Twisted (Never After Series)

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I listen to Tinashe Moyo, the man who runs the other side of the world for Sultans. Right now, he’s in our compound right outside Girga, Egypt, spearheading the effort to keep on archaeologists who have been preapproved from the Egyptian government to dig. To find the lamp, we need to first be able to get into the places where it could be, and it’s far easier to bribe the people already there than try to sneak in people and keep them under the radar. It’s hard enough smuggling things out.

But there’s no one else I’d trust. Tinashe first started working for me when Sultans took over the artisanal mines in Kimberley, South Africa.

Over the past few years, I’ve brought him in to lead all our new operations, to be my eyes and ears when I can’t physically be there to see or hear myself. He ensures that everything goes according to plan, that the rough diamonds make it from beneath rock all the way to one of our warehouses. Some end up here at our headquarters in New York, and others end up around the world in our smaller manufacturing houses, being cut and polished before being formed into beautiful jewelry that’s sold to the masses.

Tinashe has become paramount to Sultans running like a well- oiled machine, and I don’t think we’d be as overwhelmingly in control of the percentage of the diamond trade that we are if it weren’t for him.

Since he’s come on board, we’ve grown to controlling fifteen of the twenty major diamond mines left in the world, and once we find the lamp, I’m going to shift his focus to Russia, which is the one country Sultans has no presence in at all.

“I’ve got a few personal family things I need to take care of,” Tinashe starts, his voice strong over the speaker phone. “I’d like to go deal with them in person, but we’ve also been running into problems with Da— ”

“None of this shit matters,” Ian bursts out from on the other side of my desk. The nostrils on his wide nose flare as he taps his foot against the wooden leg of his chair, his dirty- blond hair mussed from where he’s run his fingers through it. His rough voice stops Tinashe from speaking, and I grit my teeth to keep from lashing out.

Ever since I’ve clued Ian in on the fact that Ali is one foot in the grave and I’m nowhere in the will, he’s been…tense.

I squint my eyes, running my hand over my jaw.

“Apologies for the interruption, Tinashe,” I finally say, my eyes never leaving my petulant assistant’s. “Take the time with your family. I’ll send someone over to take your place.”

Ian swallows harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as I press the button to end the call. I lean back in my chair, steepling my fingers in front of my mouth, hoping my displeasure is coating the air and strangling him. He knows better than to speak out of turn with important people. He’s supposed to be seen, not heard.

“Remind me again,” I start, pressing my hands down into the arms of the chair and pushing myself to a stand, “when I gave you the idea that you were allowed to have a voice?”

Slowly, I roll up the black sleeves on my button-down  shirt until they’re above my elbows, showcasing the tattoos I’ve accumulated over the years. Ian is the only person in the world who knows what they stand for, and right now, I use them as an intimidation tactic. He’s never above being another trophy on my skin.

Reaching into my pocket, I remove my compact staff, twirling it around in my hand as I make my way toward him. A strand of my hair falls from its place, tickling my flesh as it sweeps across my forehead when I look down at my favorite weapon.

“Boss, I didn’t mean— ”

“Shh.” I stop in front of him, resting the top of the metal stick over his thin, pasty lips. “You need to trust me.”

He swallows thickly. “I am. I do. I just hate to see you work so hard for that chump, Ali. And now we’re supposed to woo his daughter?” He shakes his head. “You’re better than that. Better than them.”

“I agree.” I smile, straightening up and slipping the staff back in my pocket, deciding he’s groveling enough to not need a lesson. “Soon, this will all be ours and no one will stand in our way. But we have to play the game in order to get the spoils. My instinct has never steered me wrong. This is our in.”

Ian nods. “Marry the Sultans princess, so we get the Sultans legacy.”

I open my mouth to reply, but voices suddenly filter through from the front room to my office. My eyes flick from Ian’s face to the door, and I try to make out the blurry figures through the frosted glass.

Nobody is set to see me in person today, and even though my receptionist, Ciara, is new, just recently hired on by Ian, she knows better than to let random people in. “Precisely.”

“And after?”

Smirking, I press a hand against my chest. “I’m sure she’ll be devastated after the old man dies, longing to see her father again. What kind of a husband would I be if I didn’t take care of her every wish?”

Ian’s smile grows, his chipped front tooth gleaming with his slimy grin. “A family reunion.”

I laugh. “You’ve got a foul mind, Ian. But you’re not wrong.”

If she annoys me in the meantime, I’ll just shove her in the farthest wing of my house and maybe let the boy come around. Keep her satisfied enough so she doesn’t bother me. It won’t do me any favors to have her miserable, even though the idea sends a personal thrill through me at the thought. Instead, I’ll keep her agreeable, convince the world we’re desperately in love, and then play the part of the grieving widower.

Of course, after the way I’d left her the other night, I assumed she would have come running by now with her tail tucked between her legs, begging for my help, and since she hasn’t, I may have to reassess how things are handled.

The noise from the reception area becomes louder, and irritation winds its way down my spine that Ciara still hasn’t handled it. I walk closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wood so I can listen to the conversation.

“Miss, there’s nothing else I can do,” Ciara says.

