Mad Love

by Ashlyn Mathews

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why would I joke over something as serious as marriage?”

  “She’s a strange and sheltered woman. My son deserves better. You need a woman who can navigate social circles with class and sophistication. You need someone like Evie Lawson. She’s the last woman the media has linked you with.”

  “You’re right, Father. Now please leave. Tell Mom hello, and as always, you two are welcome to join Gia and me for Thanksgiving.”

  Six weeks is enough notice for my father to clean up his act, apologize to Gia, and make amends. Discord in the family is another heavy weight on my shoulders.

  He marches to the door and leaves without so much as a terse goodbye. See what I mean about niceties and common decency?

  Pissed that he dare think Blaise is strange, I grab my wallet and jacket and head into the office.

  Otherwise, I’ll want to wake up my wife with feather-like kisses to her body, from her lips to her pussy lips, using the satin as our kink of choice.

  Kink. Feather.

  I get a delicious idea, and with lightness to my steps, I make a mental note to fire my secretary and, on my way home tonight, to stop by the lingerie store.

  14

  Maddox

  My plans of seducing my wife are derailed by a woman who is my equal with her drive and ruthlessness.

  “Hello, Becca. How are you?”

  “I’m good. Congrats on your marriage. What a surprise.”

  “The marriage or the woman I married?” I undo my tie and put the call on speaker.

  “Both, of course.” Low laughter from her, sexy and suggestive, meant to get a man hard.

  I text Blaise.

  Me: Should I pick something up for dinner?

  Blaise: Have you? I made dinner.

  Me: Wait, you did?

  Blaise: Surprised?

  Me: Hell yeah

  With what I thought of her, that she was a spoiled brat, I had expected Blaise to move in her bodyguards, personal chef, and housekeeping crew in addition to Collins.

  “Are you still there, Maddox?”

  “Sorry, Becca. I’m making dinner plans.”

  “I hope it’s with me or else I’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  I jam my fingers in my hair. My now ex-secretary has been attempting to set up a meeting for me with Becca Ferguson for months without success, and a week into my marriage, she calls?

  “What do you want, Becca?”

  “You. Jet on over tonight and I’ll do that favor for you. Delay and you won’t hear from me again.”

  Becca is one of the biggest influencers out there. An endorsement of a product from her, and the product is guaranteed to be a success. Gia is in need of a break for her clothing line, and Becca is my last resort. Otherwise, Gia will pull the plug and return to what she was doing before this passion for fashion of hers started—nothing.

  “If you leave now, we can get in a nightcap.”

  “I’m married.”

  “To a freak, Maddox.”

  “She is my freak. Don’t ever forget that.” I yank off my tie. “You know what? Forget the favor. Good night.”

  I hang up. Damn everyone for not seeing what is in front of them. Blaise is brave, funny, kind, and beautiful. So what if she has quirks? Or can’t stand to be touched? Everyone has something about them that is a bit off.

  I’m not a fan of crusts. Pizza crusts, bread crusts? Not for this guy. The car rolls inside the underground garage.

  Dennis parks and turns in his seat. “Should I call it a night, sir?”

  “Yes, thank you. How is your wife?”

  “Finished with her first round of chemotherapy. She’s very tired, sir.”

  “Take time off.”

  “Sir, you need me.”

  “Your wife needs you more. Anyway, I have an X-R 85 to test drive.”

  “You finally got the car, eh?”

  “I got something better. I have the girl.”

  Dennis chuckles. “Congratulations on your marriage, and thank you, sir. Good night.”

  “Good night, Dennis.”

  He walks to his car. I take the elevator to the lobby and check in with my guys, asking them the same questions.

  “Visitors?”

  “None.”

  “Packages?”

  “One, sir. Again, from the lingerie store down the street.”

  “Thanks, Charles. Good night.”

  “Good night, Mr. Stassi.”

