Page 13 of Seductive Sadist
I roll my eyes. “Please stop. I don’t need that shit branded into my brain.”
“I’ll spare you the details if you just fucking tell me what happened.”
“You remember Tyson Van Dyne?”
“The elitist twat who graduated a couple of years behind me?”
“The one and only.” My Adam’s apple bobs in my throat. “He’s marrying Skyla St. James. How the fuck could she ever agree tothat?”
“Fuuuuck. Kylian’s sister, yeah? The one who was all over your stick forever? She finally got tired of waiting around for you, huh?” He lets out a snicker and I flip him off through the dashboard screen.
I wince at his words but ignore the question. “It was just weird to run into her tonight. I haven’t seen her in years.” Nik doesn’t even know the real reason why. My short-lived affair with Skyla is a dirty, seedy secret that I only shared with Val. The bitch of it is I hurt Skyla… destroyed her, actually. She became collateral damage for a plan that completely crashed and burned. I should’ve said no, told Val there had to be another way to get what we needed. But I didn’t. And fuck, it eats at me to this day.
“So why is the marriage twisting your dick so hard?”
“Because I don’t like the son of a bitch. I don’t like that his father’s construction and real estate businesses compete with ours, and I sure as shit don’t like that he’s getting half the St. James’s empire because of the marriage.”
“A good prenup will protect St. James.”
My lips twist and I glance into the rearview mirror. I could have sworn I saw a flashing headlight a few seconds ago, but it’s completely dark behind me now. “Yeah, but only we can protect our interests. And the two of those families banding together can make shit very hard for us. She shouldn’t be with him.”
“Not up to you, bro. Your only priority right now is to hide the gun parts in the restored cars we’re driving up to Tallahassee for the car show. A couple of the guys are gonna show up with crates that just came off a container ship at the Port of Miami. Take the crates, pay the guys, and store the weapons.”
“Yeah, yeah.” I half listen to the rest of his instructions, my mind working as fast as my car speeding down the interstate. He finally ends the call, leaving me alone with my tormented thoughts.
Skyla can’t be marrying that asshole for love. I saw how she stiffened when he took her arm. I didn’t miss the sneer on her face when he walked over. No fucking way did her body language scream love. Or even the tiniest bit of lust.
And Kylian… how the hell could he let the marriage happen? It’s obviously a power play and Skyla’s the pawn.
My jaw clenches when I think of my ex-best friend who was nowhere in sight tonight. Motherfucker stole my fame and glory right out from under me when he let me take that hit years back. College football star who’s about to turn NFL pro for the Minnesota Warriors.
I should have killed him when I had the chance. If it wasn’t for the fact that Luka had just gotten out of the clink and we didn’t need any more heat on us, the bastard’s head would’ve been on a spit. Then Dad and Dima were killed, Val disappeared, and our whole world turned upside down.
I really should have gotten back to it though. Messed with his brake cables or something.
“Fuck!”
I slam my hand on the steering wheel, then crank up the volume on my stereo, letting Metallica fill my ears. The road is pretty clear. I always take this route because it’s not heavily traveled and I’m usually transporting seriously illegal shit.
A blinding flash of light glares at me through the rearview mirror. I blink fast.
“What the fuck?”
Slamming my foot on the gas, my car lurches forward like I just flipped a switch for light speed. The truck behind me speeds up, closing the space between us. I drop a hand into the center console and flip open the lid to a secret compartment where I store my guns. I pull out a fully loaded Glock 19 and peer into the side view mirror. The truck is gaining on my ass, the road dark and empty. I dig the ball of my foot into the gas pedal at the same time that a dark form darts into the road. I swerve to the right to avoid hitting whatever the hell it is. Tires bounce on the gravel on the shoulder, the passenger side door scraping against the guardrail until I stomp on the brake. My head slams backward against the leather cushion.
Squealing tires cut through the heavy metal music. The truck skids off the road, missing the front of my car by inches. I crack my window just as the driver’s side door to the truck swings open.
An explosion of bullets hits the still air. They ricochet off the sides of my car and windshield because Nik is an auto genius who armors all of our cars for us since this is the same kind of ambush he drove into a couple of years ago. We don’t take chances anymore. Everything we drive is bulletproof. I point the barrel of my gun out the window and fire at the guy who crouches to the ground near the driver’s side door. My pulse damn near hammers a hole into my throat as the bullets tear through the truck’s door and window.
It doesn’t take long for the guy to realize I’m not getting out and he’s not getting in. I empty the rest of my magazine trying to hit the bastard. But being stuck in the driver’s seat of my own car, I don’t have a lot of reach. I manage to clip him in the leg and in the arm. He doesn’t wait around for me to blast his head off his shoulders. He jumps back into the truck and peels away from the shoulder. I can’t even reach the tires from my angle. The stench of burning rubber makes my gut clench, taillights disappearing into the darkness.
I grip the steering wheel, my breathing ragged.
What in thefuck?
There’s only one person who’d know where to find me right now. And I’d bet my left nut it’s the same guy who had his security thugs all over my ass when I walked across the parking lot to leave The Surf Club.
I grab my phone and stab some numbers onto the screen.