Twisted (Never After Series)

Once I made myself known to be there in Ali’s stead, I expected Alexander’s countenance to change. For him to become more pliable and willing to grovel at my feet the way so many others do. Possibly for recognition to dawn in his eyes.

But if anything, the ire behind his gaze only grew.

“And who are you?” he asks haughtily.

“He’s the bane of my existence,” Yasmin pipes in.

I flash her a grin before focusing again on the man across the table who’s trying to take what I’ve decided is mine.

“Or I guess you could call him my father’s bitch, if that’s more your speed.”

My teeth grit until my molars ache at the disrespect, and if I didn’t need her to experience what life would be like if she ended up with this idiot, I’d lash out, maybe drown her in a bathtub so I wouldn’t have to hear her speak again.

“Forgive Yasmin,” I say. “Despite her obvious beauty and rather large inheritance, she still has a nasty habit of being jealous.”

Yasmin lets out a bark of laughter.

I turn my face toward her, tsking before I turn back to Alexander. “Hope you can handle it. Alexander Sokolov, I’m guessing?”

He nods stiffly, tapping his thick fingers on the table. “Yes.”

“Interesting last name,” I continue. “Russian?”

His jaw locks, eyes narrowing on me. “Correct.”

I nod, throwing an arm around the back of Yasmin’s chair. “Fascinating to have you so…invested in Ali’s daughter.”

“Mr. Faraci,” a voice interrupts. I look over to see the hostess who led us to the table standing next to me with an apologetic look on her face. “So sorry to interrupt, but you had a call. A Mr. Godard requesting you call him back as soon as possible. He said he’s tried to reach your phone.”

I nod, irritated that Ian called the fucking restaurant when he knows I’m busy.

“Julian Faraci,” Alexander says, recognition flashing over his face. “Of course. I’ve heard so much about you.”

I hum because I’m sure he has. “If you’ll excuse me, this will only take a moment.”

Standing up from the table, I make my way through the hallway directly behind us and out the back exit to the private alley. It’s a quiet night, other than the sound of cars rushing past on the street out front, and the stars shine brightly in the sky.

I glance up, noticing the full moon and how it spreads light across the cracks of the black pavement.

Withdrawing my phone from my pocket, I call Ian.

“Boss.”

“You’re already wasting my time.”

“I thought you were just having dinner with the girl.”

“Yes, and she’s important.”

There’s a long stretch of silence.

“Ian, you’re testing my patience.”

“I know, I know,” he rushes out. “But this is important. Tinashe’s been blowing up my phone. He said Darryn Anders knows we’re in their territory in Egypt, looking for the lost lamp. He isn’t happy.”

Annoyance bleeds through my posture as I toss my head back to stare at the sky, suddenly remembering that Tinashe tried to tell me about Darryn the other day before Ian cut him off and I hung up the phone.

“Christ, this is what we pay Tinashe for,” I say. “To take care of these things before they become bigger issues.”

Darryn Anders is an obnoxious man who has lots of money and lots of time on his hands. He’s well known in the black market antiquity trade and is one of the main oppositions to people looking for the lost lamp. He’s been doing several digs in Egypt over the past few years, and if he’s upset that we’re there and, even worse, knows we’re looking for the lamp, then he could create problems for both me and Sultans.

And personally speaking, he’s a prick and demands subservience from everyone he meets. I’m not inclined to give it to him, so I try to avoid direct contact whenever possible.

Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Okay, I’ll handle it. Is everything set to go with you and the boy?”

“Yeah,” Ian replies. “We’re on a plane tomorrow morning.” He pauses, and before he even speaks again, I know what he’s going to say. “I wish you’d let me stay with you. I don’t do well in the desert. It’s uncomfy.”

“You’d get in my way,” I say back. “I need to focus on Yasmin, not on making sure you’re comfortable. Egypt is where I need you.”

