Wicked Things (Chaos & Ruin #3)

by Callie Hart

Normally people don’t start showing up at the gym until mid-afternoon when their shifts at work end, so I’m surprised when the roller shutter rises and two guys…in suits…saunter in off the street. What the fuck? These boys do not look like they’re here to work out. They look like they’re here to rob the place or something. I mop my face with a towel, tossing it over my shoulder as I head over to meet them.

  “Can I help you?”

  The taller of the two—longer hair, high forehead—releases a bark of laughter when he sets his eyes on me. “Jesus. What the fuck happened to you? You look like you just got lynched.” That’s a fair comment. I’m not wearing a shirt, after all, and my chest, ribs, and back are dotted with an array of ugly fading bruises, cuts and scrapes.

  “Your momma still thinks I’m pretty,” I say. Low, stooping to a “your momma” comment, but this guy has pissed me off already. His face is annoying. The way he’s looking at me is annoying. His accent is faint, but it’s obvious he’s not from Seattle. He’s west coast, through and through. Running his tongue over his teeth, he shoots a look at the guy standing next to him. Neither one of them look particularly happy.

  “We kinda share the same mother,” the tall guy says, jerking a thumb at the other guy, apparently his brother. “And she died a while back. We’re not overly fond of people implying they’ve been fucking her, because…well, that’s just gross. And hurtful.”

  The other guy nods slowly. His hands are in his pockets, his chin raised, his eyes spearing straight through me. “It makes us sad.”

  Uhhh… I honestly have no clue how I’m meant to react to these two. I can’t tell if they’re fucking with me or if they’re being serious. “If you’re looking for Zee, he’s not here,” I say.

  The shorter of the two finally blinks. “We were just with him actually. He sent us over here to wait for him.”

  Well, that’s weird. “Why?”

  “Because his girlfriend’s been kidnapped, and her mangled dead body has potentially been left to decompose in a dumpster somewhere,” Tall Guy says.

  Closing his eyes, the other guy turns his head slowly to face his brother. He doesn’t open his eyes again until he’s halfway through his sentence. “I don’t think…you’re meant to just…blurt that out like that to strangers.”

  “Fuck you, man. This guy obviously knows Zeth. He’s not a stranger.”

  They bicker between themselves, while I try and process what Tall Guy just said. “I’m sorry? Sloane’s been kidnapped? And who the hell are you?”

  “Theo,” the shorter of the two says. He jerks his head at his brother. “And this is Sal.”

  Holy fucking shit. The Barbieris? Zeth was on his way to deal with their father. He never mentioned anything about bringing back these two. I marshal my facial features into what I hope passes as neutrality. “Who’s taken Sloane?”

  “Well, it wasn’t us,” Sal says. “Not that we wouldn’t have probably tried to kidnap her eventually. Someone beat us to it, though.”

  Theo glares at him. “Can you please…just…”

  “I will knock you the fuck out if you look at me like that again,” Sal warns.

  “Excuse me. I need to make a phone call.” I probably shouldn’t leave the brothers alone, but I’m not getting a lick of sense out of them, and I really need to know what the fuck is going on right now. I dial Zeth first, but he doesn’t pick up. Michael answers just as I’m about to quit the call and try Sloane, herself.

  “Two guys have just shown up here claiming to be the Barbieri brothers, and they’re saying Sloane’s been kidnapped.”

  Michael’s pained sigh is enough of a confirmation. “She was taken yesterday,” he says, his voice hard-edged and tired. “We’re on our way over there now. We’ll explain once we arrive. Don’t let Theo and Sal leave. We’re going to need them. And you.”

  ******

  The Barbieri boys have been sparring for twenty minutes, knocking the shit out of each other inside the cage, when Zee and Michael eventually show up. They have a woman in tow—a very sick woman, who, by the looks of things, needs to lie down desperately. Theo stops and turns from what he’s doing when the roller shutter flies up, and Sal takes the opportunity to punch his brother in the back of the head.

  “You only just arrived?” Zeth asks, his tone full of fire. “I sent you over here three hours ago.”

  “We went for some clam chowder,” Theo informs him, rubbing the back of his head. “Sue us.”

