Dirty Things Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dirty Things

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Play List

  Dedication

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Prologue

  Dirty Things 2019 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.

  Any clubs, names, organizations, or groups of people are one hundred perfect fictitious and made up by the author and in no way, represent or reflect any actual real person or group of persons.

  Cover: Bigstockphoto.com

  Image: sakkmesterke (191400214)

  Editor: Dana Hook

  Cover Design: Freya Barker

  Interior Design: CP Smith

  How is it possible to truly hate someone you once loved so much?

  Well, it’s easy if that person is Enzo Black.

  He was never hard to hate. It was loving him that was painfully difficult.

  Loving him almost broke me—almost. Instead it turned me into a crazy, heartless bitch.

  Ruthless. Cruel. Callous. Enzo Black is the man your mama, your auntie, your grandma, and your neighbor warned you about. He’s the man you avoid in a bar, on the street, and in the produce aisle. He’s the man you want but can’t have because he’s devoid of anything close to something worth having. Enzo black is a soulless asshole, one I still love, but sometimes I wonder if I actually love the man or if I’m addicted to all the dirty things he does to me.

  Hell, it’s probably both.

  PLAY LIST

  Jessie Reyez ft. 6LACK – “Imported”

  Joji – “Sanctuary”

  Gallant – “Doesn’t Matter”

  Rhianna – “Needed Me”

  JoJi – “Demons”

  Khalid – “Better”

  6LACK – “PRBLMS”

  The 1975 – “Somebody Else”

  Bryce Vine ft. YG – “La La Land”

  The Weeknd – “Belong to the World”

  Songs that inspired me.

  (I do not own the rights to these songs, nor do the artists have anything to do with my books. Purely for inspiration)

  DEDICATION

  This book is for me.

  For not giving up.

  For kicking writer’s block’s ass.

  For finishing a book.

  Finally.

  ONE

  ENZO

  SOPHIA FUCKING TAYLOR.

  She may have her back to me, but I’d recognize her anywhere. From out of a crowded room or alone on an elevator, I’d know her if I was blind, deaf, and dumb.

  She’s a part of me, like a sickness in my veins. Or a parasite, twisting herself around my organs, strangling them until there’s nothing left.

  Sophia is a soul-sucking monster.

  Standing in a large gravel lot, a shell of a building in front of her, I watch her turn her head and look at the man next to her. She’s still got the face of a fucking angel—if only the rest of her was as angelic. The man is holding a file folder and a clipboard under one arm, and an umbrella over her head with the other. He nods at whatever it is she says, most likely agreeing with her, fumbling as he tries to flip through his paperwork to answer what it is she’s asked. Annoyed, Sophia rips the umbrella from his hand to hold it over hers, letting him get soaked in the downpour.

  The bitch only cares about herself.

  Nothing has changed.

  It doesn’t rain much in L.A., but today is one of those rare days where it’s coming down in sheets.

  I love to watch her, the way she moves, the way she talks with her hands. But most of all, I love the way she treats others as if she’s the only important goddamn person in the room. I watch now as she carefully looks over the building and the property. She’s critical. Her dark eyes are narrowed, scrutinizing everything around her. We’re both here for the same reason, but, unlike me, she has no fucking clue I’m lurking in the shadows, watching and waiting to take her down. It’s by coincidence that I found her here, but it won’t be by accident that I outbid her, taking what I’m sure she’s desperate to have, because Sophia Taylor hates to lose.

  She walks toward a crude plywood ramp built to walk into the building, and she navigates it gracefully wearing six-inch heels. She’s elegant, and goddamn good at it, stepping around tools and debris like a choreographed dance. Wearing a tight skirt, a sheer top and blazer, she leaves little to the imagination, and Jesus, what an imagination I fucking have.

  I imagine getting my hands on her again. I imagine hurting her, making her squirm, making her moan. I imagine fingerprints and bruises on her delicate white skin. I imagine myself between her thighs, with her on her knees. My imagination can run fucking wild.

  I take my time perusing her body, enjoying the little jaunt down memory lane. My tongue licking along the curve of her spine. The way her hips rocked in the palms of my hands. The swell of her chest is something I can still feel against my own, and the sound of her voice is like a song that you just can’t get out of your head. And the soft skin of her thighs rubbing against my face…

  Shit. It’s all there, lodged in my psyche, like a bullet to the brain.

  “Mr. Black, are you listening to me?”

  Pulled back to reality, I look over at Victor in the front seat. “What?” I bark in return.

  He passes me my phone. “They’re ready for your bid.”

  “What was Ms. Taylor’s offer?” I ask into the phone. There are no pleasantries with me. I don’t have time to waste.

  “One point two,” the voice on the other end tells me. She lowballed them, which doesn’t surprise me. The woman has a penchant for undermining people, their pride, and their prices. She likes to tear you down and use it to her advantage.

