Twisted Bitch (Sick and Twisted Book 2) Read online

  Twisted Bitch

  A Sick and Twisted Love

  2

  Jaci J

  Twisted Bitch © 2015 Jaci J

  All Rights Reserved.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below

  [email protected]

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Artist;

  Margreet Asselbergs of Ripe for Readers Design (RfR)

  Cover pictures:

  Bigstockphoto.com

  Woman picture: Yeko Photo Studio (44025325)

  NYC picture: Allen. G (74744266)

  This one is for all the readers that gave Sick Bastard a shot and fell in love with Dante.

  He doesn’t it make it easy to love him, but he’s so worth it.

  Thank you.

  Dana Hook.

  My book bitch.

  My book everything.

  My editor & my friend.

  Thank you for your love & support.

  Margreet.

  My friend.

  My cover magician.

  Thank you for your creativity & constant support.

  My bitches.

  My friends.

  My naked picture posters.

  My supporters.

  Thank you for your love, bitches.

  My Betas.

  Sam. Lena. Chris. Aimee. Shannon.

  My words of encouragement.

  My second pair of eyes.

  My feedback.

  My right hands.

  Thank you for reading my shit early & giving perfect feedback.

  My readers.

  My heart.

  My soul.

  Thank you for reading my shit.

  Thank you for loving it.

  Play List

  Santana ft. Miguel – “Indy”

  The Weeknd – “The Hills”

  The Police – “Every Breath You Take”

  FKA Twigs – “Two Weeks”

  Nicki Minaj– “The Crying Game”

  Hozier – “Sedated” & “Work Song”

  Hurts – “Somebody to Die For”

  The 1975 – “Undo” & “Head.Cars.Bending.”

  Big Sean – “I Don’t Fuck With You”

  Elijah Black – “Strange Fruit”

  Daley ft. Jessie J – “Remember Me”

  Rick Ross – “Supreme”

  Robin Thicke – “Get Her Back”

  Beyonce – “I Care”

  Jon B ft. 2 Pac – “Are You Still Down”

  Table of Contents

  Thank you.

  Play List

  One

  Miss Magical Ass

  Two

  Miss Melancholy

  Three

  Miss Kill-Him-With-Kindness

  Four

  Miss. Pants Dance

  Five

  Miss Sick

  Six

  Miss Twisted

  Seven

  Miss. Non-Date-Ish

  Eight

  Miss Pliant

  Nine

  Miss Strange Encounters

  Ten

  Miss Indulgent

  Eleven

  Miss Escapee

  Twelve

  Miss Too Far

  Thirteen

  Miss Man-eater

  Fourteen

  Miss Fight At Every Turn

  Fifteen

  Miss Me-You-We

  Sixteen

  Miss Unfortunate

  Seventeen

  Miss Lost and Alone

  Eighteen

  Miss Hopeless

  Nineteen

  Miss Agreeable

  Twenty

  Miss Lunge and Thrust

  Twenty one

  Miss Surprises

  Twenty Two

  Miss Home

  Epilogue

  About the Author.

  One

  Miss Magical Ass

  London

  I'm hot. I mean, really, really fucking hot. I've told myself repeatedly to turn over, or at the very least, get up and seek out the shaded refuge of the cabana before I burst into a big ass ball of flames, but that fifty feet I would have to go to get to that shade is just too damn far. I've nearly slipped into a tranquility-induced coma, so I think I'll keep my ass right here.

  Sighing, I crack an eye open and see nothing but black tinted sand from under my Aviators. This is the life. Why I didn’t come here and stay when I ran away years ago, I’ll never understand. This place is perfection―it’s heaven, right here on Earth.

  The calm lapping of waves on the shore lull me. The light rustle of wind blowing around tickles at my skin and the hot sun keeps me in a sedated haze of peace.

  This is the happiest I've been in a while. I’ve finally found the bliss I've missed and craved terribly, and there’s no way in hell I’m moving now. I’ll just stay here and die happily of a heat stroke.

  Thirty minutes later, I’ve managed to roll myself over, which was the hardest thing I’ve done in weeks, to my stomach. Throwing my arms above my head, I curl them under my face and prepare for another well-deserved nap.

  “Shit, baby, that tiny bikini is doing delicious things for your ass.” A voice says, interrupting my peace. Strong, familiar hands begin the lengthy task of reapplying my sunscreen. I would bat them away, but I don’t have the strength. Those hands, not missing an inch of skin, start at my shoulders and work their way down, slowly.

  Pervert.

  “It's almost nice enough to turn a gay man straight,” Matt says, slapping my ass playfully, “but not enough, so I'll just admire it from a safe distance,” he laughs, flopping ungracefully into his lounger. He's terribly crass, but wonderful, nonetheless.

  “Admire it from a safe distance? My ass isn't going to bite you,” I quip. He gives me a look that says he disagrees.

  “London, a woman's ass is magical. They're known to turn men into mindless idiots. Yours is perfect, and I don't even want to consider what kind of wicked dark magic yours can conjure up.” Did he just call my ass magical? I don’t know about that, but I'll take his word for it.