  “I’ll do worse than that,” Zeth growls. He’s practically vibrating as he stalks across the gym. Looking to me, he assesses me from head to toe. “You’re sober.” It’s a statement, not a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Hungover?”

  “No.”

  “It’s a Christmas fucking miracle. I need you to drive me somewhere. Go get changed.”

  I look at Michael, hoping for some kind of intervention on his part—I still have no idea what’s happened to Sloane—but he just gives me a wary look that tells me I should get moving, so I do.

  When I come back, out of my gym gear, Zeth and Michael are poring over a map, laid flat on the front reception desk. Theo and Sal are stare malevolently at me as I approach the group of men. “Is she safe?” I ask. “Is she okay?”

  “We don’t know,” Michael replies. “But we do know where she is at least. For now.”

  “Where?”

  Michael picks up Zeth’s phone and hands it to me. The screen is open on a text message:

  Redwood Cubs baseball field. 8pm. No earlier, no later. Sloane is in one piece right now, but fuck with me and that will change. –Alaska

  “Alaska? Why the fuck would they take her to Alaska?”

  Michael takes the phone back, scowling. “Not Alaska, the place. It’s from Alaska, the person. One of Julio Perez’s concubines. She’s certifiably insane and has a temper a mile wide.”

  “Why would she want to take Sloane?”

  Zeth rumbles under his breath. I’m asking too many questions, but fuck it. Sloane has always been good to me. Kind. She took care of Millie when she needed it, and then she took care of me. If she’s in trouble, I want to know exactly what kind, and with whom.

  “Who the fuck knows,” Zeth says, pressing his fingers into his eye sockets. I’ve never seen him like this before, so…on edge. He’s always so in control. Frighteningly so. He never loses his cool, which makes him even more dangerous most of the time. At the moment, he looks like he’s about to crack and splinter into a million jagged pieces.

  “Please stop looking at me like that,” he says, giving me a sideways glance. “I’m trying to fucking think. I can’t do that with you staring at me like you’re waiting for me to burst into fucking tears.”

  “Sorry, man. I’m just…I’m worried about her, too, okay?”

  His hard expression softens a little. “Alaska wasn’t like Julio’s other whores. She was his own personal mistress. We just heard from a friend. He told us that he just got back from South America, and that he killed Julio a couple of weeks ago. Apparently Julio traded Alaska, and she was sent to work in Ecuador. When our friend got there, she was nowhere to be found, though.”

  “So she escaped, came back to America…”

  “Found out Julio was dead, and has apparently decided she is going to take over his entire empire,” Zeth finishes.

  “Huh.”

  “Ballsy bitch,” Theo interjects. “I like a woman who knows how to take a hold of the reins. I’m looking forward to meeting her.”

  “You’re not going to,” Zeth snaps. “Neither of you are coming with us. You’re staying here. Don’t worry. You can eat all the fucking clam chowder you want.”

  A shadow falls over Theo’s face, but it’s Sal’s reaction I find most curious. He jerks back, like Zeth has slapped him, and then a slow, secret smile plays across his features. Zeth’s gaze turns to tempered steel. “Don’t even think about following us,” he says coldly. “I don’t care who you are. I don’t care
who your father is. If you so much as breathe in the direction of this baseball field, I will personally fucking end you in the most horrific way imaginable.”

  Sal holds up his hands. “Wouldn’t dream of it, boss.” Of course, he sounds like he’s lying. He does very little to conceal his contempt for Zeth’s command. These Barbieri brothers are mad. They’d have to be to provoke Zee in such a way. Michael shifts from one foot to the other, the tiniest shift of weight, barely noticeable, but I’ve spent a long time around the man now. He’s usually so unflappable. His composure is solid, like the foundations of a bombproof building. As with Zeth, to see him so shaken is enough to disturb me. They must really believe this Alaska woman is willing and able to cause harm to Sloane.

  The injured woman, who hasn’t said anything until now, sways on her feet. She looks like she’s about to collapse where she stands. “What am I going to be doing while you’re meeting with this woman? There has to be something I can do.”