  I do the same routine I always do. I get in the elevator and unbutton the top buttons of my shirt, looking forward to a few laps in the pool. Except this time, I have a shit ton of questions for my wife. Forget the foreplay and the box of scarves and thong panties I forewent buying when I stopped by the lingerie store on the way home.

  A pregnancy isn’t the reason for the fast nuptials; Blaise is a virgin. I suspect the business arrangement and our subsequent marriage has to do with her grandfather’s will.

  Without the security of his money, Blaise had to find security fast. Hence, needing my name for protection. I have loads of money. But she doesn’t want my money or my body, her words. Then why the change of mind? Will she change her mind next and go after my billions now that she’s near broke?

  Pressing my thumb to the pad next to the door, I put up my guard. I know as much about Blaise as the rest of the world. After her parents died in a plane crash when she was thirteen, she went to live with her grandfather. He assumed guardianship.

  At the age of sixteen, she was kidnapped and held for ransom. Her grandfather paid the reported five million dollars for her freedom. When her kidnapper released her to the FBI, Blaise lived with her cousin Roman at his Montana estate before she moved into her own large mansion with her four bodyguards when she was eighteen.

  Other than hopping from party to party with her bodyguards in tow, or throwing huge parties at her Montana estate, Blaise rarely went out in public. At the age of nineteen, she was linked romantically to her then twenty-five-year-old bodyguard, Granger Ward.

  Inside my place, I shrug off my jacket, set my briefcase on an overstuffed chair, and saunter to the kitchen. Blaise has on an apron over her dress, and she’s taste-testing whatever she’s cooking, the tip of her tongue flicking over the spoon.

  Jesus, what will it be like to have her tongue flick my cock from base to head? For her to wrap her small mouth around my big cock? Her mouth would be like a fist. Warm and wet too. I jam my hands inside the pockets of my trousers and demand my cock calm the fuck down.

  There will be no touching or conceding to Blaise’s on-the-down-low charm and innocent seduction until I understand what her motives are and what this “danger” is she’s in that’ll take at most three months to resolve.

  “Smells good.”

  She sets the spoon down. “I hope you’re hungry. I made beef roast and butternut squash soup.”

  “Starving. Need help?”

  “Nope. Did you want to shower and get into something more comfortable?”

  “I made plans. I’m sorry to dine and dash on you.”

  “No need to be. I should be the one apologizing, having forgotten that we have separate lives and this is a business arrangement.”

  How we should keep things. Business, no pleasure.

  “Last night—”

  “Shouldn’t have happened,” she says.

  Did she pick up on my wariness? I wouldn’t put it past her. Underneath the air of iciness is a perceptive woman. I didn’t miss how keenly she observed the guests at her grandfather’s party.

  “If it were a different woman in the pool, you would have come on to her too. Said and did to her what you did to me. It won’t happen again.”

  I should say something, but Blaise is right. For the rest of our time together, we eat in silence. The air is thick with hurt and confusion. I let her work through her emotions without reassurance from me that I like making her feel good and that she makes me feel good too.


  Jesus, I’m a complete dick, and not giving her the reassurance she needs cements into my mind the reason I’m poor husband material and further convinces me that love is for people with better hearts than mine. I have no heart. Otherwise, I wouldn’t hurt a gentle soul like Blaise, if she is one.

  The more I think through the quick nuptials, the less I’m convinced her intentions were good.

  “Is there a reason I had to hear of your grandfather’s death from the news media rather than at our meeting, darling?”

  She lifts her head from the focus she has on her soup. Blaise has barely touched her soup, and apparently, my wife doesn’t eat meat. The only plate of roast she dished up is for me.

  “You said time was of the essence and that you’re in danger. Explain yourself, darling. Otherwise, I will go to my attorneys and find a way to annul this marriage on grounds of deceit and withholding information.”

  She rises from her seat and takes her bowl to the sink. Behind me, the water runs. There is the distinct sound of my dishwasher opening and closing.