  “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

  “I think you don’t know your ass’s magical powers.”

  I swear, Matt says whatever outrageous thing pops into his head at any given moment, especially when he drinks. I never know what he's going to say from one second to the next. “Magical, my ass,” I scoff, rolling my eyes behind my shades and start to laugh at my own comment.

  Matt laughing and carrying on about asses has me carrying on too, laughing right along with him. It's taken me some time to get to this place―a place where I can laugh and enjoy Matt's sick and perverted sense of humor, but more importantly, I’m starting to enjoy being me again. I lost myself there for a bit, but I’m getting my shit together and coming back.

  For a while I made silence and solitude my comfortable companions. Quiet suffocation is what I put myself through after Dante used me. I had to leave to save what little sliver of sanity I had left and it’s turned out to be my saving grace. I
t was either a vacation or kill Dante, and I look terrible in orange. The emotional road I took after that crushing blow has been long and painful, but I'm ready to move on from it and onto my future. It’s off in the distance, but I can almost see it now. This vacation is exactly what I needed to understand how naïve I’ve been and to bring me back to reality, no matter how cruel or wonderful it will turn out to be.

  I ignored all the things he did because I fell in love with him, but I didn’t believe that murder, extortion, and deception were all the things that made up his “business.” I thought he was a legitimate businessman, who happened to sell drugs on the side, but I was left to swallow a huge dose of reality for all my ignorance. I hired someone to do an in-depth background check and had him investigated, since my sleuthing skills suck. After getting the information on him and his family, I couldn’t believe what he’d done. He took me to the funeral of a man he killed. He threatened that same man in front of me. I had no clue until I had him checked out. I was fucking mortified that he had the balls to take me, or even show up himself. I don’t know exactly how the mafia works, so I don’t know if it’s required to attend the funeral of the man you killed, but to me it was too goddamn much. It was just another thing added to the long list of reasons to stay away from him.”

  Right next to that list, with the same amount of reasons, is a list of all the reasons I miss Mr. Crazy. I know, there is something horribly wrong with me to miss such an immoral, disgusting man. How could I possibly love a monster like him? Maybe I was the one dropped as a baby. Maybe I’m missing an important gene, or maybe everything Dante does is for a greater reason? Maybe not everything he does is bad, but has to be done for important reasons? Maybe, deep down inside of him, there is a good human being with a heart, and that’s the hope I can’t seem to let go of.

  ~~~~~~

  “Thank you for coming and for helping me through all this,” I tell Matt with complete honesty. He’s been here, coddling and fussing over me through this entire mess. He’s let me cry into his designer shirt. He’s cleaned up after my anger fueled baking sessions, swept up drywall when I hurled a hammer through it. He’s even peeled me off the couch after a drinking stupor and threw me in a cold shower after I threw up everywhere. He’s held my hand the entire time and I couldn’t love him more for it.

  “Like I'd be anywhere else? I mean, come on … it’s Sicily. Like I'd pass all this up?” He waves his hand towards the glistening turquoise waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea and laughs dismissively, but I know he wouldn’t be anywhere else but here, helping me when I need him.

  “Thank you, Matt, and I mean it. I love you.” I smile at my best friend, my brother, my family.

  “Awe, London. I love you too, you fucking pain in my ass.”

  As if by magic, the waiter appears with a tray of frosty filled flutes of champagne for each of us, and then disappears, just the same as he arrived. Well at least something around here is magical, and if it's the drinks, then I'm not complaining. Matt holds up his drink with a sparkling smile, “Cheers, bitch.” We clink our drinks in a toast.

  “To us, and our magical vacation.” I toast back.

  ~~~~~

  “What about him?” Matt asks, eyeballing a man across the room. Sitting at our table in the crowded bar, we’ve been scouting men while eating and drinking ever since we sat down two hours ago. None of these men have been worth a second look. We’re just passing the time.

  “You mean that one, the one with the hair?” I clarify, nodding discreetly in the direction of a man with a long ponytail, sitting on the other side of the bar. Is that a hair scrunchie? “Matt, he has longer hair than I do, and he’s wearing a scrunchie, for fuck’s sake. Next.” No thanks, Fabio.

  “Okay, what about him?” Matt nods to a man a few seats away. Following his nod, my eyes skim past at least five decent looking guys to the man I’m certain he’s chosen.

  “The big guy?” I ask him curiously. Why is he picking the odd ones out?

  “He has nice muscles,” he says as he shrugs.

  “Matt, come on. The Johnny Bravo looking dude?” We both stare at the muscle-bound man as he gets up, and that’s when I spot it and groan. “He has fucking rhinestones on his jean pockets. He has a sparkly ass.” Looking over at Matt, he stares back and we both burst into laughter. “We are no longer friends, Matt.”

  “See? You’re biased, London. I mean, ever since him, you find handsome men less than par. I get it. He was sex on legs, but what’s that saying about riding ponies … or is it horses?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I ask around my drink.

