Twisted: Chapter 32

I slam the phone down, irritated that once again, Ian isn’t answering my calls when he works for . I grab my cell from the corner of my desk and scroll through the latest text messages, noticing a disturbing pattern of me having to check in with him repeatedly, when before it’s always been him blowing up my phone.

He’s never given me reason to doubt him, but I’d be a fool not to take notice of the change.

My fingers fly over the keys as I type out another message to him, anger brewing in the bottom of my gut. If I had known he was going to go AWOL at the same time that Jeannie did, I would have convinced Tinashe to stay in Egypt and oversee the boy himself.

I grit my teeth and watch the clock count down, hoping that he remembers I never bluff. I have no time for people who want to play games. While I wait, I glance down at the papers that were just couriered to my door and flip through the pages one more time, staring at the fake signature of my wife signed on the dotted line and backdated to the day of our marriage.

My finger pops out and rubs along the edge of the piece of paper.

It’s always been the plan. Marry the girl. Let Ali die. Kill her and take everything that was supposed to be mine.

Only now, it doesn’t feel as euphoric as I imagined it might. It feels like confusion. A giant war waging inside my mind and body. Everything I’ve always wanted clashing violently with my newest obsession.

The phone rings and I pick it up.

“Boss.”

“How nice of you to check in, Ian.”

I lean back in the chair, rocking slightly as I twirl a pen around in my hand, the smooth plastic rubbing against my skin as it slides through my fingers.

“Just getting things ready for you to be here next week.”

Telling him that I’ll be there earlier is on the tip of my tongue, but I decide not to at the last minute. There’s something fishy going on, and I want to see what it is.

“So you’ve contacted Darryn.”

There’s a shuffling on the line and he clears his throat. “Yeah, yep. Everything’s all good. He’s willing to meet with you. How are things there? With the bi— the uh, the wife?”

Absentmindedly I twist the ring on my left finger, a sharp stab of piercing through my chest. “Things are going according to plan here. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”

“Good.”

“Good,” I parrot.

“Is there… I mean, do you need anything else from me?”

My brow quirks. “I have the will.”

“Perfect. So now what?”

His question irritates me, although it’s a valid one to ask, and I snap at him. “

you focus on finding that fucking lamp so you can come home. And then you wait to see what I decide to do.”

“What’s there to even decide?” he asks. “You have the will, you married the girl, so either wait until the old man croaks or kill him yourself.”

“Watch your mouth. You know better than to say ridiculous things over phones.”

“Of- of course, boss. I’m sorry,” he stutters.

“I’ll see you in a week. Try and stay out of trouble until then.”

I hang up the phone, fresh annoyance rushing through my veins from talking to Ian and having him ask so many questions I can no longer answer. And then my mind goes back to her.

She’s all I can fucking think about.

I breathe through the tension in my back, rolling my shoulders and trying to ease the sharp, throbbing pain as my phone vibrates, a text flashing with my driver telling me he’s out front. Opening the right-side drawer in my desk, I drop in the papers, slamming it closed and walking out the door.

My stomach is in knots, wondering if Yasmin will choose to stay here with her father or come to see the boy.

I’m under no illusion it would be for me.

Forty minutes later, I’m on the plane, the engine rumbling beneath me as I sit in one of the four oversize chairs on the left-hand side.

It’s a gorgeous aircraft, one that I’ve been using for the past five years after I bought it for Sultans. An upgrade from the last one, and it made travel much more comfortable with the bedroom in the back— not that I’m ever able to sleep on planes— and the long cream couch on the opposite side of the chairs with a large flat- screen TV hanging in front.

Travel isn’t something new with my position, and I’ve made flying almost like a second home, despite the fact that it’s not something I really enjoy.

I nod at the flight attendant who brought me a club soda on ice and glance at the text from Razul saying they’re on their way.

Part of me is surprised she’s willing to leave her father when we both know he could go any day. He’s been extra reclusive the past month, especially with the business side of things, but I was almost sure that she’d be too afraid to not be here in case things went south.

I suppose I was wrong.

Selfishly, I’m glad.

And this will be good. She’ll reunite with the boy and I can witness them together, the puppy love in her eyes and the heartbreak aching to be soothed in her soul, and watch him sweep in and erase whatever weird thing has been happening between us.

It’s what I need. A slap in the face, a cold reminder that even if I was able to trick her into staying with me—

her into it— nothing when it comes to Yasmin and me is real.

Even if it feels like it is.

Even if she’s the only one who’s seen my darkest parts and still decided I was worth a shit.

Or maybe even that was an act all for . To ensure the boy’s safety when she knew I had the power to kill him in an instant. I have been hanging him over her head, and even though we haven’t spoken about my blackmail recently, it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there, like a concrete wall directly between us.

A heaviness settles in the center of my chest, and I clink the ice cubes in my club soda, wishing it was something with alcohol to wash away the ache.

A car door slams, muted outside the thick windows of the plane, but my heart jumps anyway, knowing who it is. Foreboding wraps around the base of my spine and spreads through my limbs, but I ignore the way it feels.

This is what needs to happen. I’m getting too lost. Too soft. Too unfocused.

It’s preposterous, really.

Yasmin walks through the door of the aircraft and around the corner, her footsteps faltering when she sees me. Her gaze swings from the large TV and living area to the hallway that leads to the bedroom in the back.

“Wow, this is nice,” she breathes, moving toward me and sitting in the chair directly across from mine, her camera plopping in the seat at her side.

I’m happy to see that she brought her camera. Knowing it brings her so much happiness makes me want to glue it to her side and make sure she’s never without it again.

I tip my head. “Gattina.”

Her hands run down the side of the chair, letting out a contented sigh as she feels up the buttery leather. She smiles at me and my chest pulls tight.