“Who’s going to run Sultans while I’m gone? You’re prepared to go to all the meetings you hate and listen to all the bullshit instead of having me recap the important pieces after?”

“You hired Ciara, did you not?” I snap, irritated that he thinks he does anything close to running Sultans.

A deep sigh comes over the line. “Okay, boss.”

Hanging up before he can say anything else, I walk back inside to where we were before, planning to try to hurry the dinner along so I can call Tinashe and make sure that Darryn won’t be a problem, but I stop before I hit the table, shrouding myself in the shadows as I listen in on their conversation.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Alexander says, nodding to the plate of food that sits in the center of the table. “Do you enjoy oysters, Yasmin?”

She scrunches her nose, staring at the food like it’s about to attack her. “No, I don’t really like seafood.”

Alexander tsks. “You should try this anyway. You might surprise yourself. You know,” he continues, wiggling his brows, “they’re quite the aphrodisiac. Maybe if you had a couple, you’d loosen up some.”

Yasmin’s spine stiffens.

It’s surprising how much I enjoy seeing her body language shift and change right before she explodes. For the longest time, I didn’t think she had the capability to speak out of turn. She was brought up with decorum bred into her bones, and she usually holds her tongue well, but once she came home from college, I noticed a shift. A spark that’s simmering just beneath the surface, begging to be let out.

I should hate it, but I constantly find myself prodding the kindling instead, seeing if I can make it catch fire.

“That’s hardly an appropriate conversation to have with a stranger,” she snips back.

He laughs. “Please, save your faux outrage. I’m about to effectively buy you, sweetheart. Which, speaking of, when you have my last name, little outfits like these”—he waves his hand toward  Yasmin— “are a no- go. I appreciate the view, but it’s bad for my image. You’re far too wealthy to dress so trashy, and my wife won’t be flaunting herself around like a slut.”

Fire bleeds behind Yasmin’s eyes, her hands drawing into fists on top of the white linen table.

Good. Let her see what happens if she chooses to allow her father to pimp her out this way.

That being said, I can’t allow the disrespect to stand. While I don’t personally care if she’s offended, she is here with me, and he’s a fool to think I’ll allow anyone under my protection to be talked down to. Besides, I’ve had enough of these games.

For some reason, this little twit of a girl breaks apart all my logic, splaying me open until I’m vulnerable and greedy, wanting immediate satisfaction and not being able to stop myself from demanding it.

I could continue to try and fight the desire, but honestly, my energy will be better used if I give in and adjust my plan to fit my needs. And my needs are suddenly screaming at me to make sure she knows that she has no choice when it comes to who she marries.

She’ll choose me, or she’ll learn what happens to the people who don’t.

Bringing my phone up to my ear, I call her driver, telling him to pull around to the front, and then I make my way back to the table, bypassing my seat and placing my hand in front of her. “Up,” I say.

She looks at me with confusion, staring at my hand. “What?”

I shrug. “We’re leaving. Unless you’d rather stay here, of course.”

“No, I…” She trails off, looking back and forth between the two of us, before she slips her soft hand in mine.

I pull her to a stand and grab the shawl off the back of her chair, my fingertips ghosting across the skin of her collarbone as I wrap it around her shoulders.

“Unfortunately, Alexander, something’s come up and Yasmin needs to leave. But stick around for a minute, yeah? I’ve got something for you.”

He nods, waving us off with the confidence of a man who thinks he’s already locked in the deal as he takes a sip of his whiskey.

I place my hand on Yasmin’s back, leading her through the tables and out to the front where her driver is waiting.

“Don’t ever bark demands at me like I’m a dog again,” she spits when we reach the car, spinning toward me.

“Save your breath for someone who cares, gattina.” I step in close, the tips of my loafers hitting her shoes, and I reach out, swiping a piece of her curly hair off her forehead. “If I tell you to sit, you’ll sit. If I tell you to jump, you’ll ask how high. If I want you to spin around in circles, then drop to your knees and suck my cock until I paint your pouty lips with my cum, you’ll do it with a smile on your vapid face.” Her mouth parts, and my thumb presses into her bottom lip as I lean in close. “And do you know why?”