  “You’re going to wait here for us to call with news. You’re going to rest. Eat. Drink. Sleep. If you start to feel worse, you’re going to call an ambulance and head right back to the hospital,” Michael says in a clipped tone. “You’re not going to do anything stupid. In fact, you two,” he says, pointing at Theo and Sal, “can stay with her. Make sure she doesn’t pass out.”

  “Our father didn’t send us here to babysit,” Sal hisses. “He sent us here to help you deal with your DEA problem. And for you to show us the city’s darker side, Zeth..”

  “Find out where Lowell is, then, if you absolutely have to do something,” Michael tells them, shrugging,

  ‘This…” Sal spreads his arms wide. “Is unacceptable.”

  Fire flares behind Zeth’s dark eyes. A fire completely without a heat. The kind that burns cold—cold enough to freeze you to your core. He’s never turned that look on me before, not even after breaking into his gym time and time again, and I’m sure as hell glad of that fact. He turns, taking a step, so that he’s nose to nose with the Barbieri. “You’d better find a way to make it acceptable, motherfucker. Or you and I are going to have a problem.”

  FOURTEEN

  ZETH

  5 WEEKS AGO

  “These things are impossible to predict, Sloane. You can’t blame yourself.” Oliver holds out his takeaway coffee to me, frowning as he tries to wrestle his Converse onto his left foot. “Here. Hold this a second, would you? I’m about to fall over.” He’s one of the country’s most prestigious trauma surgeons, and yet he can’t manage to change his shoes without both hands. I take his coffee, laughing under my breath.

  “I just feel…” I sigh, taking a mouthful of my own coffee.

  “You feel shitty because she was a child. You feel shitty because she was just a baby, really, and you know her brother. And you went to the funeral. How many times do they tell us never to go to the fucking funeral, Sloane?”

  “I had to. I couldn’t not go.”

  Oliver grunts. Converse now changed, he slings his other sneakers into his locker and then slams it closed, taking his coffee from me. “Was the brother even glad you came?”

  I pull a face. “I don’t think he even knew I was there. He was…” Upset doesn’t even come close to Mason’s mental state at Millie’s funeral. Distraught? Devastated? Wrecked? A week has passed since Mase stormed out of the church after basically telling everyone seated in the pews to go fuck themselves, and I haven’t been able to forget the look of agony on his face. Poor guy. I wish I could change what happened to Millie. I wish I were a miracle worker instead of a mere mortal, trying to save as many lives as I can.

  “Can’t really blame him,” Oliver says. “He’s probably really fucked in the head right now. I can only imagine.”

  “Mmm.”

  We make our way out of the hospital in silence, walking shoulder to shoulder. It’s raining out in the parking lot, great sheets of water slamming into the blacktop with the force of a high-pressure shower. “Fuck,” Oliver groans. We’re about to walk out into it, when a sleek black muscle rolls up to the entrance—a Camaro. One I’d know anywhere. I grin, bending at the waist to talk to Zeth through the passenger window that he winds down. “I thought you couldn’t pick me up today,” I say, grinning. I still catch myself all the time, wondering how the hell I ever ended up with a man like this. Zeth obviously got caught out in the rain before he climbed into the car. His hair, slightly longer than usual, so long and thick that it’s actually started to wave a little, is damp, almost curling at the ends. His cheeks are glowing from the cold, the end of his nose a little red, too. His jaw is marked with at least three days’ worth of stubble. And when his gaze meets mine, those dark, dark eyes of his delving deep into my soul, I feel like he has me by the throat and he’s already thrusting himself inside me.

  “Couldn’t let my girl catch pneumonia now, could I?” A honeyed smile spreads lethargically across his face, and I know he has sex on his mind, too. His expression shutters when he leans forward, catching sight of Oliver. He doesn’t stop smiling, per se, but his lips seem to stiffen at the corners.

  “Massey,” he says. And then, after an awkward second, he says,” Can we offer you a ride?”

  Oliver looks like he’s about to drop his coffee and sprint back inside the hospital, away from the car, as if he suspects Zeth might be trying to lure him to his death. He gives me a tense, sideways glance. “Uhhh…”

  “Come on,” I say. “We can drop you off. It’s not out of the way.”

