Beautiful Things Evil People Do

by Kailee Reese Samuels

  And it helps that she swallows nightly.

  Busting in the door, Ek mutters, “I bought all the crap on your grocery list, but they didn’t have a few of these weirdly named things.” I grab the first load from her hands and kiss my girl. She hands over the keys to the Mustang. “Sorry, it took me a bit. Traffic into Columbia was terrible.”

  She’s dangerous with a stick now.

  And yes, I have extended her leash quite a bit—out of necessity more than anything. If she were leaving, she would have done it already.

  “We’re out of space on the dining room table,” Deacon sighs, swaggering into the room. Echo’s been gone since before the dynamic duo arrived, and her eyes widen at the appearance of one Deacon Cruz—ripped jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers—same as he’s been since birth. “We’re going to have to do something else. We cannot run your shop here.”

  “Fuck,” I mumble, downing a protein shake.

  “You’re going to need more help to do this, and she needs help carrying in groceries.” Echo glances at him, and he smiles politely. She starts to follow him, but he says, “I got it. Start unpacking.”

  She’s probably wondering why there is a long blonde-haired biker in our home.

  Her mouth opens. “Is that your cousin?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The family resemblance is eerie, J.”

  He flew in early this morning to help assemble all of the machines we’re using to run Peacock Consulting—the name and logo all due to the girl with the shocked expression. He brings in the last of the bags, and now he’s helping load vegetables in the fridge. She’s handing them off, and he’s sticking them in.

  These two are a pair.

  “We’re gonna need more power,” Sal mutters, shuffling in and eyeing my girl, standing over the top of the crouching Deacon. She gives the Italian in the backward ball cap a once over, deems him acceptable, and returns to their tag-team efforts. The grocery list was a mile long because these two know how to eat. “There is no way you can do what you want to do, J. Psst, Ekky!”

  Holding the single-serve packet of marinated olives, she smiles at his noticeable accent, “Hmm?”

  “Pitch’em!”

  “Can you catch?”

  “Baby, I can catch.” He grins, and she listens, tossing the olives to him. Deacon snickers. It may not sound like much, but she picked up on my respect for the pair. Her ability to listen delights the fuck out of me as he rips into the olives. “I’m Sal Raniero, by the way.”

  “Explains the accent and the olives.”

  He extends his hand, introducing himself, and she offers her fingertips—that’s not a handshake, but I’ll overlook it. “It’s good to meet you, Echo.” He switches his gaze to me. “You’re gonna need another panel if you don’t want to be blowing circuits left and right. There’s not enough power in the old girl.”

  “We have so many people who need their shit maintained. I have so much to do,” I whine, collapsing my arms on the counter and knocking Echo’s two giant boxes of Frosted Flakes over. She rubs my back. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

  “Let me think on that.” Sucking on an olive, Sal asks, “What did your Dad do with the equipment in the building?”

  “He liquidated all of it.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “I’m sorry I cannot stay away from home for longer than a night, but I’m leaving Cruz here for the rest of the week to help you.”

  “Still not doing any better?”

  “Bad topic!” Deacon segues, making a giant X with his arms. “Off-limits!”

  “Sorry,” I apologize as Sal shakes his head and disappears back to the dining room. “Did I…”

  “Nah, you’re fine,” he mutters, taking a look at Echo. “You’re a sweet little thing, ain’t ya?”

  She giggles, “I guess so.”

  “I’m this fucker’s cousin. If he gives you any shit, let me know,” he greets, boldly hugging her. He was always the sweet one. Pounding my arm, he reassures, “Sal will figure something out.”

  “… You’re a biker?”

  He beams a broad smile. “Yeah, I’m the president of the club he’s in.” She turns with a scowl at me, and I close my eyes tight, shaking my head. “Fuck. She didn’t know?”

  “No.”

  “You’re the asshole who gave him the drugs to send me nighty-nighty,” she accuses as my eyes open wide. “You caused my abduction.”