“What’s your name?” the other person responds.

My brows shoot up at the voice. Yasmin.

Delight swims through my veins and I spin around, unable to keep the smile from spreading across my face at the coincidence. “Luck is on our side, Ian.”

I move to the door and open it, expecting the two women to turn toward me when I do, but they’re locked on to each other as though they didn’t hear me at all.

Ian steps up behind me, his face hovering above my shoulder as he peers at the scene. I can feel his presence and see him in my peripheral vision, but I ignore him, moving slightly away and leaning against the doorframe, uncomfortable with how close he was standing.

I slip my hands in my pockets, my fingers running along the length of the metal staff.

Ciara and Yasmin stand on either side of the small white desk that’s against the left-hand wall of the reception area. Ciara’s dull  brown hair is pulled back in a sleek bun, her eyes sparking with annoyance, her small wiry frame tense.

“Again, Mr. Faraci is a very busy man,” she says through a pinched smile. “You can set up an appointment, but that’s all I can offer.”

Yasmin sighs. “Fine.”

Ciara bobs her head, leaning down to tap on her computer. They still haven’t noticed me, and I take the time to really soak in Yasmin’s appearance. She’s dressed impeccably, as she usually is, her baby- blue pantsuit a gorgeous contrast against her brown skin. Her hair is down, wild and curly, and every time she moves, it bounces. Her teeth sink into the corner of her lips, her eye makeup accenting her expressive gaze, which is trained on Ciara as she taps away on the keyboard.

“Unfortunately, there’s nothing coming up right now.” Ciara smiles up at Yasmin. “Maybe you should give us a call later and we can try to work something out.”

“This is ridiculous,” Yasmin snaps. “I know he’s here, and I only need to see him for a second. He’ll most likely be at my house tonight. I— ”

Ciara’s face drops in a flash, her mouth parting as she sucks in a breath.

I smirk, knowing that Yasmin just inadvertently implied we were sleeping together.

“Look.” Yasmin sighs again, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to have to go above you, and I really don’t want anyone to get in trouble.”

She leans in, resting her hands on the top of the desk. Her back arches slightly with the motion, and the side profile of her bent over my office furniture sends a rush of heat through me. I could walk up behind her right now, press into her while I grasp her curly hair in my fist and feel her ass grind against my dick. I could rip off her pantsuit and take her right there, just like that, hitting spots inside her that the boy could only dream of.

I turn my eyes away, annoyed that once again, I’ve lost control of my thoughts.

“I know you don’t believe me,” she continues, her voice lower than before. “But you will get in trouble if I decide to make a scene. If you’d just tell him Yasmin is here— ”

“Then he’d be more than willing to clear his schedule for the rest of the day,” I interrupt, standing up straight and moving farther into the room.

Both of the women jerk their attention to me.

“Mr. Faraci, sir,” Ciara mumbles, her back going ramrod straight.

I pay her no mind, keeping my eyes on Yasmin as she straightens from where she was bent, crossing her arms over her chest as she looks at me. Something coasts across her features, making them soften ever so slightly, like she’s relieved I’m here.

Good. She’s needing me already, even if she doesn’t want to be.

I walk across the marble floors until I’m directly next to Yasmin. I glance down at her, breathing in her soft vanilla scent. My abs tighten and I move my gaze from her over to my receptionist. “I expect my employees to know when the daughter of Ali Karam is standing in my office.”

Ciara’s eyes widen. “Sir, I— ”

“This woman,” I cut her off, “is allowed to interrupt me any time of the day. For any reason. Understood?” She swallows and nods.

“Good.” I smile, reaching out and placing my hand on Yasmin’s back, twisting her in the direction of my office and pushing lightly.

Ian, who has been standing and watching silently, scrambles out of the doorframe, his eyes calculating as he watches me lead her.

Surprisingly, Yasmin doesn’t fight my touch, and it isn’t until I close the door behind me, shrouding us in privacy, that she jerks out of my hold, her eyes narrowed into slits as she presses her back against the closed door.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she demands.

A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Like what?”

She tilts her head, staring at me. “How long were you just standing there like a creep, watching me struggle?”

“A while.” I shrug. “I was curious.”

“About?”

“Maybe I was waiting to see if the two of you would get into a sexy cat fight.” I wink. “My money’s on her, although I’d enjoy watching your claws come out.”

She scoffs, tapping her foot on the floor and crossing her arms. “You’re disgusting.”

I move toward her, wanting to rile her more because I like the way it makes me feel to see her on edge and bothered. Leaning down, I reach around the side of her body, so close I can feel the heat from her skin.

“And you’re pretty when you come,” I whisper.

Her breathing stutters, and I flick the lock on the door, then turn around and walk across the room until I’m leaning on the lip of my desk, facing her.

“I was also curious about whether you’d use your name to see me,” I continue.

She takes a step toward me. “I don’t use my name to get my way.”

“What a waste,” I reply.

She huffs, shaking her head. “You would think that.”

“Your name is your power, gattina. If you wanted to, you could rule the world.”

Her brows draw down before a laugh pours from her mouth. “Oh my god. You’re fucking delusional.”

