“Victim was stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen and, reports say, disemboweled.”
Olly felt the usual nausea rise in his throat. He tapped Bride Murders in California into the search engine and hit return. A sense of familiarity made the hairs on his neck stand up.
How the hell had he not seen this before?
The victims, all stabbed to death, almost eviscerated. Over three days in San Francisco, Bakersfield, and Fresno, the killings had been famous not only for their savagery but for the killer’s audaciousness. All three women were killed whilst trying on wedding dresses—in the dressing rooms of the boutiques. No-one saw anything. Olly gave a choked laugh.
How is that even possible?
But it wasn’t even that which made him shake his head and wonder just what the hell kind of monster they were looking for. The women. The dead women. Their pictures would haunt him. The beautiful faces of Kelly Cho, Zyang Mha, and Melissa Tang stared out at him from the screen, every one of them reminding him of his tiny brunette ex-girlfriend.
* * *
“How’s things going, missy?” Tyler smiled down at her. And how is the boyfriend?”
Inca saw Tommaso look up, his interest piqued. They were all gathered in Levi’s restaurant for his partner’s birthday and Inca had invited Tommaso as her plus one. So far, she’d introduced him to her father, Tyler, her friends, and now he was chatting with Scarlett. Olly joined Tyler and Inca, casting suspicious glances at Tommaso. Inca ignored him and turned to Tyler.
“It’s good. I mean, we’re all just getting to know each other. It takes time. Sometimes it can be rocky but … we’re getting there.”
There was a long silence. Inca sighed.
“Just say what you want to, guys,” she said, shooting a glance over to Tommaso at the bar. “But keep your voices down.”
Tyler grimaced slightly. “I don’t know about that one,” he said, his deep, soulful voice low. “Seems to me, you need to watch him. There’s something … off.”
Olly raised his glass slightly. “Exactly what I think.” Inca looked back and forth between them. Both were people she would trust with her life.
“Listen,” she said softly, “I agree he’s not like us—how could he be? But I get the feeling … oh, I don’t know, that there’s more to his story than he’s told me. I don’t think he had an easy time of it.” Inca rolled her shoulders, suddenly tense.
“People deserve second chances,” she said quietly. Her eyes glistened and she felt suddenly very weary. Tyler put his arm around her shoulders.
“You always try and see the best in people, Inca, honey, and I love that about you. I just hope, in the end, your faith is served. I would hate to see you disappointed … or hurt.”
She leaned into him gratefully, wishing for the millionth time that Tyler was her real father. He was the nearest thing she’d ever had. Olly’s face was set and thoughtful. He leaned over to her.
“Inca, not now, but we need to have a talk. Please. For my peace of mind.”
“It’s not your job to protect me,” she whispered back. “As much as I’m grateful for you trying.”
He grinned. “Actually, it is my job. Just a chat. Nothing heavy, I promise’
“Come by the Sakura next week.”
“Just let me know when.” She nodded and he gave her a reassuring smile. She picked up her glass and looked over at Tommaso. He caught her eye and she smiled back, trying to see in his expression any spite, any malice.
There was none. Instead his eyes were full of concern, of truth. She rubbed her hand over eyes.
“Olly, Tommaso is not dangerous. You have nothing to be worried about, although I thank you for your concern. I’m a grown woman. I decide what’s good for me.” She felt bad for her snippiness then. “Truly. You cannot imagine how happy I am that you are in my life. So thankful. But Tommaso and I are having fun getting to know each other. Please, find it in your heart to be happy for me.”
Olly kissed her cheek. “I would never try to stop any happiness of yours, Ink. I meant it when I said you’ll always be my best friend.”
“You too, buddy.”
* * *
Raffaelo had fallen into a routine. He would rise at five a.m., take a run along the town’s roads and beaches, shower, shave, and dress. At a quarter of noon, he would drive down to Main Street, sliding his rental car into one of the few spots outside the Sakura. Then he would take up his spot at the counter of the teahouse and talk with his brother’s girl. He liked the routine; it was clean, reassuring, controlled. Inca didn’t seem to mind his regular appearance and even, it seemed to him, made an effort to make him feel … welcome. There was that word again, so very alien to him. Welcome. No-one screaming at him, no-one banishing him.
And, to his utter astonishment, he liked Inca too. For a woman, she was bright, funny, and a good conversationalist without being … chatty, gossipy. When the conversation fell silent, she didn’t rush to fill it, at least, not anymore, now that she’d become more comfortable in his presence. And he took pleasure in watching her, her slim yet softly rounded body, that glorious honeyed skin. On her sweet face, even now at twenty-eight, vestiges of puppy fat remained, making her look at least five years younger.
He kept most of his visits from Tommaso. He didn’t want his brother to think he was making a move on his girl. They’d had that particular problem before, back in Italy, with Perdita. Raffaelo felt the familiar pain flash through him. Perdita had been his girlfriend, his one true love before she’d cheated on him with Tommaso. Tommaso had been guilt-ridden, begging Raff for forgiveness which he had given to him—finally. But Perdita was lost to him; he never saw her again.