  With his head slightly tilted back in a cocky pose, he readily admits, “I’m the bastard who saved you. I’ll take a thank you when you get over yourself.”

  “I oughta rack the fuck out of you,” she sasses, and I smirk.

  “You don’t seem any worse for the wear, Darlin’.” He lays a sympathetic hand on my arm as he passes by. With a wink, he stresses, “Spitfire.”

  “Say it again,” she demands in a long black sweatshirt and pink lace panties. We can’t even have a sesh tonight because we’ve been quibbling for hours in the playroom.

  Straddling over the bench, I roll my eyes and repeat the words for the fiftieth time, “You are a: Natural Dominant. Alpha. Male. No nerds, truckers, wannabes, virgins, or bikers. Professional-types, athletes, and bad boys welcome.”

  With her hands in the air, she yells, “What part about that description don’t you fit?”

  “I’m a hybrid—a nerd and a biker. They negate one another.”

  She’s not amused.

  “I can deal with the techno-geek in you, Jynx!” she roars loud enough for Deacon and Sal to hear at the other end of the hall. They’re staying in the same room. I’m not bothered, but the idea seemed to perplex her with a—“What? They’re lovers!”—reaction. Not everyone understands the attraction between the two pretty boys, but I’ve already given up hope of dissecting what forms the bond between two people. “But, I will not be some bitch in a club for everyone’s taking!”

  “And you’re twenty-two, not a submissive, and a virgin!” I rebuke, feeling verbally assaulted as Deacon swings open the door.

  “You two need to stop fighting,” he scolds, stepping inside. He’s shirtless, inked, and my girl notices. “This is silly. Jynx, get over it because she is a great girl.” He approaches her and gently—bravely—sets his hand on her back. “Look, I know what you think about club life, and I get it, I do. But I promise you,” he tenderly says, laying his hand on his heart. “My club is not like that. And none of my guys are going to pass you around. Or I will fucking kill them.”

  Sal pops his head around the open door. His mop of raven hair is a wretched mess. “… You’re a virgin?”

  “Yes!” She squeals and stomps to leave as he quickly gives me a thumbs up and closes the door with a thud. Deacon steps in front of her. “Let me go.”

  “No,” he declares. “You two need to work this out.”

  “He lied.”

  “I didn’t lie,” I argue with a shrug. “It just never came up.”

  She glances between Deacon and me. “I don’t want to do this again. I was very serious in my wording. No bikers. None. I don’t want that in my life, Jynx!”

  I sulk as Deacon mutters, “Why?”

  “Because my father was a VP in a club.”

  His expression tightens as he steps out of the way, and she walks out.

  “I take it you didn’t know.”

  “I didn’t have a fucking clue,” I mumble, rubbing my hands over my face. “I don’t know this girl at all.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Forget about all the shit. You like her.”

  “I love her,” I interject, correcting him.

  “You love her,” he whispers, laying his hand on my shoulder. “And it is evident that she loves you.”

  “I have to go find her,” I mumble, walking to the door. We step into the hall and peer over the edge to the living room where Sal and Echo share a box of her flakes. “Should I worry about this?”

  “Nah, he’s in love and,” Deacon replies, nodding. “Age does wonders for
maturity.”

  Early the next morning, I leave Echo sleeping in our bed and head downstairs. Sal is already up, coffee in hand, and getting ready to go. “I thought you were staying the day?”

  “I was going to,” he informs, polishing off his java. “But I’m making a pit stop in Birmingham to check on Brandon Maines.”

  “… Do you know him?”

  He shakes his head and washes his coffee cup. “Nup, but I’m gonna.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Because I’ve been where he is at,” he says, drying his hands. “And she needs the reassurance.”

  I pick up the empty box of cereal. “You two, KO’d these.”

  “We had a long chat.”

  “Her father is MC.”

  “Yeah, he’s a womanizing player of a man. That is her benchmark for all bikers. She blames her father and the club for destroying her family. She’s scared, and you need to prove otherwise.”

  “Am I going to get that chance?”