  “You know, riding them and falling off?” Matt implores, holding his hands out, begging for help. Well I certainly can’t help him.

  “Is this a lesson on bestiality or something?” I ask, grossed out just saying something like that. What the fuck is he getting at here?

  “No, you know that saying, “You fall off and get back on? Yeah, that’s it, right?”

  “You mean, “When you fall off the horse, you have to get back on?” He sips his drink and nods.

  “Yep, that’d be the one. It’s good advice and I think you should follow it.” Good God.

  We’ve started referring to Dante as him, or he, while we’re on this trip. On the outside, we dare not speak his name, but on the inside, I still call him Dante, along with a few other choice things. As much as I hate his name, I still love it just as intently. It’s still a name that elicits an onslaught of emotions from me; a few wonderful, most shameful.

  Twirling the little red cocktail straw around in my drink, I stare at the melting ice cubes. I imagine that my heart doesn’t still ache for him, but I’m just lying, telling myself that the thought of his hands on me doesn’t shred my heart, piece by piece. I ignore the roll of my stomach at the thought of looking into his dark eyes. I pretend that his once suffocating presence doesn’t leave me feeling empty and wanting. Sitting here in this crowded bar, I fake a happy smile when inside I feel like I’m still dying.

  “What about that guy?” Matt sings, bumping his shoulder into mine. Peeking up from my sad, sad drink, I catch the man he’s talking about lurking a few feet away. I try to glance away quickly, but before I can look away, he catches my eye. He’s handsome with his “boy next door” looks.

  Giving me a kind smile, I return the gesture, even though it hurts me to do so. It’s almost like my smile is tethered to my heart and with every twitch of my lips, a piece of my heart tears away.

  “Oh shit, here he comes. He must see something he likes.” Matt says, squeezing my arm in anticipation of what I’m sure he thinks is a match made in heaven. I’m just hoping I don’t start crying on the poor guy.

  I shouldn't be playing this game with Matt. I’m too goddamn broken for this kind of stuff. “Hi,” Mr. Blue Eyes says, offering me his hand as he stands at our table smiling as if he’s just won the lottery. I place my hand in his and instantly regret it. Unlike him, this man’s touch isn’t cruel or intimidating. It’s nice and comfortable―which is not what I want.

  “Hi.” I manage to squeak out, but even a small word from my lips feels like a betrayal. God dammit, He broke me.

  “I'm Drew,” he introduces himself as he shakes my hand with his nicely manicured one. Looking down, I notice a silver Rolex around his wrist and my heart squeezes. Instantly, tears sting at my eyes. I hate his watch. I fucking hate it, but I can’t help myself. Discreetly, I sneak a finger up and touch his watch for good measure. I’m like a junky looking for my fix anywhere I can get it. It’s not his watch, but it does the job. It feeds my addiction for a brief moment.

  “Nice to meet you, Drew. I’m London,” I lie. It’s not nice to meet him, it’s fucking painful. A smile splits his classically handsome face and the guilt starts to chip away at me. He should run away before I start sobbing all over his nice shirt.

  “Beautiful name,” he comments warmly.

  “Thanks.” I let go of his hand, which he offers to
Matt next.

  “I'm Matt,” he says with bored enthusiasm. This is great. It’s his fault I’m down here in the first place so the least he could do is pretend to be nice.

  “Nice to meet you, Matt,” Mr. Blue Eyes says sincerely. Turning back to me, he nods towards the empty seat next to me and I nod in return, inviting him to sit.

  He flashes in my mind. Drew’s silent question for a seat is something Dante would never do. No, Dante would sit and do as he pleases whether I liked it or not. I miss his stupid, pushy ass. “So London, what brings you out to the bar this evening?” he asks. Real interest beams in his eyes and I’m sure mine look dead in comparison.

  “Just to have some drinks and spend some time with my friend. How about you?” I ask, looking over at my uncaring friend who has wandered off, leaving me alone. Searching the crowd, I find Matt scooting off with a sneaky little smirk. That little shit.

  “I came out to relax a little. Needed a drink and a break from work,” he says with a light shrug. He strikes me as the business type … maybe a banker?

  “So I can assume you work around here?” I press on, trying to be nice, even though I’d rather not even be here. It’s not Drew’s fault, it’s his. I’d rather crawl under the table a drink alone or just die instead of conversing with this nice man.

  “I do. I work … everywhere, really. Are you on vacation?”

  “Yes. My family is from around here, so I'm here for a short visit.” I give him the simple version. I’m sure he’s uninterested in hearing my sad tale of liars and lunatics.

  We chat for a while, and with each passing moment, I find myself less and less interested and it’s not because Drew isn’t interesting. In fact, he’s quite the opposite. He has some interesting stories and he’s easy to talk to, but I can’t bring myself out of this funk. I’m not looking for anything and certainly not here, and especially not now. Mr. Personality has officially ruined me for any normal man ever again.

  “Hey Drew, you ready?” A man walks up and slaps Drew's shoulder and a disappointed look appears on Drew's face, but I think I may have smiled. As nice as he is, I’m ready to watch him walk away.