“Because you’re delusional?” she snips.

I chuckle. “Because if you don’t, I’ll stop being so generous and leave you to the likes of Mr. Sokolov inside. I bet he can’t wait to try out the goods for himself. He seems like the kind of man who likes to taste test before he buys the whole meal.”

She sucks in a gasp, her eyes growing wide with horror. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Releasing her face, I reach behind her to pull on the door handle and push her into the car. I lean my arm on the hood and peer in. “Be safe getting home, Yasmin. It’s dark out there. I’d hate for anything bad to happen.”

I close the door behind her and watch as her driver pulls the car out into traffic. Then I spin around and make my way back inside to deal with Alexander.

“Everything okay?” he asks when I get back to the table.

I adopt a sympathetic look on my face, pulling my brows in and pursing my lips slightly. “Everything’s fine. Yasmin just had some family matters she needed to deal with. You understand.”

Alexander runs a hand over his blond mop of hair before nodding, his shoulders slumping. “We didn’t even get to the main course.”

Shaking my head, I reach out to pat him on the shoulder, although the touch makes my muscles want to shrivel up beneath my skin. “No worries. I’ll make sure we take care of the staff.”

It’s not what he cares about, but propriety means he can’t say anything without looking like even more of a tool, so he just nods and rises from the table, watching while I pull out the money clip from my back pocket and throw a small stack of hundreds down, enough to cover what was served plus a generous tip. I stop short when I see Yasmin’s phone left on her seat at the table and dip down quickly to pick it up, sliding it into my pocket before following Alexander out of the restaurant.

Once we’re outside, he hands his ticket to the valet. He rests his elbow on the valet stand, shifting slightly every few seconds from foot to foot while we wait, clearly uncomfortable with the silence of the night and the fact that I’m not filling it with conversation.

“I’ve heard of you,” he notes.

“Oh?”

I slip my hands in my pockets and glance around, noting how the crowds outside are starting to thin. My fingers caress the metal of my staff as I glance back down at the fool who thought he’d get Yasmin’s hand in marriage and ownership of the business that’s mine in every way except for name.

“Unfortunately, I can’t say the same.”

It’s not completely a lie. However, I did look him up the moment I left Ali, learning that Alexander Sokolov is the grandson of Oleg Sokolov, who up until three years ago was the minister of industry and trade in Russia.

Alexander doesn’t have much of a name for himself, but his family ties are enough to make him important. Definitely enough to help Sultans barter deals with the Russian diamond trade in a way we’ve been cut off from in the past.

But it’s risky, and I’m surprised Ali was so open to the idea of handing over the entirety of Sultans’ shares to a man who could easily tear down his legacy and sell it off bit by bit.

A black Lamborghini with yellow trim and matte black wheels pulls around, revving like butter as it idles in front of us.

My brows lift, although I’m not truly impressed. I couldn’t care less about cars; they’re more hassle than they’re worth.

I whistle. “This yours?”

Alexander beams, his smile blinding. “You ever seen one in person before?”

Shaking my head, I take a step forward, watching out of the corner of my eye while the valet lifts the doors until they look like wings and walks around the back of the car to hand Alexander the key. “Can’t say that I have. I’ve always wanted one though.” Lies.

He stops, his face gaining a haughty look. “Not surprising. This is a limited edition. Only twenty of these coupes were ever made.”

“I’ve got an Audi R8, but I bet this baby purrs.”

He’s such a slow thinker that I can see his brain working, his eyes shifting back and forth and his jaw twitching as he tries to work out something in his head.

“Want to take her for a spin?” He angles his face down. “As a passenger, of course.”

My finger presses harshly into the metal of my staff still tucked away in my pocket, and I smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”