My smile drops, something dark hitting me in the chest with her insult. “I prefer the term ‘visionary.’ Regardless, you’re here, so I assume you’ve decided to lick your wounds and play nice?”

“I don’t have any wounds to lick,” she replies.

I slip my hands into my pockets. “I could give you some if you’d like.”

She points a finger at me, indignation flaming behind her eyes. “Quit doing that. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head. “You don’t like honesty?”

“I don’t like you.”

Nodding, I wave my hand toward the door. “Then leave.”

She doesn’t speak, a contemplative look flashing over her face as she stares at me, and I don’t push her for a response. The key to manipulating someone into your favor is to make the other person think it’s their idea, so it’s important that she comes to me.

“You said you would help,” she finally murmurs.

“I said I could help,” I correct.

“My father…” She pauses and swallows, her delicate neck moving with the action. “My father wants me to marry.”

She looks up at me from under her lashes, as if she’s searching for a reaction.

I give her none.

“You knew,” she deduces, her voice dropping in disappointment. “I figured as much.”

Again, I don’t react.

She sighs, twisting her fingers together. “Well, not that anyone asked, but I don’t want to marry a stranger.”

Now I move, standing up straight and taking a step toward her. “Ah, your lover boy. Of course.”

She frowns. “He has a name.”

“Don’t we all?”

She groans, dragging a hand over her face. “You’re impossible to talk to.”

“Please. I’m incredible at conversation.”

Her lips twitch and she leans forward, like she’s trying to peer deep into my eyes. It makes me uncomfortable, as if I’m losing control of the situation, so I step closer to try to gain it back.

“I’m assuming you want your father to give you his blessing to marry this…” I lift a brow, urging her to fill in the blank.

“Aidan.”

“Aidan,” I echo.

She chews on her lip, and my hand reaches out without a second thought, tugging on her chin gently, releasing the abused skin from her teeth and pulling her head up until her neck is craned.

Her breath hitches as our gazes lock, but she doesn’t move from my touch. Energy buzzes in the space between us, and my hands tingle with the urge to reach out and wrap my hand around her curls, tugging until she bows before me, begging for me to be her savior from her unfortunate fate.

The image of her on her knees sends a shock through my system, heat collecting at the base of my spine as our eyes remain on each other.

Her mouth parts, her tongue peeking out to swipe across her bottom lip, so close to the tips of my fingers that I can almost feel it.

“And why should I help you?” I ask.

She jerks then, the tense buzzing in the air dissipating as she shoves herself away almost violently. “This was a mistake.”

“Maybe.” My heart thuds against my chest. “But if you want to be with your boy…”

“He isn’t a boy,” she bites out.

“Trust me, he’s a boy.” I step closer again. She steps back.

A thrill zings up my middle and I repeat the motion, enjoying this cat- and- mouse game we’re playing.

“Quit it,” she demands, continuing to walk backward until she hits the wall next to the door.

I ignore her plea, stalking toward her until there are only centimeters between us. I lift my arm up and rest it above her head, caging her in. Her body goes stiff.

“And will you do anything to keep him?”

The air grows silent and still, nothing but the sound of our breathing filling the quiet hum.

“I don’t want to lose him,” she finally whispers.

I bend down until my lips brush across the shell of her ear. “Then, tell me you need me, gattina.”

Her body stiffens like a piece of wood, and she speaks through gritted teeth. “Get away from me, pig.”

I don’t fight her, backing away and spinning to walk across the room until I’m standing behind my desk. I grab my wire- frame reading glasses from where they’re perched on the corner and slip them on, reaching down to rustle through the papers next to my computer, my eyes briefly scanning over the profit margins from our diamond production department. I try to focus on the words, spending the next few minutes ignoring her, but she doesn’t move from her spot, instead choosing to keep her heated glare trained on me.

Glancing up at her from over the rim of my glasses, I say, “If you’re done wasting my time, you can see yourself out.”

She still doesn’t move from where she’s pressed against the wall, and I wait for her to work through whatever pathetic crisis she’s having in her head.

Finally, she does. And then she’s surging forward, stalking toward me.

“You’re a dick,” she spits when she gets close, her closed fists pressing onto the top of my desk. “But I need your help.” She hesitates, and then, “I need you, Julian.”

The papers drop from my hands. “What’s the magic word?”

“Please,” she grits out.

I grin broadly. “Well, since you asked so nicely.”

Her eyes flare but she doesn’t bite back. Part of me is almost disappointed. I’ve been enjoying the way she riles so easily.

“Bring the boy here to meet me,” I command.

She shakes her head. “It’s not that easy. No one knows. We can’t just— ”

“Does your little secret rendezvous spot have room for one more?” I quirk a brow.

Her tongue swipes across her bottom lip as she stares at me and nods slowly.

“I’ll find you tonight then.” I jerk my chin toward the door. “Now leave. I’m a busy man and you’re wasting my time.”

She spins around, leaving in a flurry, but despite me telling her that I have things to do—which is true— I stand still behind  my desk, my thumb grazing my lower lip, wondering what it will feel like when I force her to be my wife.