Sick Twisted Minds (Cruel Black Hearts Book 3)

by Candace Wondrak

  Sick Twisted Minds

  Candace Wondrak

  © 2019 Candace Wondrak

  All Rights Reserved.

  Book cover by Victoria Schaefer at Eve’s Garden of Eden – A Cover Group

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  Chapter One - Stella

  If you asked me a year ago what I thought my life would be like when I was twenty-five, I would’ve said boring. Flat. All pretend. Because that’s what it was before—I went through life in a daze, only finding brief joy in my articles and my blog. Now I had real, true bliss in the form of three men. One of which was currently between my legs.

  Oh, my mother, Margaret, would die of mortification if she knew the things I’d done with Lincoln and Edward. She’d absolutely perish on the spot if I told her we’d killed someone together. Just one, still. Destiny. I’d begged them to let me take another, but the only thing they said was soon.

  Soon was not specific enough for me. I wanted to kill someone else, I didn’t care who, and I wanted it now. Yes, me, acting like a spoilt brat, throwing a tantrum whenever I could. It was ridiculous, but it meant I felt alive, which I supposed was better than feeling dead. Better than being dead.

  I was no more a passenger in my life. I had taken the driver’s seat, and when it came to certain things, I took what I wanted.

  Edward and Lincoln were smart though, when it came to doing what they did. I wouldn’t put them in danger by doing something stupid. They were on high alert with the FBI in town, now. They’d arrived a week ago, reexamined all of the evidence the local police department had, and questioned all of the witnesses relentlessly.

  AKA, mostly just me. Before they spoke to me, Edward and Lincoln told me how to act, what to say. Basically, they instructed me on how not to sound like I was obsessed and dating three killers, including the one the FBI was currently looking for. I was sure Killian would’ve helped me too, but it wasn’t his weekend.

  Because they refused to see each other, but they all wanted me. Strange, right? I thought it was, a little, mostly at first. Now I was…happy. Content, even if Callie was still giving me the cold shoulder.

  One of these days, that woman and I needed to have a talk. She was hardly at the house when I was home—which, granted, wasn’t very often now that I actually had a social life—and anytime I came home and she was there, she never looked at me. Never talked to me. I saw less of her now than I did when we were at college with two completely different schedules.

  But I really shouldn’t be thinking about my roommate while Lincoln was between my legs.

  I sat back on his bed, a mound of pillows behind me, the dark sheets covering Lincoln’s wide, muscular form. The only thing the sheets didn’t cover was my chest and my face, which was good, for I was growing mighty hot with the way his tongue ran along me, putting pressure on my apex as his fingers pumped in and out of me.

  He wanted to make me squirt. Apparently I did that—something I hadn’t even known until he and Edward came storming into my life like a tidal wave of darkness and danger—and he loved making me do it.

  To think, there used to be a time when Lincoln couldn’t even look me in the eyes because of my heterochromia. My right eye was a startling blue, my left a warm brown. It caught most people off-guard, but then again, most people didn’t know there was a monster inside of me, waiting to emerge.

  Edward and Lincoln had seen it, and they fostered it. Killian hadn’t seen my monster yet, but he knew there was something special about me. If only I had paid better attention to him over the years, instead of shrugging him off as my boss. My life could’ve been wildly different if I would have known the true twisted mind hiding behind his freckled, smiling face.

  But then, I supposed if I was with Killian this whole time, I never would’ve gone home with Edward that night. Never would’ve met Lincoln. Never would have known the two psychopaths that stole my heart right out from under me. A heart I never knew I had.

  Physically, yes, I knew I had a heart, but I never thought I could feel emotions like this. I never knew I could love.

  And I did. I loved my psychos. They were mine, and I was theirs.

  I grew too hot, so I tossed the cover off Lincoln’s head, watching as his dark brown eyes flicked to me. His tongue left my body which was a sad, depressing thing, my body felt its loss immediately, and he sent me a frown. His frowns, set in a square, stubbly jaw, made my heart skip a beat. I adored his frowns. They made me feel a strange mixture of things.

  “What?” he asked, his fingers still inside of me, though they’d ceased their movement. “Am I boring you or something?” Lincoln actually sounded insulted, making me chuckle. For such a big, intimidating man—for a man who once came to my house with the intention of killing me—he could be kind of a baby.

  “No,” I whispered, my voice breathy, airy, light and fluttery. It was how I always sounded when one of them was doing something to my body. I was a slave to them in every way. “I just got hot. Plus, I kind of like seeing you down there.” If I was honest, it made me feel like I was in charge, but I kept that bit to myself. If Lincoln heard me say it, he’d probably let out a growl and shove his dick down my throat just to show me I wasn’t the one in charge.

  And I’d be fine with that, because I couldn’t deny the way I liked being taken advantage of, used and even abused by them. What would I have done if I’d never found them? Or, rather, if Edward had never stalked me and practically dragged me into their lives? I’d be alone. A sad excuse for a human. A body, living and breathing, but nothing more.

  This was where I was meant to be.