  She’s a ruthless little monster.

  I taught her well.

  “Two million.”

  There’s silence for a moment on the line as he submits my offer. I fully expect it to end there, but it doesn’t, and I don’t like that shit one goddamn bit. “There’s been a higher bid, sir,” the man on the phone tells me, and my anger gets the best of me.

  “Someone out-fucking-bid me? Who?” I shout, my voice booming around the car, bouncing off the windows.

  “Sir…” He hesitates, not wanting to tel
l me. I already paid a hefty price to get the information on her bid. The motherfucker owes me.

  “Who?”

  If Sophia’s name comes out of his mouth, I’m getting out of my car and strangling the bitch.

  “Mr. Calloway. He offered higher than both bids.”

  “How much higher?”

  “Half a million.”

  Motherfucker.

  “Three million, and make it fucking stick,” I growl, flexing my tense hands. The hands that want to rip Mr. Calloway’s beating heart from his chest and force feed it to Sophia.

  The fucker made a mistake trying to outbid me.

  The curator on the other end acknowledges my offer before I hang up, slipping my phone back in my pocket.

  This property is mine. I don’t give a fuck who I ruin to get it.

  I watch Sophia, waiting for her reaction.

  The man next to her digs his phone from his pocket and puts it to his ear. He listens and nods before turning to Sophia with regret all over his face. He says something, most likely letting her know she’s been outbid, and puts his hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t like that, and she doesn’t like my bid either. Her lip curls and her eyes darken. I love it. I fucking revel in it.

  It’s a done deal.

  Reading her lips, she asks the man, “Who?” I can read his lips easily, and it’s my name that comes out of his mouth as he nods in my direction. How he knows I’m here is beyond me, but it’s not important. What is important is that I hit Sophia where it hurts.

  Sophia twists around, looking at my car, and I see it, the vile expression that’s taken over her beautiful face. She hates me, and the feeling is mutual.

  I won.

  I always fucking win.

  Always.

  “Where to, Mr. Black?” Victor asks, looking at me through the rearview mirror.

  As much fun as it’s been crushing Sophia, I have things to do. “My office. I have shit to do.”

  _______________

  The thing I’ve got to do is five-ten, model thin, and beautiful.

  She sucks dick like it’s her profession.

  On her knees in my office, she gags on my cock when it hits the back of her throat.

  She deep throats like a goddamn porn star.

  I can’t remember her name to save my life to congratulate her on a job well done.

  “Do you like that?” she purrs, pulling my cock from between her lips to twirl her tongue around the head, looking up at me with what I assume are lustful eyes. They’re big and rimmed in black, a little tired, and nothing like the dark ones I’ve been thinking about since seeing them earlier.

  “I’d like it better if you stopped talking and kept sucking,” I grunt, distracted by the screen in the corner of my office.

  She laughs like I’m being funny.

  I’m not.

  The dumb cunt fists her hand around my cock, her tongue wrapping around my shaft. It feels incredible. It feels even more amazing when my office door flies open, hitting the wall behind it. Sophia Taylor comes marching in, a forty-five in her hand aimed right for my head, and a goon tailing behind her.

  She smiles at me, looking a little deranged.

  I almost come from just seeing the crazy bitch’s face in my office again.

  It’s been way too long.

  “Sophia.”

  “You ruined my fucking deal,” she growls, rounding my desk toward me and kicking a chair out of her way, her pretty lips curled in a sneer I’d grown used to. Granted, it’s been a while, but I haven’t forgotten it. “Two fucking years, Enzo, and you blow back into town and fuck everything up.”

  Little does she know, I’ve been back for a while now.

  The bitch on her knees pulls away, startled. I stop that shit real fast. I’m too goddamn close to coming for her to stop now. “Don’t fucking stop,” I growl, shoving at the back of her head. She looks unsure, but puts my cock back in her warm mouth, where it belongs.

  “And?” I groan, looking at Sophia when the woman flicks her tongue along the head, causing me to jerk.

  Sophia looks every bit the rich bitch she is.

  Jesus, she’s fucking gorgeous.

  Too bad she’s a fucking monster.

  “That property was mine. I had plans. Money was spent,” she spits, the barrel of her gun pointed directly between my eyes.

  I watch as her finger on the trigger flexes. Her arm is steady. She wants to pull it, but she won’t. The bitch is gutless.

  “Angel, that property was always mine. It was mine before you ever set your pretty brown eyes on it,” I counter, holding her eyes with my own.

  She falters.

  I can see it in her eyes. They narrow and widen, darting around the room, her pupils dilated.

  She’s unsure.

  “I don’t give a fuck,” she fumes, trying to keep her composure.

  If Sophia is anything, it’s fake.

