Twisted Hate (Twisted, 3)

My breakfast rose in my throat, and I had to make a conscious effort to force it back down when I hung up Josh’s call.

I felt faker than a Mona Lisa print hanging in the lobby of a seedy motel.

You hire someone to break into my place, Red? Because if you’d really wanted to get rid of the art, you could’ve just asked. I would’ve thrown it away for you.

I wiped a clammy palm against my thigh.

Stella had already left for work, so it was just me and my screaming conscience.

You’re a liar and a terrible person. Josh was right about you all along, the insidious voice in my head taunted. You’re the worst thing that’s ever happened to him.

“Shut up.”

This is why everyone always leaves you. Why no one loves you. You don’t deserve—

“Shut. Up.”

I paced the living room, trying to drown out the insecurities rearing their ugly heads.

I wasn’t a bad person. Sometimes, I made bad decisions, but that didn’t make me a bad person. Right?

Sweat stuck my shirt to my skin.

“It’s fine. I have a plan. I’m going to return everything to him, and I’ll get rid of Max.” Saying the words out loud eased some of my nausea.

I didn’t have the luxury of wallowing if I wanted to carry out the rest of my plan, so I allowed myself five more seconds of self-loathing before I straightened my shoulders, exited my apartment, and took the elevator up one floor.

It was time for phase two.

As long as Max had the tape, he had leverage over me. I wasn’t naive enough to trust he’d go away no matter how much I “repaid” him. The only way to get rid of him for good was to get rid of the tape. I didn’t know if it was possible to destroy every copy of a digital file for good, but I was desperate enough to try.

The only reason I hadn’t tried before was because I had no clue how to go about doing it, and I didn’t want to risk failing and pissing him off.

But the other night, as I lay awake staring at the ceiling of my fancy new apartment, I realized there was one person who might have the computer skills to pull off my plan: Christian Harper, AKA my landlord, AKA Rhys’s old boss.

I remembered Bridget saying he’d tracked down the person who leaked photos of her and Rhys to the press last year. That wasn’t quite the same as deleting a video that could have dozens of copies floating around in cyberspace, but it was worth a shot.

The elevator doors pinged open.

I walked down the hall to Christian’s fortress-like front door and rang the bell, praying like hell he was home. I’d only seen him twice since Stella and I signed the lease—once at Bridget’s wedding, which he’d attended thanks to his connection with Rhys, and once in passing in the lobby.

I dropped by Pam’s office yesterday and harangued her until she confirmed he was in town. She’d made some snarky remark along the lines of how “Mr. Harper isn’t interested in the likes of you,” but I didn’t care if she thought I wanted to seduce Christian. She was irrelevant.

I rang the doorbell again. Max left this weekend. If Christian wasn’t here, I was screwed.

I had a plan, but that didn’t mean it was a good plan. It relied heavily on good luck, and I could only hope the gods took pity on me and threw a bone my way.

I even borrowed one of Stella’s manifestation crystals, just in case it helped.

I stared at the closed door. Come on, come on…

Just as I was about to accept defeat, it opened, revealing glittering amber eyes and sculpted cheekbones.

It was only eight in the morning, but Christian was already dressed in an exquisitely tailored suit. Between that, his perfectly styled dark hair, and his clean-shaven face, he looked like he’d already been at work for hours and closed several multimillion-dollar deals in that time.

“Ms. Ambrose.” His smooth, decadent voice filled the air with its richness. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”  He flicked his gaze over my shoulder like he expected to see someone behind me.

When he didn’t, a shadow of what looked like disappointment crossed his face before it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Good morning. I’d like to ask a favor.” I got straight to the point. Every second counted, and Christian Harper didn’t seem like the type of man who enjoyed beating around the bush, anyway.

“A favor.” Amusement shimmered in his eyes like whiskey shot through with firelight.

“Yes.” I lifted my chin, trying to contain my nerves. I realized the irony of asking for a favor when a favor was what landed me in my current predicament, but the universe had always had a crappy sense of humor. “You helped Bridget and Rhys with their…problem last year, and I would be grateful if you could assist me as well. It’s a, um, digital problem, and you’re supposed to be the best of the best when it comes to those things.”

A little flattery never hurt, right?

“I was returning a favor for Rhys, not granting one.” Christian seemed unmoved by my compliment. “The question now, of course, is why I would assist you.” His smile, though polite, only sharpened the razor edge of his question.

I faltered. “Because…you’re a nice person?”

He had reduced my monthly rent to a fraction of its price with no strings attached. At least, none that we could see.

Maybe I should’ve fleshed out my plan more.

Christian’s smile faded. “Your biggest mistake, Ms. Ambrose, would be assuming I’m a nice person,” he said softly.

A shiver of unease slithered down my spine. Still, I forged ahead. I had no choice. “You don’t need to be a nice person to help me. I’ll owe you one.”

It was a reckless promise, considering I knew next to nothing about him. I could end up as beholden to him as I was to Max. But he was friends with Rhys, and Rhys was a stand-up guy, so that had to count for something. Right?

“Rhys was my top employee, a former Navy SEAL, and the future Prince Consort of Eldorra,” Christian said. “What can you offer me?”