So now he trod carefully. He never wanted Tommaso to feel that pain, not from him. And Inca was special; Raffaelo could tell. She was different. Tommaso had always been the playboy, the man-whore—despite what their respective reputations said—but now Raff saw a real change in his brother. He was falling in love with Inca.
Raffaelo would do anything to protect that. Anything.
* * *
“Well, why not?”
Tommaso’s question, abrupt, irritated, took her aback. The expression on his face was something else. Anger.
Inca swallowed, remembering Hunter’s warning. “I’m sorry, Tommaso. I need to do some paperwork and I need some time alone. I did tell you I was busy until tomorrow.”
She turned away from him, reaching for the coffee pot. When she turned, he was standing right beside her. She started, and the pot smashed to the floor.
“Jesus, Tommaso!’
He held his hands up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you, I was just coming to help.”
“Lift a coffee pot?” She was aware her tone was snippy. She crouched down and started to pick the pieces of glass up. He didn’t bend to help, nor did he move. As she stood to put the glass into the trash, she was aware of the closeness of his body, and that he was watching her. Her skin prickled, and she didn’t bother to hide her discomfort. Even in the soft warmth of the teahouse, she shivered.
“Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer him.
“I’ve offended you.” His tone was amused.
Inca wasn’t impressed.
“No, Tommaso, you just startled me. It’s fine.”
“Well, clearly not. I’ll leave you alone.”
He stalked out, leaving Inca to gape after him. Had that actually just happened? Where was the fun-loving, good-time man she had spent last night with? It was like he’d been body-swapped with someone else.
She was still upset later when Olly came to see her and asked her to sit down with him. She closed the teahouse for a while and braced herself.
“We have the DNA results, sweetheart. I’m afraid my hunch was correct. The murder victim was your biological mother.”
Emotions she didn’t understand rushed through her and she gave a little moan of distress. Tears came then, and Olly held her while she cried. “I’m so sor
ry, Inca.”
“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she said eventually, wiping her eyes, “I never knew her. But even so, I hate to think this happened to her. God.”
Olly nodded, his eyes serious. “And, sweetheart, it makes it more likely that the murders are tied to you in some way. Inca, listen, whatever you tell me now is strictly, and I mean, completely, between you and me. I won’t tell a soul, but I get the feeling you’re hiding something.”
Inca stared at him for a long moment, then closed her eyes. Olly took her hand.
“Inca … is there anyone who might want to cause you harm? Anyone?”
Slowly, Inca nodded. God, she really didn’t want to have this conversation.
Please, God, don’t let it be him …
“Yes. There is, Olly. There’s someone who would want to kill me … but I don’t know how the hell he found me. I don’t know how …”
Olly leaned forward, his face almost contorted with fear. “God, Inca, who? Who is it?”
Tears began to pour down her face again. “Olly, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry …”
“Who? Who is it?”
Inca took a deep breath in and looked at him, her dark eyes full of misery. “My husband. It’s my husband who wants to kill me …”
* * *
End of Part One.
This series will be completed and published by the end of April.
Arsen`s Rules
A Billionaire Romance Novel
Arsen Sloan is a thirty-five-year old monster of a lawyer. Highly successful as a criminal lawyer, specializing in murder cases, he has only lost one case in his career. Allen White was the second defendant that he represented some ten years earlier. He was convicted of murdering one of his high school teachers after kidnapping her for a period of two months and eventually killing her.
For Her Part 1
* * *
ARSEN SLOAN
Cool air hit his face as he left the building he’d been stuck in the last eight hours. His tie couldn’t get off fast enough as his large hands pulled it away from his neck, letting it hang loose.
He’d felt his throat closing in on him as he was accused of things that were beyond him to execute, beyond him to perform and beyond him to even think of doing.
Arsen Sloan was a thirty-five-year-old criminal lawyer. Tall, at six feet and nine inches, he dwarfed most of his colleagues. To make sure they all had even further insecurities in his presence, he kept himself in peak physical condition. Pecs and abs that most men would die to have and biceps the mere sight of made women wet with desire for him.
Arsen prided himself on his appearance which he used to his advantage whenever possible. He was a machine of a man, using everything he could to get the results that he was seeking, whatever they were.
In law, he used his well-educated brain to find every last law or case to make sure he won his client’s cases. Arsen Sloan had never lost a case since he began his career as a criminal lawyer, ten years prior. Well, there was that one, but it had only been his second ever case.
Arsen tended to forget about the first few cases, the first two anyway. He never mentioned the first two, as a matter of fact.
* * *
When it came to sex, Arsen used everything in his personal arsenal to make sure that he stayed on top of that game. Love had played no role in his sex life.
Love was a word he hadn’t used since he was a naïve kid in his late teens before the girl he thought loved him watched him become broken and near dead.
Arsen kept his shoulder length waves in perfect order, accenting his dark brown, brooding eyes. Thick, dark lashes surrounded them, giving the slightest hint of a soft side to the hard as nails man.