  Blaise walks over, and facing me, she undoes the ties on her apron. She takes off the apron, pulls her royal-blue satin dress over her head, and lets it fall to her feet. No panties. No bra. Smooth, pale skin. Puckered nipples. Shaved mound. I flick my eyes to her face. Defiance in the slight tip of her chin.

  “Do what you must, Maddox. I’m going for a swim. Have a good night.”

  With her head held high and her shoulders pulled back, she walks away from me. Blaise Stassi is a regal queen on the outside. Inside, she’s hurting. I watch her naked form disappear around the corner and don’t hear the splash of water. Like how she is hurting, she slips into the pool in silence.

  I grit my teeth. Shit, I’m a cold bastard. Blaise cooked me dinner and I repaid her kindness with doubt. Needing a drink and a warm body, I put my dishes away, grab my jacket, and head out to a nightclub where the ladies know me well.

  Explain yourself, darling.

  Do what you must, Maddox.

  If she won’t explain herself, then I’ll do what I must. The best way to forget a woman is to get another woman under me. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.

  There are no shortages of women. Blaise is but a small fish in the big sea.

  15

  Blaise

  Before . . .

  “Collins?” I cup my hands over my mouth. “Collins, get your ass down here or else I’m taking the food with me.”

  That got her ass moving. From my place hidden away from the flickering streetlights, I watch Collins come down the fire escape ladder. At the bottom rung, she pushes off the ladder and lands on her sneakers.

  “Here.” I hand her the bag of takeout food. “Take this too.” I give her another bag.

  “What is it?” She peers inside.

  “Converse.”

  Her eyes widen. “You didn’t.”

  “Happy belated birthday. Sorry I didn’t make it last night, but Roman has been on my ass like white on rice. That guy takes my grandfather’s ask that he watch my back too seriously.”

  “Roman is serious, period.”

  “I should tell him to take a chill pill.”

  “Last time you told him that, he made you put on armor and run around for his target practice.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fun times.”

  Collins laughs and pulls me in for a hug. “Thank you, Blaise, for being my friend. Best sixteenth birthday.”

  “Friends for life, right?”

  “For life.”

  We pinky swear.

  “Did Rylan or Edward give you a ride?”

  “I took the city bus.”

  “At ten at night in Oakland? What are you thinking? This could’ve waited until morning.”

  “Roman doesn’t spend mornings with his latest girlfriend. He spends nights with her. Night is the best time to slip away.”

  “Blaise, it’s not safe. Call your cousins and have them come get you.”

  “No way. They’ll tell Roman, and then Roman will stop spending nights with his girlfriend, and like the others, she’ll blame the crash and burn of their relationship on me.”

  “Blaise.”

  “Good night, Collins.” Walking backward, I give her a small wave. “Don’t forget I won’t be around until Christmas. Grandfather is taking me to the Virgin Islands.”

  “The cold and the shorter days messing with your sleep, huh?”

  “You know me too well.”

  “Since I jumped you when we were thirteen too well.”

  “Broke my ribs, but I wouldn’t change how we met for the world.”

  “Me, too. I love you.”

  “I love you too. See you for Christmas?”

  “Will Rylan be there?”

  Collins has a huge crush on my cousin.

  “Collins, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but Rylan has a certain type and—”

  “I’m not it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. His loss.”

  I smile. “That’s the attitude. That’s how you’ll win him over.” I give her a double thumbs-up sign. The girls give in too easily to Rylan. What will happen if a girl rebuffs him? I believe he’ll see it as a challenge and give chase. I’ll encourage Collins to run far and fast and hope to God that Rylan sees her as a challenge.

  Collins is my best friend, and her shipped with any of my cousins would make me happy. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch her disappear inside her bedroom through the window. I beat feet to the nearest bus stop.

  On the main road, I tug the hood of my hoodie over my head. There is a lingering smell of burgers and garlic fries on my fingers, leftover from the takeout food I picked up for Collins from her favorite burger joint.

  At the bus stop, I check the bus schedule. I missed the bus by ten minutes. Crap. I hurry to the other stop a few blocks down with my head lowered and my fingers crammed inside the pockets of my hoodie. Inside one of the pockets is a knife.