  Lincoln let out an unconvinced noise, getting back to work. I watched him bury himself between my legs, and I lost myself to the feeling of his rough fingers inside of me, not to mention the way his tongue lapped at me like a hungry dog.

  It didn’t take him too long to get me right where he wanted me, to bend my body and make it his in every sense of the word. My lower back arched, and I had to shut my eyes as I felt the pleasure building, sprouting into something I could not stop. The Devil himself could walk through that door, and I’d still orgasm—just to a bigger audience.

  When my body started to shake and I let out a loud moan, Lincoln moved his face, his fingers still pumping me as he watched me come, little bits of my own juices squirting out. Maybe I should’ve been self-conscious, but he seemed to enjoy it, and I was nowhere near done with the high of having such a powerful orgasm to feel anything but ecstatic, tingly everywhere.

  Lincoln was fantastic at what he did.

  A smirk crossed his handsome face as he crawled over me, his impressive dick hard and ready to enter me. He lowered his lips to mine, muttering, “I will never get tired of that.” As he kissed me, hungrily devouring my lips, I knew I tasted my own body’s wetness on his tongue. It wasn’t a bad taste, just something to get used to. When it came to Lincoln, I was pretty much used to it all by now.

  My body felt empty, even though his tongue was in my mouth. His tongue wasn’t what I wanted right now; I wanted his thick member. I wanted him to shove himself inside of me and make me cry out. I was long past the point of
feeling pain when he entered me. The only thing I felt now was pleasure, pure and unbridled.

  I reached down between us, barely able to grasp his hard shaft. The small annoyances of being a tiny person with a man who probably weighed more than two times what I did. Although, I had to admit, I had gained a bit of weight lately. With Edward cooking for me constantly, I was not as thin as I used to be.

  And by that, I meant my ribs weren’t so visible anymore. I looked…healthy, almost. Normal.

  Crazy, right?

  When I gripped him hard, Lincoln pulled his lips off mine. “Eager, aren’t you?”

  What could I say? Of course I was. I wanted him more than anything right now.

  Turned out, I didn’t need to say anything, for soon I saw Lincoln’s strong chest above me. I released my hold on his dick, letting him push into me without so much as a guiding hand. It was like his body knew mine perfectly.

  The feeling of Lincoln inside of me was something I could not describe. He filled me to the brim, almost painfully but not quite. His large dick tiptoed the line between pleasure and pain, and I craved it like a druggie craved their next dose.

  His hips started to move, thrusting back and forth, and I bucked underneath him, dragging my fingernails down his back. The grunts that escaped his chest were quick and rough, just like his thrusts. They were like music to my ears, and I let myself get taken over by the hungry animal inside.

  “Why do you always feel so fucking good?” Lincoln growled out, talking out loud but not necessarily talking to me. His head was above mine; all I could see was his upper chest as he fucked me, my legs wrapped around his lean waist, practically pulling him back inside every time his hips moved back.

  I wished I had an answer for him. I wished I had an answer for a lot of things lately, like why I felt so drawn to Killian, yet I was unable to take any steps further with him. Maybe I needed some reassurance from Edward and Lincoln that they wouldn’t cut me out of their lives if I did. Maybe I wanted all of my killers to get along. It wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  When it came to these guys…it just might be.

  Lincoln’s body tensed above mine. I could always tell when his orgasms were coming. Whether he was in my mouth or between my legs, his hips always thrust once, a quick, random pump that unleashed his seed. I pictured his cum coating my inner walls, filling me up further before he sluggishly pulled himself out of me, breathing hard. He wasn’t the only one.

  It was but a moment before he rolled himself off the bed and started throwing on some clothes, lingering boner and all. I watched his dick push against the pants he chose, as if it wanted more of me. I would’ve happily given it more, but the man himself stopped me as he said, “Come on. Ed’s probably done with dinner by now.”

  Whether we were at my house or theirs, Edward was always cooking us food. He’d asked for his work schedule to be changed so he was off every night. Even when I was out with Killian, I always came home to find a dessert sitting on the island, untouched and without a note. Honestly, I was surprised Callie hadn’t said anything about it yet, or even asked me why I’d given them a key to our house.

  I wasn’t going to complain. The food was delicious. Ed was a fantastic cook, no matter what he did. The most I could do was throw a pizza from the freezer into the oven and hope for the best.

  I crawled off the bed, knowing it was useless to argue. After going into the bathroom and cleaning myself off, I found my clothes sitting on the vanity. Lincoln must’ve left them there for me—he was strangely thoughtful, not something I would’ve pegged him for, considering how much of an asshole he could be.

  After putting on my clothes—leggings and a baggy shirt, my usual get-up—I headed downstairs, finding dinner was already laid out on the table, and Edward stood, pulling out a chair for me. He still wore his chef uniform, but at least today he didn’t smell like grease.

  Edward was the more gentlemanly one of the two, at least out of the bedroom. Inside the bedroom, well, the dimpled man turned into an alpha like no other, always giving orders. Always tying me up. Not that I didn’t like it, because I did. I so did.