“Patatino,” she replies.

I smirk because I can’t help it, shaking my head slightly as I take a sip from my drink.

“Is this big plane all yours?” she asks, looking around again.

“Nope,” I state. “Actually, it’s yours.”

Her brows shoot up. “I’ve never been on this plane in my life.”

“Your father has.”

She eyes me carefully, nodding. “Well, that would make it and not mine.” She pauses, her tongue peeking out to swipe across her bottom lip. “I really have no interest in taking all the things that were once his, you know? I’m just doing it because it’s what he wants. And I owe it to him to keep his legacy in the family.”

I clench my jaw to keep from spitting out something hurtful, something about the fact that it must be nice she at least gets the choice, but I hold it back, realizing the anger isn’t for , it’s for the deep wounds caused by Ali’s disregard when I’ve given him everything. But I suppose that’s my fault for placing my mentor in a father role when he never asked to be.

My head raises up, seeing her placing her camera back down again.

She grins. “Sorry, couldn’t help it. You looked pensive and I wanted to catch the moment.”

“Why didn’t you major in photography?” I blurt out.

All I’ve ever heard from Ali about his daughter is how much she excels in her education and how proud he is to have her, but he’s never told me about her photography, and I wonder if he even knows.

Even worse, it makes me want to know what else she dreams of, what she craves, where her passion lies. I’ve spent years assuming I know everything about Yasmin Karam, but lately, she’s shown me that I never really knew anything about her at all.

She laughs. “Can you imagine? My father would never have wanted a daughter with a major.”

I purse my lips. “Does a degree in photography even exist?”

She nods. “Bachelor of fine arts in photography. I actually looked into the program before I went, but…” She trails off, shaking her head.

I hum, taking a sip of my drink and watching her as she glances down at her lap and picks at her nail.

“Do you want a tour?” I ask.

“What’s to see?” She shrugs. “We’re on this plane for, like, ten hours, right? I’ll get to it all eventually.”

She settles in, resting her head against the back of her chair, and closes her eyes. Just after takeoff, she falls asleep.

She looks uncomfortable, so I slam my laptop closed after having gotten an hour or so of work done and move to sweep her up in my arms. She stirs but doesn’t wake completely, instead snuggling up against my chest as I carry her like a new bride down the back hallway and into the bedroom, tucking her in and running my hand down the side of her face.

I sit next to her and watch her sleep, counting every breath she takes and the way they make her chest rise and fall, how her lips part ever so slightly and her lashes flutter like she’s in the middle of a dream. And eventually, my lids flutter closed and I fall asleep too.

When I wake up, it’s to the feeling of someone staring at the side of my face.

“Hello, wife,” I say without opening my eyes.

She huffs, and the mattress dips and jiggles when she scrambles back. “It’s weird to talk to people without your eyes open,” she says.

I peek a lid open and twist my head, looking at her mussed- up hair and sleepy gaze. “No weirder than watching me sleep with your nose almost pressed into my face.”

Her teeth sink into her lip. “Yeah, well, sue me. How did you know I was there anyway?”

“I’m a man of many talents.” I smirk, stretching out my arms and placing them behind my head.

“Humble as ever,” she says with a snort, falling back until she hits the pillow. “No wonder you had to blackmail me to be your wife, since your huge ego doesn’t leave room for anyone else.”

It’s the first time she’s said it so plainly, but I don’t mind that she did. Better for her to remind us both of that fact now, before things get even more confusing.

Still, we only have a few hours left until she sees the boy again, and the feeling that rushes through my veins and cramps up my insides makes me desperate to spend the rest of my time on the plane reminding her how much I can give her that he can’t.

I don’t focus on the reasons I want to show her, just that I do.

Rolling over quickly, I grab her by the waist and drag her underneath my frame, my hips slipping perfectly between her thighs. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Her eyelids flutter and I press into her, letting her feel how hard I am and how much I’d love to sink myself inside her.

She lets out a small moan, her arms flying to wrap around my neck. “Prove to me what? That you have a big ego?”

I smirk. “That too.”

Dipping down, I run my nose along the expanse of her neck, breathing in her scent, desperation filling my veins, wanting to make the time we have here last forever.

I don’t to give her back. Even temporarily. I’d rather keep her in this bubble we’ve created, one where she lets me touch her and I don’t hate that she’s touching me, and we can pretend, even for a little bit, that this is more than what it is.

The thought of losing this new feeling, of letting the boy have even a little piece of her makes me murderous.

“When we get to where we’re going,” I murmur into her skin, “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue until you can’t breathe.”

Her back arches and she pushes herself against me, and even through our clothes, it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt. My hands glide up the sides of her body until our hands meet, and I tangle our fingers and place them above her head, pinning her in place while she grinds her pussy on my dick.

I bite the inside of my cheek, heat spreading across my abdomen and down my thighs at the way she’s working my cock, aching to rip off her clothes the way I did before and sink inside her so I can fuck her raw.

“Needy little slut,” I rasp, accenting the words with a thrust.

She whimpers, her fingers tightening around mine.

“So eager for a real man, aren’t you, ?” I continue, my mind growing fuzzy from the pleasure.

Her legs come up and wrap around my back, dragging me down into her until we’re flush together, my body weight on hers, and our mouths sharing the same air.

“Fuck me,” she begs. “

, Julian. I need you.”

And , I’m desperate for it.

I run my nose across hers, our lips brushing just enough to send my heart slamming against my ribs.

“Are you mine?” I ask.

She sucks in a breath, the passion that was weaving between us suddenly doused like a wet flame.

The slight hesitation is all I need to know.

The ache in my chest spreads, a sharp pain that throbs like a deep bruise.

I release her hands like they’re lava, moving from the bed and readjusting my hard- on as I walk out of the bedroom altogether.