing wrong with that store. It has everything, and it doesn’t break the bank unless I go down the chip aisle.
Her brow knit together through her immaculate botox and makeup, and she flicks her index finger up. “Go upstairs and change.”
“No.” The one word blurts mindlessly from my mouth, and I see the tick of my mother’s temple warn me that she’ll punish me if I don’t do what she says.
But I’m not a little girl anymore, and she knows it. She doesn’t pay my credit card bills or car insurance. There isn’t anything she can take away from me, unlike the other two clones of herself.
“Mom, this man needs to leave immediately. He wrapped my headphones around my neck last night.” I return my focus to him. I have to. I don’t want him to know that he terrified me last night. “He needs to get the hell out of here.”
Rhett doesn’t care that I just ratted him out. In fact, he still continuously stares at me with that same pissed-off expression from yesterday. I don’t know if he’s just as angry that there are no pancakes on this table as I am, but that’s beside the point.
His ass doesn’t get any.
“Je sais,” my mother replies gently.
I know.
She knows. Her admission gets my unaltered regard as well as a replay of the way she says it.
She doesn’t care. I’m the expendable daughter because I didn’t follow the line she drew out for me. For if it were Odette or Solange’s life at risk, this would be an entirely different conversation.
I’m aware of that more than ever now if there was any confusion before.
“Il va payer pour ce qu’il a fait.”
He will pay for his actions.
I scoff because if she gave a damn, he wouldn’t be sitting at our dining room table right now. He’d be in jail with a case on his ass. She’d be comforting me being choked to the point of passing out in our front yard and telling me that she’ll take me shopping to make me feel better.
“Enough with the French bullshit,” Mills suddenly snaps, jolting my frame with the fury laced in his tone. And that’s when he raises both of his hands from underneath the table, still bound by handcuffs like the day before. “The least you could do is thank the bitch that’s going to save your dad.”
My brows clash. “What—“
“You’re telling me that mama dearest hasn’t told you about me?” he leers incredulously like I should know all about him. As if we all sat at this table and spoke about him because he’s that damn important. “Highly doubt that, Rus.”
“What are you talking about, you freaking maniac?”
“Bonjour, Maman,” Odette sing-songs through my question and the room as she practically floats to the table.
As always, she’s impeccable with her makeup done, maroon dress pressed and matching heels purposely clicking annoyingly through my head with the zero coffee I’ve had. All while I’m still hung up on what the hell this man has to do with our father.
“Matin,” Solange grumbles a few steps behind her, not as much as a morning person as I before her eyes expand at the sight of Mills sitting on the other side of the table. “Rhett, good morning.”
“Fuck off,” he grumbles just low enough that if you weren’t listening close enough, you’d miss it.
“Are we still going to Sax this morning, ma mère?” Odette takes the other side of the table on Mom’s other side, safely positioned with a table between her and Mills.
Can’t say I blame her.
On the other hand, Solange doesn’t get the memo and slowly seats herself next to him. His nostrils flare at her proximity, but he doesn’t bother acknowledging her with anything else than that.
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” I press, shoving my hands into the pockets of my sweats so I can fidget with them.
“With what?” Odette inquiries with her back to me, again like she can’t be bothered with my presence. “Why can’t you wear something that doesn’t make you look like a junkie or a hobo?”
Just like Mom.
She mindlessly reaches for the glass pitcher to pour herself some water and as if Rhett being here is a common occurrence. That he’s been here a million times before.
The thing is, no one has ever mentioned him. However, I don’t have daily phone calls from or to my sisters or mom, so I guess I wouldn’t know.
Nonetheless, I hit the back of her head with my scowl instead of the back of my hand like I want to do. “Why is this man in this house still, handcuffed at our dining room table? What does he have to do with Dad?”
Solange remains quiet, too busy studying said man at her side while Odette and Mom exchange a look.
I don’t miss it.
They do it all the time when they’re doing something they know I’m going to throw a fit about or completely disagree with.
It just confirms my story. Something is up with this man.
“Tell her,” Mom insists. “C’est toi qui l’a impliqué.”
You got her involved.
“Solange did,” she retorts, straightening her spine and running her hands down her pleated dress. “He’s here to save Dad, intello.”
“From what?”
Odette snaps her neck around to slam her green eyes to mine. “Are you stupid? Dad’s ill.”
“No shit, Sherlock, start coloring the picture for me because this is still gray as shit.”
“Watch your language,” Mom scolds firmly as if I’m the problem here. “Ladies do not—“
“Ladies, do not sit and eat breakfast with a man handcuffed at the dinner table,” I seize out. “Is this, like, some sick kink you all are into or something?”
“Pense aux vampires, Amirah,” Odette says carefully, pouring a small amount of cream into her cup. “Et nous besoin de tout leur sang.”
Think of vampires, Amirah. And we need all the blood.
It all comes crashing down on me at the same time Solange giggles at something, stealing my focus yet again. But my eyes fall back on Mills, not her.
He jumped from the second-story roof. Was he wearing handcuffs?
I don’t remember. I was just coming around the house to finish out my run, the end of the driveway marking my two-mile goal, and there he was. I didn’t think to look.
I assumed…
Listen, if you don’t want to do this, I’m totally in agreement here.
Oh my…fucking God.
Mills gapes at me as I figure it out on my own. The stormy colors of his eyes are throwing me all over the place because this…this can’t be it. I didn’t just assault a guy in that bedroom last night.
I would’ve known, right?
Then Rhett nods, confirming what he believes I’m battling out in my head.
It’s apparent, all of it, as much as I don’t want it to be. He was running away.
He needed my car.
My phone.
I was so pissed off that he tried to hurt me that I didn’t even think why the hell he wanted those things. All I could concentrate on was the headphones wrapped around my throat and the peek of rage tearing through his eyes.
“Mom,” I force from deep within my throat, already terrified of her answer. “Did he volunteer for this?”
Rhett’s lips smirk, and my stomach balls into tight knots.
I…
My body begins to convulse involuntarily as my hand comes up to cover my mouth. Hot bile creeps up my throat, and I’m going to throw up all over these white marble floors, and I don’t care.
I violated this man, and that’s why he kept looking at me like I was a monster.
You believe because you’re a rich bitch that you can just take whatever you want?
I am rich, I can be a bitch, but I respect people. I don’t believe I’m better than anyone else because I came from an entitled life. I appreciate it. I am where I am today because of it, and I plan to continue being blessed and grateful.
However, I didn’t think or ask enough questions when it came down to our guest. I assumed that he was in that bed because he wanted to be. I didn’t take into consideration to even ask him if he wanted to have sex with me. I just let him lie there, restrained to a bed, while I fucked him.