  My attempt at reassuring him doesn’t seem to be having the desired effect. “I don’t mind. I was going to call an Uber anyway, so…”

  “Don’t be silly. Get in the car, Ol.” I open the passenger side door and pull the seat forward before he can refuse the offer further. I scoot into the back, pulling the front seat into position behind me, and Oliver has no choice but to climb in the car, slamming the door behind him. He shifts uncomfortably, fiddling with his seatbelt. Zeth squirms a little, too. I don’t think he expected Oliver to accept his offer. I sure as hell don’t think he expected him to have to sit next to him in the front.

  “Thanks,” Oliver says, smiling tightly. I can see the look of pure terror on his face in the rear view, and I have to stifle a laugh. Not really fair to Oliver. I may not be scared of Zeth, but I’m probably one of three people in the world who aren’t. Everyone else is severely intimidated by him, and with good reason. He’s the epitome of danger. It feels fucking amazing that Zeth would try and be kind to Oliver, though, even if it doesn’t come easily to him. It means so much more to me because of that very fact.

  “So,” Zeth says stiffly. “How was your shift?”

  Oliver just turns and looks at him, stunned into silence.

  “Long,” I answer. “Tiring. I can’t wait to sink into the bathtub with a glass of wine. Oliver had a really interesting case today, didn’t you? Tell Zeth about the guy who came in with the giant tumor on his neck.”

  Oliver swallows thickly. “Yeah…he…had a giant tumor on his neck.”

  Zeth arches an eyebrow, obviously waiting for more. Oliver just blinks. He faces forward again, staring straight ahead out of the windshield.

  “Ooookaaaay,” Zeth says.

  Thankfully Oliver doesn’t live too far from the hospital. Ten frustratingly slow minutes tick by, and then Oliver points out which apartment building is his. He has the car door open before Zeth has even stopped next to the curb. “Thanks for the ride,” he says, as he scrambles out of the car. “I’ll see you next shift, Romera.” He dashes for his building, dodging raindrops, stepping in puddles in his haste to flee from the vehicle.

  Zeth clears his throat, and then turns in his seat to look at me. “I think he just shit himself.”

  “I think you’re right. Hold on, I’ll get in the front.”

  “I don’t think so, Romera. Being civil to your work colleague just cost me big time. I’m gonna need something from you in return.”

  “Oh?” His voice has an e
dge to it that I recognize all too well, laden with the promise of sex. I press my legs together without thinking, my clit throbbing at the mere suggestion of rewarding his good behavior.

  He slowly turns back around, and gun’s the Camaro’s engine, pulling back into the evening traffic. “Yes,” he says, his voice rumbling and deep. “Oh. I’m gonna need you to take your pants off for me.”

  My cheeks begin to flush, heat blossoming all over my body. “There isn’t much room back here, Mr. Mayfair. And your car is kind of low to the ground, if you haven’t noticed. People can probably see in.”

  Zeth taps the rear view with his index finger. I look into it and see the lust-filled intensity in his eyes as he stares back at me. “I don’t give a fuck. I want you naked on that back seat right now. If you make me wait, I’ll pull over at the side of the road and I’ll tear your clothes off you with my bare fucking hands. Do you understand me? I won’t give a shit who sees that.” He speaks slowly, wicked intent filling every vowel and consonant he parts with. He’s telling the truth. He really will climb back here and shred my clothes from my body if I don’t give him what he wants.

  My heart begins to skitter around in my chest, fluttering wildly. “All right. You asked for it,” I say.

  The smirk that lifts just once side of his mouth so distracting, I almost forget how to breathe. “I didn’t ask,” he says. “I demanded.”

  A shockwave of need powers through me, forceful and solid. Being pregnant has turned me into an animal. I’ve always been a sexual creature with Zeth, but the hormones running riot in my system these days literally have me climbing the walls if he so much looks in my direction. Toeing off my shoes and socks, I unfasten my belt and unzip my jeans, wriggling them over my hips, pulling them down my legs. My jacket goes next, and then my shirt, until I’m only wearing my underwear. I shiver, the leather seat cold underneath me, my nipples peaking painfully. I have goose bumps all over me, my skin rebelling against the sudden cold. Zeth changes lanes, his eyes flitting from the road ahead of him to me in the rear view.