  “Ya,” he reassures with a nod. “You are. And I’m working on finding you someplace to put all of the hardware.”

  “I owe you.”

  “You don’t owe me,” he replies, hugging me and planting a kiss on either cheek. “You owe finding happiness to yourself, brother.” The horn blares twice in the driveway. “I gotta go. That’s my ride.”

  “Uber?”

  “Nah, Hannah went to visit with her adopted family in Buckhead.”

  “My other cousin is here?” I ask, following him outside as I note the pretty girl smiling. “Damn, Echo is right. The family resemblance is real.”

  Lighting a smoke, Sal remarks, “It’s the Howser gene pool.”

  Sitting in the makeshift office of the dining room four days later, I watch Echo and Deacon rummaging through client files. We’re slowly getting things back to a workable state. I’ve rehired half of those we lost from my father’s negligence.

  I’ve spent the better part of the week running on steam while assembling a business and accepting that I got screwed again. Dad left a mess for someone else to clean up.

  I didn’t necessarily want it but properly taking care of the clients we’d spent years forming relationships with and reinstating employees was the right thing to do.

  I do care.

  Sometimes too much.

  I blamed Axel a lot in the beginning, but he knew it was coming. I won’t hold a grudge for his running out of a burning building, but he can’t diss me for trying to put out the blaze.

  Two different approaches.

  Neither is wrong.

  Dad doing what he did was wrong. He passed off the entire HR responsibility to Axel, and he buckled under the pressure. I refuse to point my finger at him because I’ve been the guy running from personal relationships for years. I understood the hit it and quit it mentality, but eventually, I needed more.

  Wanting to make Peacock Consulting thrive parallels with my need to make Echo and I work. I’m driven to extinguish the fires, not throwing additional issues into the blaze just to watch them burn.

  But what I’ve realized is I cannot do it alone.

  I need help.

  Family need not be blood to be worthy. I always knew that being involved in the club, but choosing family is in my spotlight now. I never imagined that my cousin would show up with his computer guru geek boyfriend—all to help me. Or that Echo, who should be taking her summer off to relax, would be equally concerned about tending the stables and logging my accounts as sucking my cock.

  I’ve functioned alone for so long that this past week has felt like a reunion with myself.

  Axel and I took a sabbatical from the club because we needed to deal with the farm. Dad didn’t want to do that either. We cleaned up the mess of the estate, and the bulk of that went to me.

  Grandma raised me to be a healer, a giver, a caring soul. Sometimes, that gets taken advantage of, and sometimes, like in Echo’s case, I use it to my advantage.

  Axel is talking about rejoining the club. I don’t know if I will follow in his footsteps, but what I do know is that he has my back—even if he chooses to step away from the firestorm. He’s proven that over the last week with countless phone calls and messages. He’s significantly helped from a distance.

  Not everyone needs to be shuffling through papers like the two clowns laughing at the table. I grab my empty coffee cup and mosey into the kitchen.

  “He’s got a place for you,” Deacon raves with a smile. “I told you not to worry.”

  “Don’t tell me it’s in Texas.”

  “That goes without saying,” he replies with a wink. “Downtown Houston.”

  “Houston?” I say, slightly intrigued. “Not too far from the water.”

  Echo giggles. “You need the current.”

  “I do,” I admit, stroking my chin covered in a week’s worth of scruff. “Are you staying for the Fourth of July?”

  “I can’t,” he regretfully says. “I gotta get back. My boy is feeling a bit overwhelmed with three under five.”

  Echo’s eyes light up. “You have kids?”

  “Three of them,” Deacon says with a proud smile. “I’m catching a flight early tomorrow morning.”

  “Before you go…” Echo whispers.

  Deacon shakes his head. “You’re going to have to ask your boss about that, babe.”

  She smiles pretty and blurts out, “May Deacon please tie me up, Sir?”

  My eyes bug out in the blast of her words, hitting hard like shrapnel tearing my skin from the muscle. “You want to what?”

