Twisted (Never After Series)

I swirl the Johnnie Walker Blue in my glass, the smell of books and tobacco filling the air as I lean against the ornate wooden table in Ali’s cigar room. The clock to the left chimes eleven times. It’s late, and everyone has finally left. Blowing out a breath, I sip my whiskey, a headache throbbing between my temples at having to wear the face of a dapper host.

Even though it isn’t my estate and it wasn’t my dinner, everyone knows that wherever Ali Karam is in name, I’m there in the background, pulling the strings. It’s tedious to put on soirees like the one tonight, but they’re essential. And never- ending.

This week, it was the governors and the CEOs of the world. Next week, it could be the capos or the jefes, depending on who it is we need to have in our immediate pocket. It’s a tenuous game we play, being masters of the universe, but it’s one I enjoy.

Controlling most of the world’s diamonds means you control most of the world, and a diamond is never just a diamond.

That’s not to say Sultans isn’t a reputable company. It is.

We’re unique in the way we operate. Where most diamond retailers are the bottom of the food chain, Sultans has built itself as a stronghold in every facet of the industry. We have jewelry stores in every major city across the United States, several in other countries, and we’re expanding every year.

It’s only once you pull the curtain back from all the stores and sales numbers that you get to the truth. And the truth is that we also control a large majority of the diamond black market.

No one can deny that I’ve done more to advance our position both politically and socioeconomically in the past eight years than Ali accomplished in a lifetime. And it’s been my goal to take over Sultans ever since I was a young boy, when I was watching Ali Karam on TV being lauded as the most powerful man in the world after his father died and left the company to him.

He’s everything I wished I could be.

There’s only one issue.

For some reason, he doesn’t want me to take the reins. Not officially anyway, which is complete bullshit considering no one else has poured their blood, sweat, and tears into his legacy more than I have.

With his declining health—the extent of which he hasn’t told  anyone other than those in his closest circle—there’s an under current of anxiety that taints the air, specifically when he speaks of his daughter, Yasmin. She came back six months ago, a fresh graduate from whatever university he had her stashed at, and he started calling in suitors for her hand immediately. Like it’s the eighteenth century and he’s on borrowed time.

Part of me almost feels pity for the poor fool who will end up saddled with the spoiled brat. She has no attributes other than looking nice on an arm and being the heiress to a billion- dollar fortune, and all that is ruined by her desperation to have her daddy’s attention.

When Ali told me he was bringing in suitors, I grew suspicious. A quick trip to his personal lawyer and a flip of my staff later, I learned the ins and outs of Ali’s will. He’s leaving everything to his daughter, provided she marry someone “suitable.” Ridiculous.

I have no doubt in my mind she’ll jump at the chance to take over her family’s legacy, to make her father happy, even if it means marrying someone she has no interest in. She’s never been the type of person to go against something Ali wants, especially if it gains his favor.

She’ll be its ruin. She’ll be my ruin.

Unless I become the man she marries.

The thought makes my stomach curdle.

Samuel, the poor fool who thought he’d be introduced to Yasmin this evening, was the first of what I assume will be many unfortunate casualties. But after careful consideration, I’ve decided that until I have a plan in place, no one will get near Yasmin Karam.

Ali lets out a sigh, sinking into the deep burgundy leather of his oversize chair. He coughs suddenly, surging forward. The sound is jagged and rough, as if it were forced from his lungs by steel hands and dragged through barbed wire on its way up his throat.

My brows crease, something tightening in my sternum. “Do you need water, old man?”

His eyes tear up as he waves me off. “No, no. I’ll be fine.” He pauses, his finger running over his trimmed and patchy salt- and- pepper beard as he stares into space. “Did you find out what happened to Samuel?”

I try to adopt a sympathetic face. “Never made it on his flight, I’m afraid. I’ve tried to get in touch, but no luck so far.”

“Hmm,” he hums, his body slouching. “And the lamp? Any news?”

Frustration bleeds into my middle, spreading like molasses. This blasted lamp is quickly becoming the bane of my existence, especially considering everyone is after it, but no one knows if it even exists.

If it does, then I need it in my hands and under my control. You can wield a lot of power with a lost relic said to be a spelled lamp of an ancient Egyptian pharaoh, and there’s a rush of people trying to find it first.

The idea that it’s actually spelled is ludicrous, of course, but the myth combined with the history are enough to make it priceless. And if I have the lamp, then I can finally center Sultans as not only a powerhouse in the diamond trade but also antiquities, which is the one area of the black market we haven’t yet entered. It’s not enough to be one of the players in the game. I want to control it all.

Convincing Ali of its importance was easy. It’s finding the damn thing that’s giving me problems.

I purse my lips, fingers tapping against the rim of my tumbler. “Still looking.”

Ali jerks forward but stops as another harsh cough pours from his mouth.

I blow out a breath, setting down my tumbler of whiskey on the table and walking over to where he sits, reaching out my arm. “Come on, old man. You don’t need to put on a brave face for me. Let’s get you to your room so you can rest. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

His eyes flare, and I can see the way I’ve offended him by the stark lines that burrow deeper with his frown. But then yet another coughing fit overcomes him, his thin skin showcasing the bulging blood vessels underneath.