  I gave him a smile as I went to sit in the seat he’d pulled out for me, meeting his blue eyes. Such a deep, beautiful color. The hue of the sky on a cloudless day, the color of the ocean in the tropics. Matched with his blonde hair, he was a teenage heartthrob grown up. Minus the murdery bits.

  “I hope Lincoln didn’t tire you out too much,” Edward mused, sitting beside me, his grin genuine, flawless, housing two rows of perfectly straight teeth. These two, I knew they’d taken home many women before me, and I completely understood their appeal, even if being shared between two men wasn’t someone’s thing.

  It was mine, apparently, but only when it came to these two. My murderous men, Edward and Lincoln.

  And Killian, but he was another story.

  Chapter Two - Edward

  As we ate, I kept flicking my eyes over to Stella. I had no idea how long it would take, but whatever it was, we needed to do something. Something had to change. Stella couldn’t go on like this, thinking Callie was alive. She needed to face the truth, and I had to know, once she knew the truth, whether she still wanted to be with me. With us.

  I…wasn’t sure what I’d do without her, now that I had her. Now that I knew what her skin felt like against mine, what her laugh sounded like. And her smile—as infrequent as it was, it made me giddy like a schoolboy. This might have started out as an obsession, but it was anything but one now.

  Now it was so much more.

  Now I needed her like I needed the air I breathed, and judging from the way Lincoln acted around her, he needed her, too. She completed us better than I could ever have hoped for. No—whatever happened, whatever truths came to light, I couldn’t let Stella go. Whatever happened, I would stand beside her, protect her from everything that tried to harm her. She was ours to protect.

  And then there was Killian. As far as I knew, the bastard was trying everything with her. Whether or not Stella gave in to him, I wasn’t sure. Frankly, I was afraid to ask. Not that I’d loathe her for it, but I would feel some anger where the bastard was concerned. We might’ve been playing nice currently, but you never knew when it came to another killer. Some were honorable. Others did whatever the hell they wanted whenever the hell they wanted.

  Stella was the one who broke the silence of the table, “I think we should have dinner.”

  I stared at her. My beautiful, crazy Stella. “We’re already having dinner,” I stated dryly, ignoring the look Lincoln threw at me from her other side. He was always worried she was going to regress, say or do something horrid. Since I wasn’t exactly certain what she had, I was careful when I spoke to her, at least while we weren’t naked. Sometimes I talked to her like I was afraid she’d break.

  Because I was, and I didn’t want her to.

  She gave me a look that said I was stupid—even though I wasn’t the one saying we should have dinner as we ate the goddamned dinner I’d prepared while they were upstairs. Her eyes were more striking now that she’d been eating regular, full meals, their color livelier. Her skin was smoother, her body fuller. She was still a tad too skinny, but she was getting there. Stella was worlds healthier today than she was when I first saw her in that bar.

  “I know we’re eating now,” she spoke, “but I think…I think we should all have dinner together. All four of us.”

  All four of us? Lincoln scowled behind her, and I found myself mimicking his expression. Four was a crowd, wasn’t it? And besides, I sure as shit didn’t want to see that bastard’s face for a while longer.

  Since I knew Lincoln did not know the meaning of the words calm and polite, I asked, “Why do you want to have dinner with all four of us?”

  The man who showed me how much fun it was reveling in the darkness spoke up, “Yeah, the arrangement was—”

  Stella cut in, “I know what the arrangement was. I was there, if you don’t remember. And I also remembe
r all three of you trying to hide things from me, so I think if I want to have dinner with all three of you, I should be able to.”

  The absolute last thing I wanted to do was have dinner and stare at Killian’s face while eating, but it would provide me with an opportunity to talk to him, gage where he’s at. Not only where his relationship to Stella was concerned, but also the whole Callie situation. And John. Did the bastard still have him in some freezer? I’d have to ask. Maybe after I wore Stella out, I’d grab his number from her phone.

  Tomorrow. I’d call him tomorrow. Not tonight.

  Tonight, my focus was on Stella.

  “Fine,” I said, to which Lincoln’s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth to argue, but I spoke over him, “We can all have dinner, as long as it’s at your place.” That got Lincoln to shut up, for he must’ve finally guessed my idea. Or my general, vague plan.

  Stella seemed pleased at this, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Killian would so readily agree. He hated us on principle, because we’d gotten Stella’s attention while he was off acting like he was normal. I had no idea whether or not he’d want to see me or Lincoln. My face and body had long since healed up. If he wanted another round at me, I’d be ready.

  Lincoln prickled all throughout dinner at the possibility of sharing a meal with Killian, which was fine. I knew he’d hate it, possibly even more than I did, but she cared about him. Plus, he had Callie’s body. He needed to be in the conversation, too.

  Once the food was done, we all picked up. It used to be just me doing the dishes, but Stella had learned that the quicker I got done with them, the faster I could get to her. The little vixen liked being tied up almost as much as I liked doing it. After it was all done, the three of us headed up the steps.

  The very instant we were in my room, I took off my uniform shirt, baring my chest. It wasn’t as well-muscled as Lincoln’s, but I was definitely the fittest out of all the other chefs at the restaurant. The most handsome too, if I let my vanity talk.