  Deacon interrupts, “We were talking about rope work, and I said I knew how to do it.”

  “You want to tie up my girl,” I repeat for clarity’s sake.

  “Not like you’re thinking,” he snickers, making neat piles of folders. “It’s an art in this case. I even tied up my sister, dude. And yes, she had on a swimsuit.”

  “His rope work is beautiful!”

  I ponder the idea. “Where are you going to get the rope?”

  She hastily volunteers, “There is a whole box of it upstairs in the closet.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “I snoop on my stalker.” She winks.

  I am so sunk.

  20

  Rebirth

  Echo

  The flickering wicks illuminate the room as the scent captures the moment, halting time. Burning vanilla candles will forever recount the rite of passage where we forgot the clock, leaving our souls undaunted by the ticking of hands and the lacing from his fingers.

  The suspension within—permanent.

  Tethered from the hooks in the ceiling, I adored their focused attention. At the first knot, I understood Japanese rope bondage’s appeal—erotically ethereal with a sensual mysticism, and a tantric, transcendental seduction.

  Cocooned within the womb stitched by his hands, I flew high in the out of body experience, providing more than the twisting of filaments. I was captured—caught in the spider’s web, the victim of his sustenance—and entranced by his diligent efforts rendering me breathless.

  There was no withholding.

  There was no hiding in dark places.

  Oh, Clementine, you kinky bitch.

  Having a stranger tie me up was not as odd as I feared it would be. I crammed the lessons of Master Cruz in a study session constructed by madmen. His endless patience and delicate touch tutored my flesh with the most brilliant comeuppance.

  My physical body was no longer my own.

  I belonged to a Master.

  A Master of disguise eclipsed in the darkness and determined to feed on the invisible light that I couldn’t see in me. I was blind to its presence, but he revered the brightness like christening a newborn. The D words I believed to portray—deranged, depressed, or diabolic—he crossed out and drilled my soul with a new verse—a hymnal of one word I craved—Dominance.

  And the one D belonging to him.

  In a black leather armchair with ol
d-style metal rivets, he rhythmically strummed his fingers as he sat directly across from me. His long sleeve navy blue shirt and gray slacks spoke of a mature soul. My Master readily took a lessor role as a pupil with a few fundamental lessons from Deacon. I was enchanted by Jynx’s willingness to learn a new craft, and even more so when he became a spectator, leaving the practice up to his brethren.

  Trust was imperative.

  With a devilish smirk, Jynx growled, “Give me a show worth remembering.”

  I didn’t know if he was talking to Deacon or me or both.

  By the glossy haze of desperate hunger in his eyes, he meant me.

  I wasn’t a victim but an active participant in my swaddling. With every thread circling a limb, I unraveled my spirit that had been aching in tangles, suppressing me for years. The decision was always in my hands—my control—my power. And I finally understood why everyone contended I would never go through with a random assault.

  I am too much of a fighter.

  It would take me being bound to silence the demons, churning like hellhounds, biting with gruesome, slobbering fangs around my pointed toes. I dropped into their inferno, made myself at home, and put my feet up on the gilded pedestal they provided.

  I reside in their dark shadows.

  Deacon asking if I wanted to wear lingerie or a swimsuit was a strange glitch, jarring with authenticity, but after studying his reactions to those who did turn him on, I knew I was safe. I wasn’t his boyfriend. Or one of the girls who called at all hours.

  My answer arrived with immediate urgency.

  I wanted to be naked without shame.

  Apparently, I had it in me to be an exhibitionist, even with my over-pronounced tatas. I wasn’t truly surprised, considering I wanted a rape in a dank alleyway, and Deacon’s professional approach on the canvas of my flesh made things easy.

  He is an artist; the rope is his medium.

  I asked if we could take pictures afterward, and he agreed.

  The intense longing stares between Jynx and I bring a realness to our romance. The more rope I wear, the more flirtatious he becomes, and the deeper the bond surges into the abysmal, sweltering lair where lust and love collide into one.