  Making my way down the main road, I keep my eyes and ears open for trouble, not too worried for my safety. I know how to handle a knife, and it’s dark, but on this busy street, the streetlights are bright and so are the headlights from the cars.

  A block from the bus stop, I hear whimpering. I stop near the mouth of the alleyway and lean in, believing I am hearing wrongly. More whimpering. I edge closer and concentrate on separating the whimpering from the street noises and the hard thumps of my heartbeats in my ears.

  “Help me.”

  A little girl’s voice.

  “Are you okay?” Of course she’s not. She asked for help.

  But I’m cautious for a reason. Collins asking for help is how she lured me into an alleyway too. She jumped me, robbing me of the gooey cinnamon roll I was devouring with zest. That girl and her sweet tooth.

  “I’m hurt.”

  “How?”

  “My ankle. I rolled it. Please. I live down the street.”

  I step into the alley and make my way to the figure on the ground. She’s tiny and looks to be around ten or so.

  What is she doing in an alley alone at ten at night? I approach her with my hand on my knife inside my pocket and the other hanging loose at my side in case I need to sucker punch someone in the throat. My gaze shoots to the emptiness in front of us.

  The nearest object that someone could hide behind is a dumpster a few feet away. The person would have to have a running start to get to me.

  “My name’s Blaise. Can I look at your ankle?”

  She nods.

  I crouch in front of the little girl and peel her pants leg over her ankle, being careful not to jostle her leg. I pull my cell phone from my back pocket and shine a light on her ankle. It could be the poor lighting, but her ankle looks fine. She must’ve sensed my doubt. The little girl speaks fast, like she’s trying to get me to hang out with her longer.

  “I was out walking my dog. She got out of her leash. I ran after her and rolled my ankle on a crack.”


  I shouldn’t believe her, not after what happened with Collins, but what if this little girl ends up becoming my friend too? A girl can’t have too many friends.

  “Can you walk on it?”

  “I tried, but it hurts too much.”

  “How about you get on my back and I can carry you to your place?”

  “You’ll do that?”

  “Well, yeah. I’m not leaving you here. You’re hurt.”

  “He lied. He told me you’re selfish and mean.”

  Wait, what? Before I can ask her who he is, a cloth is placed over my nose and mouth. The little girl opens her mouth. Her mouth moves but nothing comes out. Her face is a haze. A bone-deep weariness blankets my body, and I close my eyes, barely feeling the needle in my arm.

  My nightmares have just begun.

  “No, please. Please don’t put me in there.”

  My words are slurred. He’s doped me up.

  “You are stubborn. You are defiant. You’ve mouthed off to me one too many times, doll, and I am fucking tired of it.”

  He sets me inside the coffin, naked. My skin rubs against the corpse’s skin. Her body is decomposed. Her face is a slimy mess beneath the veil of long jet-ink strands. Is there a reason he concealed his sister’s face from me? Is he afraid in death, she’ll judge him to be a monster? Because that is how I see my kidnapper.

  “This will teach you a lesson. You are not my equal; you are beneath me. You do not walk alongside me; you walk behind me.”

  “The ransom—”

  “Is none of your concern.”

  He puts an oxygen face mask on me and then puts the canister of oxygen between mine and the corpse’s legs. She and I are the same height and build. He turns the oxygen on, moves the lid over the coffin, and hammers the nails into the wood.

  I am shrouded in darkness, skin on skin to someone who has been dead for weeks. I smell her stench through the oxygen mask, and gagging, I will myself to get past the smell of rotting flesh; otherwise, I’ll throw up in my mask. I have to live through his lesson for me. If I do, I’ll get my freedom. That’s my hope.

  Through my haze of being drugged up, I heard my kidnapper speaking to my rescuers. My grandfather is willing to pay the five million dollars my kidnapper is demanding. Five million dollars for freedom I took for granted. How will I face my family after they hear of my humiliation at the hands of my kidnapper?