Page 63 of Fatal Scheme

“Fuck you, bitch.” He spits, his saliva landing on her face, and out of instinct, she holds her hand up, signaling to me that she’s in control.

It’s like she can read my mind, because I’m shaking with anger at the thought of this man disrespecting her, but as always, she keeps me in check, even with a flick of her wrist.

“Bitch it is. Now, I only have one question, then I’ll make the rest of this quick, okay? Just tell me who ordered you to take me,” she offers, her sweet voice not threatening in the slightest, but it’s all a part of an act, one that this pathetic loser isn’t going to see coming.

“I’m not telling you shit. Torture me all you want,” he grunts, swinging his arms for dramatic effect, and she spins on her heel, shrugging as she makes her way back to the counter.

“Jasper, would you be a doll and strip him down for me? I’d like to see my canvas before I pick the tools for my art project,” she says in a sing-song voice, the devious devil that lives within her enjoying this shit, and I swear, I’ve never seen anything sexier.

“As you wish, my little Vincent Van Gogh.” I follow her orders, a dumb fucking smile painted on my face as she hums, the sadistic part of her brain completely taking over control of the girl I know, replacing her with the badass woman I fucking love.

After quite the struggle, our victim is stripped down to his skivvies, and I will say in complete confidence of my sexuality, this guy is ripped.

He’s just as muscular as I am, tattoos on every inch of his skin, and it’s like looking into a creepy mirror, except his face is nowhere near as handsome as I am.

“Oh! He has tattoos, Jasper! A lot of these look like shit, should we help him fix them up? Make them pretty again?” Carter muses, tracing the tip of a blade along the ink on his skin, and he barely flinches as she presses in a little harder, smears of blood staining the blade as she walks around to his backside. “Jackpot! There’s more –”

My head snaps up as she abruptly stops talking, the knife clattering to the floor as she steps back in horror, her hands covering her mouth, and whatever it is she’s seeing must be serious if it’s enough to scare the woman made of steel.

“What is it, Carter?”

“It’s your family crest, Jasper. The same one you have on your back.” She points, and I skeptically approach her, knowing that the Masseria crest is complex in design, but could look similar if you hadn’t been forced to know every single line, flower, and animal tangled into it since birth.

“It’s exactly the same. I’ve studied it,” she whispers as I get closer, and my vision nearly turns red as I confirm her theory to be a fact.

This fucker is apart of the Masseria family, and all at once, everything snaps into place, a horrible revelation coming to light as I look at Carter, shock painted on her face.

“Aw, is daddy’s prince unaware of what he’s capable of? You’ll never break me, Junior, because I’ve been trained just like you,” he laughs, taking pleasure in my cluelessness, and I snap my fist across the back of his head, effectively knocking him unconscious so we can get to the bottom of this.

Snatching Carter’s wrist, I drag her away from the room as she struggles to keep pace with how quickly I’m storming through the basement, directly where Tyson is waiting.

“That was quick. Did Carter set a new record or something?” Tyson jokes, and I slam the door behind us, practically shoving Carter into the room as I struggle to gain my composure.

It’s one thing for my father to disapprove of how we’re living, but to actually send one of our own after Carter is borderline insane, and I can’t will myself to consider his thought process behind this decision.

“Um, the guy you found … he’s from the Family,” she informs, my head spinning as I’m frozen in place, not even close to being able to speak without wanting to rip someone’s limbs from their body, piece by piece.

“Which one? Ricci?” Ty asks, pulling her into his arms as she bites her lower lip, my eyes only trained on her movements because if I look anywhere else but at my safe place, I’ll fly off the handles.

“No. Masseria.”

“What? That’s not possible,” he argues, but my attention span fades as she explains the details of the tattoo, my mind only focused on what this could mean.

Was he going to kill her?

Extract information about us?

The possibilities are endless, and nothing can be answered unless I ask the man responsible for giving the order, but even I know that I’m way too wound up to face the Don head on.

We need to make a plan, but first, I need to extinguish the wildfires raging in my mind and bring myself back to a reality where I can be present.

One thing is for sure: it’s time for the three of us to run.

TWENTY-NINE

CARTER

For one of the first times in my life, I’m scared of what happens next.