  “Just like I don’t give a flying fuck about your fucking bid. You’re out money? I’ll float you until you recoup it,” I smirk, knowing goddamn good and well she doesn’t need the money. Sophia Taylor is rich. Filthy fucking rich. Just like me.

  “Fuck you and your money.”

  “That’s not what the seller said when he accepted my generous offer.”

  The bitch on her knees sucks harder, and I shiver. Sophia notices and laughs, her head cocking to the side as she studies the woman. “I should kill you. At least you’ll die with a happy ending, and I’ll get what’s mine.”

  “Rather die inside of your tight cunt.”

  Sophia’s smile widens, and I know she’s trying to play me, but she forgets I like games too. “We can arrange that.”

  “Yeah?” I know she’s toying with me. Sophia plays games like she’s the star player, but it’s too fucking bad I’m the fucking MVP. “Come and get it, motherfucker.”

  SOPHIA

  I fucking hate Lorenzo “Enzo” Black. Hate him enough to put a bullet between his bottomless blue eyes. I hated him the first day I met him, and I’ll hate him until the day I die. But he doesn’t seem to understand how deep my hate runs, because he smiles at me like he loves me, but what he really loves to do is hurt me.

  Loves to twist me up.

  Loves to tear me down.

  Loves to destroy me.

  “Up,” he orders, pushing the woman off his dick and onto her ass at his feet. She looks up at Enzo, shocked at first, and then begins to pout. “Mr. Black,” she whines, batting her lashes while attempting to look seductive as she licks the spit from her lips.

  Whore.

  Slut.

  I’m not jealous.

  I’m not.

  “Out,” he grouses, flicking a hand at the door. So dismissive. So heartless. So cruel.

  “But—” she starts to plead.

  “OUT!” I shout, losing my patience. I’m not playing games with this bitch. She flinches. “Get the fuck up and go.” She scrambles to her feet and runs for the door, pushing between Enzo’s security and my driver, falling into the hallway in a hurry.

  Enzo follows her with his eyes before turning slowly to look at me. “Jealous, Sophia?” he taunts, his voice caressing my name. Teasing it with his tongue. But really, my name is like glass and his tongue is a hammer, ready to shatter it at any moment with one quick smash.

  “Repulsed.” It’s been two years, and the sight of him still sickens me.

  Enzo chuckles darkly, pulling proudly on the collar of his expensive shirt before smoothing it out. “I am one nasty motherfucker,” he agrees.

  “One nasty, stupid motherfucker,” I counter, pushing my long dark hair over my shoulder, as if bored.

  I’m anything but bored.

  I miss this shit. Miss the mean and nasty. The sick and twisted.

  We’re fucked-up individuals, we both know it, and we’re the only two who get it. As much as I hate him, he’s the only one that gets me, gets this, and that’s priceless.

  “Yeah?” he bites out, h
is jaw flexing with anger. “I’m fucking stupid? You’re the dumb bitch that showed up in my office with a gun pointed at me. AT. ME!” He sounds outraged. How dare I threaten his precious life.

  “There’s the authoritative tone I like so much,” I smirk, biting my lip to keep my smile from growing.

  “Out!” he explodes, pointing at Tito, done with my shit, and ready to show me how done.

  “He stays,” I interject.

  One dark, menacing brow quirks up. “You don’t mind if he stays and watches me bend you over my desk, put my cock inside of your tight little cunt, and show you how authoritative I can be?”

  I snort. It’s a very uncouth sound.

  He knows I don’t give a shit. “I’m not letting your cock anywhere near me.”

  “No?” he questions, head cocked and eyes narrowed.

  He’s still sitting in his oversized office chair behind his desk, his suit jacket draped over the back. The button and fly are undone on his black trousers, and his thick, hard cock bobs against the waist of his expensive pants, the sleeves of his white button-down rolled up to the elbows. Noticing how I’m taking him in, he reaches down, fists his cock, and strokes himself a couple of times while holding my gaze.

  I press my thighs together, and I hate myself for it.

  I remember what it’s like to have Enzo inside of me, and it’s good. Beyond good.

  Rough.

  Dirty.

  Punishing and painful.

  I love all the dirty things he does to me, and I fucking hate that I do.

  Lost in a moment of sheer stupidity, I miss the moment Enzo tucks his cock back into his pants and stands up, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. He’s on me in moments. He may be quick, but so am I.

  He gets one hand on my free arm, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and twisting it behind my back in one swift move. In return, I bring the gun in my other hand up, pressing the barrel to his head, my finger on the trigger.

  We’re face-to-face.

  He’s tall. At least I’m in heels.

  Enzo doesn’t say a word before he kisses me.

  Roughly.

  Violently.

  Brutally.

  His lips hit mine like a fucking hurricane. Letting him slip his tongue between my lips to taste me, he growls when I pull away, dragging his lip through my teeth, hoping for blood.