Wretched (Never After Series)

Oscar Norman, the mayor of Emerald, is a flashy man who spends more time worried about lining his pockets than he does about his morals. I first met him when I was ten years old and Nessa had him over for steak dinner and a “chat.”

I, being the kid I was at the time, thought he was her boyfriend. But I should have known better because Nessa never did anything without just cause, and soon enough the Westerly name was bankrolling Oscar’s political science degree. Over the years, I would watch with rapt attention while she pulled his strings like a marionette, funneling him down the narrow avenues she wanted him to take, until one day, he became a household name.

Exactly like she wanted him to be.

I assumed his loyalty to Nessa was just as strong as mine. They seemed to have a bond, and she’s the reason he was worth a damn at all. But I soon realized what a foolish notion that was after she died on his boat and he didn’t even show up to her funeral.

Cut off all ties with us and hasn’t come back around since.

Oscar Norman is a fraud, hiding behind a curtain of debauchery while portraying the image of a morally upstanding family man. And as I watch him being bent over his desk while the city commissioner rams a cock up his ass, that’s never been more obvious.

“Can you turn that shit down?” Cody scrunches his nose, reaching beside his triple monitor computer and grabbing his noise-canceling headphones. “Not all of us want to hear the men running our city moaning like stuck pigs.”

I smirk, tossing a piece of popcorn into my mouth as I keep my eyes on the screen. “Please. They wouldn’t know how to run this city if their lives depended on it.”

He chuckles, running a hand through his dirty-blond locks. “You’ve got a point.”

“Hey,” I say, never taking my eyes from the screen. “Can you do me a favor?”

“You mean another one?” he asks, spinning in his desk chair to face me. “You know, rigging a hidden camera in a government official’s office isn’t exactly easy. A thanks would be nice.”

I nod. “Thank you. I need you to look into someone.”

He pushes up his wire-framed glasses as he sits forward in his seat, placing his elbows on his knees. “Color me interested. Who?”

My insides twist, and the fact my body reacts so viscerally to even the thought of Brayden Walsh pisses me off. I crack my neck, trying to alleviate the tension.

A slow smile creeps along Cody’s face. “Someone’s got you fucked up.”

I narrow my eyes. “Someone’s annoyed me, if that’s what you mean, and I’m trying to decide whether or not to kill him.”

His grin grows larger and with it so does my irritation until it’s a living, breathing, snarling thing inside me. “Do me a favor?” I snap. “Stop psychoanalyzing and stick to what you know.”

Cody’s face drops. “God, you’re such a bitch.”

Grinning, I pop another piece of popcorn in my mouth and shrug.

“You have serious issues, babe,” he says just as a long groan sounds from the computer in front of me.

Both of us divert our attention back to the screen, watching as our dear mayor stands up from his precarious position, semen dripping out of his ass and down his thigh.

Cody makes a gagging noise. “I could have gone my whole life…”

I move forward, the roller of the mouse pressing into the tip of my finger as I press save and download the recording onto a USB drive.

“It’s just sex.” I glance at Cody. “I bet the commissioner would fuck you too if he knew you were the mysterious Oz. He’d probably come just from the thought of being able to use you himself.”

He grins, his cheeks tingeing pink. “Yeah, well unfortunately for him, I like to fuck not get fucked.”

“Semantics.” I smirk.

The computer pings, letting me know the download is complete, and I reach forward, snatching the USB. Satisfaction settles in the center of my stomach and spreads outward as I slip the drive in my cleavage, tucked into the underwire of my bra.

“For your personal spank bank?” Cody wiggles his brows.

“For insurance,” I correct.

“So who is it?” Cody asks.

“What?” Standing up, I stretch my arms above my head, the ripples and pops of my tight muscles making a relieved sigh escape me. I walk over to the red couch against the far wall and grab my jacket off the back cushions.

“Whoever it is you’re debating on murdering.”

My stomach tightens as a flash of green eyes and leather flits through my memory. “Brayden Walsh.”

Cody hums. “Never heard of him. What do you need to know?”

“Everything.” I slip my arms through the sleeves of my trench coat and untuck my hair from the collar, spinning around to face him.

“Babe, you’ll need to be more specific.”

I grit my teeth, wishing he’d stop asking so many questions and just do what I need, but I stifle the strong urge to snap because if I don’t play nice I won’t get what I want. Moving across the room, I stop directly in front of him. “I am being specific.”

His eyes flick down to my chest, and if I didn’t know he was gay, I’d bend over and give him a little show to ensure he gave me what I wanted. But unfortunately, Cody isn’t seducible, so instead I have to be friendly.

“I want to know where he sleeps, who his family is, whether he got gold stars on his fucking elementary workbooks. Everything.”