I dig into my breast pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and passing it to him. He grabs at it quickly, shoving it against his mouth, his eyes scrunching in the corners as his free hand curls around his stomach.

I stand by silently, my jaw tensing as the man who I’ve looked up to since I was a child disintegrates in front of my eyes.

Finally, it eases, and he drops the cloth in his lap.

It’s stained with red.

My stomach twists at the sight.

He reaches out and uses my arm as leverage to pull himself to his feet, shaking his head as he pushes past me and into the hall. I don’t follow, knowing he needs to maintain every ounce of dignity he has left. I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same.

Glancing around the room, I walk back to my whiskey and drain the last few drops before making my way down the darkened hallway of the expansive estate, following the twists and turns I know by heart so I can go home for the night.

It’s a large building, well over twenty thousand square feet, and I parked in the private lot off the staff’s quarters, not wanting anyone to see me arrive or leave.

I’ve just hit the hallway that leads to my car when a muffled moan hits my ear.

My footsteps stutter.

I spin on my heels, head tilting as I try to pinpoint where the sound is coming from. Another moan, this time slightly louder, and my abs tense with a delicious sensation. I move toward the noise without a second thought, wanting to see who’s responsible for the arousal suddenly spinning through me. The last door at the end of the hall is closed, but I reach out, testing the handle, my heartbeat ratcheting higher in my chest. I continue to twist slowly until it unlatches, creating a sliver of light that filters from the room into the dark hallway.

My eyes scan the scene, my cock jerking immediately when I see the side profile of a naked woman laid out on a small twin bed on the far side of the room. It takes a few moments to realize who it is, and by then, I’m too invested to leave, the perverse pleasure racing through me and making me rock- hard.

Yasmin.

Her breasts are large and full, dark areolas puckered in the air and begging to be sucked as a young man thrusts into her.

Well, this is interesting.

She moans again, and my dick strains as I soak up every greedy inch of her skin, seeing her in an entirely different light than ever before.

Granted, in the past, she was young, and I wasn’t interested in a teenage girl with a silly crush.

But now I can’t help but appreciate the soft curves of her body and the sharp angles of her face, despite the disgust that slips into the mix when I think about who she is.

Pampered little rich girl, with a cushy life she’s never had to lift a finger to attain.

I have plenty of people to keep me satisfied, so there’s never been the slightest temptation, even if she has grown into a stunning woman.

The boy above her grunts, his movements growing jerky and then stopping altogether, and amusement filters through my chest when I take in the unsatisfied look that floats across Yasmin’s face.

“Did you come, princess?” he asks.

If you have to ask, the answer is no.

She gives him a small smile and shakes her head. “It’s okay.”

“Let me take care of you,” he murmurs, slipping his purple- condom- covered dick from inside her and dipping his face between her legs.

Yasmin lets out a small gasp, but even from here I can tell his movements are that of a boy, not a man.

She has no clue what it could be like for her. The pleasure that could be wrought from her body. My cock pulses as the image of her tied and bound to my bed, her swollen and bruised cunt on display while she begs for mercy, whips through my mind.

I bite back a groan, palming the front of my pants, pressing the heel of my hand against my erection. It sends a burst of pleasure through me and my chest spasms when Yasmin’s head turns in my direction. I should hide myself before she sees.

Maybe if I were a better man, I would.

But I’ve never been a gentleman.

Instead, I toe the door open more, just enough to ensure she has a nice view of me standing here, watching, waiting, my palm rubbing against the thick length of my cock while it strains against the zipper.

Her gaze locks on mine and widens, her cheeks flushing, mouth parting into the perfect O.

My balls tighten when she sees me, the urge to walk into the room and give her lips something to latch on to so strong it makes me dizzy, but I hold back, choosing to grip the outline of my cock and stroke myself through the fabric.

Fuck.

My stare burns through hers, a drop of precum leaking from my dick when I take in how vulnerable she is, splayed out for another man and clearly unsure of what to do when she sees me watching.

I expect her to scream. To stop the pathetic attempt of her boy toy and cover up.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, her back arches and her eyes roll, her chest heaving as she chokes on air. I bite the inside of my cheek because I’m so fucking hard, I can’t see straight.

Does it turn her on, knowing that someone who’s thirteen years too old for her, someone who’s the closest thing to her father’s best friend, is watching her get fucked? That boy may have his tongue inside her, but it’s me she’s thinking of right now, whether she wants to be or not.

Her eyes open again, locking onto mine immediately, like we’re two sides of a magnet drawn together by force. Then her gaze drops down the length of my body, searing a path all the way to where I continue stroking myself to the sight of her.

I smirk, and her tongue swipes out to run along her bottom lip.

My stomach tightens, imagining what that tongue would feel like running up the length of my cock while she stared up at me from her knees.

I’m two seconds away from saying fuck it, undoing my belt, and letting her see what she could have, but just as my hand brushes against the buckle, my mind catches back up to my body, and I wonder what the hell I’m doing.

Ripping myself away, I spin around and leave, my body screaming and revulsion worming its way through the arousal from my lack of control.

I have no interest in Ali’s daughter, sexually or emotionally, and I’d never once thought of her as anything other than a nuisance, a silly girl who gets in my way and thinks she deserves the world simply by being born into it.

Only now, she’s burned into my brain.

And I’m not sure how to get her out.