After the day of horrible accusations, Arsen just needed a drink. A stiff drink and to be able to unwind, and get rid of at least a little of the tension which filled his muscled body.
* * *
As he got into the backseat of his Escalade the privacy window went down. His driver and long-time friend, Paul, looked at him through the rear view mirror.
The tension Arsen felt radiated off him and Paul knew better than to ask any questions.
“To the club, boss?”
Arsen nodded and closed the door, then ran his hand over his face and rubbed his temples. He pulled a bottle of beer from the little fridge and took it down in one gulp. The evening sky was growing dark and a thin fog was already moving in as they made their way up the coastline of the San Francisco Bay.
Arsen’s eyes followed the lights that were coming on along the edge of the road. He was wondering when it had gotten so bad. When had his world started to rule him rather than he rule it?
After the first five years as one of the top criminal lawyers in the entire state of California, Arsen Sloan had not only managed to gain a reputation as a winning lawyer who would do anything to win his cases, but also had become a billionaire. His ability to make great investments proved to be yet another thing Arsen did with near perfection.
* * *
Perfection was a thing he made great strides to achieve in every part of his life. Up until that day, he’d done pretty well at keeping his life near perfect at all times.
The alley was already dark as they pulled up to one of the main clubs that he frequented. Though, if not a member of the exclusive club, no one could tell what type of social gathering was going on there.
People tended to get dropped off at the clubs he went to. Clubs that catered to his tastes some considered to be immoral and worse. The rusted metal door was closed and only a small sign at the very top of the old door let on that it was a bit more than an old storage facility.
* * *
‘Fierce,’ was the word etched into a small metal sign and suddenly Arsen’s stomach was in knots. He knew he shouldn’t go in there. He knew that was why he was in the precarious situation he was in.
“You know, Paul, I better find another place to go from now on,” Arsen’s deep voice called out to his driver and friend.
Paul was a friend who knew all about Arsen’s past, and present, but he was being left out of why Arsen had been so moody when Arsen told him he had a meeting at the main police station in San Francisco.
“Sure thing, boss,” Paul said and pulled out of the alley and headed back to the part of the city where the regular people went to get drinks and socialize with one another.
“I’ll take you to the club my younger sister likes to go to, but if you see her in there, she’s off limits, bro,” Paul told his old friend. “Lots of young law majors in that place. You should find someone to your liking, boss.”
* * *
Arsen’s throat was growing tight again, so he unbuttoned the two top buttons of his stiffly starched white shirt he wore under a black suit jacket. The tie came all the way off and he stretched his long, lean-muscled legs out. Another beer he grabbed and popped the top, this one he took a long drink of, but stopped short of downing the whole thing.
“Paul, let the boss shit go for tonight. I need a friend, not another employee. Shit’s coming down on me and without any family to support me, I’m going to need you to keep me from jumping off a bridge.” Arsen looked out the tinted window and felt his eye twitch.
The first of many physical signs his body was sure to start exhibiting, just like it used to do when he was young and things were out of his control. Things he worked hard to get under control, and here he was with things beyond his control again.
His stomach hurt, another sign and another thing he’d left behind him, or thought he had anyway. Paul pulled along the curb and jumped out to open Arsen’s door. He gave him a clap on the back and said, “Arsen, things will work out, man. You’re beyond smart and whatever has you this worried I know you can figure out how to take care of it. You’re good at this shit.”
Arsen wished he had the faith in himself his old friend had, but the truth was his marks were all over the accusations made against him. He’d represented tons of people that he knew w
ere guilty and managed to get them off the charges.
He just needed to figure out how to get himself off charges where the evidence pointed right at him and he had to tell the men who questioned him things he never thought he’d have to explain to anyone.
* * *
“I need a drink and a piece of hot ass would do wonders for me,” Arsen said with a deep chuckle. “I’d ask you to come, Paul, and help me drown my sorrows, but one of us has to drive and I think I pay you to do that, so I’ll go in alone and hopefully come out with a wicked little thing on my arm to take home.”
“There’s no doubt you will, Arsen,” Paul said and gave Arsen a smile. “Get in there and get rid of that frown.”
Arsen turned and walked into the door of the nightclub. The dance music was cranked up and a herd of young women were on the dance floor already, though the night was only beginning.
He took a table near the dance floor so he could watch the people dance. Arsen was not into dancing, but he appreciated the way women could bend and move their bodies to the beat.
He preferred a hard rock sound to the bubblegum pop that the DJ was playing in the social norm of a club. A pretty, young waitress came and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“What can I get you, sir?”
His dark eyes looked at the small, pale hand with perfectly manicured pink fingernails that was touching his left shoulder. In the clubs he went to, no female would ever approach him that way, and he had to fight the urge to grab her and toss her over his lap and teach her how to act accordingly.
After swallowing hard, he answered, “How about a whisky sour?”
The young woman with red-stained lips and blue eyeliner, her black hair pulled back into a tight and high ponytail smiled at him and said, “You should try our Eastern Sour. It has bourbon, OJ, lime juice, and Orgeat in it. It’s really popular. I think you’d like it.”
Billionaire Games Page 25