Cody’s brows rise and he lifts his hands up in front of him, palms facing out. “Sure. Sure. Give me a couple weeks.” He pauses. “You know, if you want some more help with things, I’m here.”

I stand up straight, the edge of the USB digging into the skin of my breast.

“You’ve got two days.”

It’s an hour later when I finally make it back to the estate, waving at the security guards posted outside of the gated entrance and driving my blacked-out Range Rover down the winding path that’s lined with perfectly manicured shrubs.

Running the ball of my tongue ring against the back of my lip, I park my car in the garage and walk toward the door, my leg muscles burning from how quickly I rush inside. The USB is searing a hole against my chest, and I have to physically stop myself from continually grabbing at it just to make sure it’s still there.

The door from the garage opens straight into the kitchen, and while I know I’m safe from prying eyes—nobody who lives here notices me until they need something—anxiety still creeps along my spine and wraps around my throat, urging me to move fast until I can get the drive to a safe spot.

Loud laughter rings from down the hall and my heart stutters against my chest, causing my footsteps to falter. It sounds like it’s coming from the dining room, and even though it makes no sense for me to change direction and head toward the noise, it’s what I do anyway.

I slip off my jacket and shoes, walking as light as possible, trying to ensure my footsteps aren’t heard on the hardwood floors, and when I hit the dining room off the front entrance, anger floods my system so strongly it immobilizes me.

He’s in the house.

In our lives for less than a week and already Brayden Walsh is in our fucking house.

My family is full of idiots. My heart slams against my ribs and my fingers curl into fists, nails cutting into my palms.

Ten, nine, eight… 

The control slips back into place as I count down to one, and I turn, walking down the hall quickly, making a quick pit stop in the kitchen to grab a water.

It’s when I’m bent down in the fridge, my fingers grazing against the side of the bottle, that I hear him again.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

His voice skates over my skin like a thousand knives, and the way he uses sweetheart makes me want to scream.

I fucking hate that word.

“Ignoring me already?”

Groaning, I stand up straight and close the fridge door. “It’s Eveline, stalker.”

He smirks and it makes me want to punch him in the face. “Eveline.”

“What do you want?” I ask, trying to move around him. He steps to the side when I do so that I’m boxed in. Tension stretches around my shoulders.

“You’re quite the little creeper, peering around walls and into rooms,” he notes, tilting his head. “Didn’t want to say hi?”

I scoff. “I live here, genius. And I was trying to avoid you.”

“Why?” he presses.

“Because if I don’t, then I’m going to murder you.”

His eyes flash, and his grin grows.

Does he think I’m joking?

He steps into me and I lose my breath at how quickly the air changes.

Whether I want to admit it or not, physically, this man affects me more than anyone else ever has, and that causes panic to percolate through every nerve, because the last thing I need is someone I don’t trust coming around and making me feel out of control.

I throw my hands up and press them against his chest. “You’re in my bubble.”

He lifts a brow. “Your bubble?”

Waving my hand between us, I attempt to push him back. “This is my bubble, dog. And you’re in it.”

“Maybe I like your bubble.” He leans into me, my palms the only thing separating his body from brushing against mine. “It’s cozy. Tight.”

“Great,” I say dryly. “Can you move now?”

He hums and presses into me again, this time pushing until my back is flush against the fridge. When he lifts his hand, my fingers dig into his shirt, my heart pounding in my ears, and he brushes a strand of hair from my forehead before cupping my jaw.

His green eyes flicker from my face down to my lips.

Heat explodes in my stomach.

“Let go of me,” I manage to rasp.

“No.”

“It wasn’t a question,” I hiss. “And I want you to leave my family alone. I’m not fucking kidding.”

He pushes his hips against me and bends down, his breath ghosting across my neck, causing shivers to trickle down my spine.

“I’m not quite sure who you think I am,” he whispers. “But clearly you’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a fuck about what you want.”

I grit my teeth, anger bleeding into my vision until it darkens around the edges.

“So if I want to eat dinner in your home,” he continues. “If I want to do business with your dad… if I want to fuck your naive older sister, then that’s what I’ll do.”

My chest tightens, nostrils flaring as I turn my face to the side, trying to rein in my temper. The one time I don’t have my gun.

“You got me, pretty girl?”

Letting out a low laugh, I nod my head, dipping the tip of my tongue out and running it along the edge of my bottom lip.

His eyes track the movement, the same way they did the night we met at the club.

I rise up on my tiptoes until our noses graze, the smell of cinnamon and pine swimming through my senses. “Go fuck yourself.”

Smiling, I shove his chest as forcefully as I can. He doesn’t budge much, but it’s enough for me to spin out of his hold and slip underneath his arm, and I walk away as fast as possible, my heart slamming against my ribs with every step.