“Professional legal advice?”

“I have a team of lawyers on retainer.”

“A custom-made thank you cake from Crumble & Bake?”

“I don’t eat dessert.”

That was just wrong. What kind of monster didn’t eat dessert?

I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to think of something else. “My eternal gratitude? I’ll sing your praises to all my friends.”

Christian tipped his head to the side, his gaze assessing.

You’ve got to be kidding me. I’d meant that as a joke.

“One favor from you in exchange for a favor from me,” he said. “To be decided upon on a future date of my choosing.”

Wariness crawled into my stomach. It sounded suspiciously like what Max had asked of me, minus the whole creep factor. “What kind of favor?”

I swear to God, if Christian asked me to sleep with him—

“Nothing sexual or illegal.” His reassurance didn’t ease my anxiety. I had a shitty history with the F word. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

Agreeing to an open-ended favor was a dumb idea, but I didn’t have the luxury of long-term planning when faced with a short-term emergency. Besides, Christian was the CEO of a reputable organization, not some low-life criminal like Max.

I hope I don’t regret this.

“I’ll take it.”

A satisfied gleam entered Christian’s eyes.

I couldn’t shake the eerie sense I’d just struck a deal with the devil. But whatever favor he wanted in the future would be worth dispelling the black cloud of the sex tapes once and for all.

Right?

“Excellent.” He opened the door wider. “My next meeting isn’t until eight-thirty. You have eleven minutes.”

I followed him through his penthouse and explained my situation—the tapes, Max’s blackmail threats, my desire to erase the recordings once and for all. I omitted the part where I used to steal for money; Christian didn’t need to know, and I didn’t have time to get into it anyway.

“I see.” He sounded almost bored by my dilemma.

I was half annoyed that he didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation and half hopeful that his calm response meant he had a solution.

Christian didn’t speak again until we reached his private library. Colorful books filled two walls of floor-to-ceiling shelves, and windows carved massive nooks on the remaining walls and bathed the room in piercing morning light.

A man stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a suit as expensive-looking as Christian’s. Annoyance etched deep lines in his face as he spoke rapid-fire Italian into his phone, but he hung up abruptly when he saw us.

“Dante, I trust everything is all right,” Christian said, like the other man hadn’t sounded like he was ready to murder someone in broad daylight.

Dante flashed a tight smile. “Yes, of course.” He slid his eyes toward me, his curiosity a warm weight against my skin.

He looked a little older than Christian, maybe mid to late thirties, but that only added to his physical appeal. He wasn’t as classically good-looking as Christian, but he exuded a rugged masculinity that would make most women swoon. The thick dark hair and muscled frame didn’t hurt, either.

“I didn’t realize you had company,” I said to Christian. It seemed too early for a business meeting, but what did I know? I wasn’t a CEO.

“I was just leaving.” Dante held out his hand. Silver cufflinks engraved with tiny V’s glinted on his shirtsleeves. “Dante Russo.”

“Jules Ambrose.”

He gave me a curt nod and slid an indecipherable look at Christian. “We’ll finish our conversation later. My grandfather just died.” He delivered the news like he was announcing a trip to the grocery store.

My eyes rounded with shock, but Christian didn’t even blink. “Of course.”

After Dante left, Christian walked to the computer in the corner and typed something. A minute later, the printer spit out a sheet of paper, which he handed to me along with a pen.

His cufflinks flashed in the light, and I realized they were engraved with the same V’s as the ones Dante wore.

“Sign this, and I’ll take care of the tape.”

I scanned the text. “You have a contract for favors?” It was a standard agreement listing the terms of our deal, but if I reneged on it, I would be held liable for…I blinked to make sure I read it correctly. “Two million dollars? You’ve got to be joking.”

“I don’t joke about business, and anything that involves my time and skills is business.” Christian nodded at the paper. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Ms. Ambrose, contracts protect both parties. If I’m unable to fulfill my end of the agreement, the contract is void. If I renege on the deal, I am also liable for two million dollars. It’s only fair.”

Yeah, except two mil was a drop in the bucket for him whereas it was an impossibility for me.

“Those are my terms. We haven’t signed anything yet, so you can still walk away.” He gave an elegant shrug. “Your choice.”

A favor of his choosing or I would owe him two million dollars…

My head pounded with indecision.

What were the chances he would ask me to do something really awful? He said anything sexual or illegal was off the table.

There was a fifty-fifty percent chance I would regret this, but my desire to get rid of Max overrode everything else.

I scribbled my signature on the designated line and handed it back to him. Christian signed after me, and that was that.

We were officially in business.

“It’s quite difficult to erase something forever once it’s in the digital realm, but it’s not impossible,” Christian said.

Not for me. 

I heard his implication loud and clear.

Some of the anxiety in my stomach loosened. I didn’t know him well, but I knew Christian Harper was damn good at what he did. He hadn’t built the world’s most elite security company from the ground up by slacking.

“I will, however, require your assistance with one part of the plan. I can have my men do it, but it’s much easier this way.” Christian smiled. “Here’s what you need to do…”