Page 68 of Outlawed

I paid a few women in the beginning to take Calliope out, desperate women willing to do anything for access to the drug of their choice while they were locked inside. None of them even came close. My woman turned out to be far more formidable a foe than either of us could have anticipated.

In the end, I vowed to put some distance between us, and her being locked away for fifteen years helped. I moved a couple of towns over and continued to build my empire, funneling money into offshore accounts for the day I would need to jump ship. I’m not an idiot. Criminals might think they’re bulletproof, but even we can’t buy immortality.

And so the years passed, and life really did go on. Calliope was always in my head, like a spectral presence that I couldn’t shake, haunting me until I couldn’t think about anything else. Fifteen years she was gone, and I never fucked another woman. I couldn’t. My body refused to entertain the idea. It was like she cursed me right along with this town.

I was out of the country when she returned, oblivious that my obsession was back in my hometown. If I’d known, I’d never have been able to stay away. When I did return and found out she was back, I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

I pictured myself thrusting my cock inside her, my hands wrapped around her throat, choking off her air until she went limp beneath me. Yet the second I laid eyes on her, it was like the whole world shifted on its axis. The darkness inside her reached out and grabbed hold of mine. It jump-started my cold, dead heart, until the thought of killing her nearly brought me to my knees.

I had no one to blame but myself, because I did this. She looked at me with such hatred that I could feel it grating over my skin like sandpaper. I knew then and there, I was fucked. If she’d asked me to cut my chest open and hand her my heart, I’d have done it. Staying away from her became impossible, and being around her has only made my obsession grow in ways neither of us could have foreseen.

Protecting her and—by extension—Hannah has become this overwhelming need, something I have to rein in so I don’t go on a murder spree to eliminate potential threats.

I shake my head. “Fuck, I need a drink.”

Walking around to the driver’s side, I climb in and start her up, my headlights illuminating the property. It always surprises me that nobody has noticed there are no flowers out here, that not a single flower has bloomed despite Calliope being my girl. Of course, not many people come out here anymore.

Part of me assumes my immunity to Calliope’s destructive gifts means I’m immune to the nurturing ones too. The other part, though, has to wonder if it has less to do with immunity and more to do with her gift reading the wickedness inside me and my intent to harm.

As I reverse out and drive back to the ranch, I think about when she told me Andy had hurt her. I knew then he’d need to be eliminated if I wanted to keep my secret buried. I didn’t think that fucker would actually turn up at the ranch and fuck me over. I never thought he had it in him. He’s always been a yes man, knowing what side his bread was buttered. But he had to know he was signing his own death warrant that day. They say every story needs a villain, but our story already has far too many. What I needed was someone to blame, someone Calliope could shift her anger toward, and Andy made the perfect scapegoat.

And now my secret will die with me, just like Shepard’s will, just like Riggs’s. Yeah, I’m sure he has no idea that I know who he really is. If I didn’t think he’d lay down his life for Cece, I’d have set him on fire and roasted marshmallows over his corpse.

Though I wasn’t kidding when I said Riggs was Calliope’s heart. If I killed him, I have no doubt she’d find a way, not just to kill me, but resurrect me and kill me again.

I grin at the thought, loving the little sadistic streak she has. What she did to Porter made me so fucking hard, it took every ounce of strength not to fuck her while he watched, chained to the wall, as I defiled his daughter. I’m getting hard again just thinking about it. My patience paid off when my kinky girl let me fuck her over his grave.

I see the darkness in her. It’s in there, growing every day, the shadows behind her eyes slowly leeching the color from them.

There are legends within the hunting community of witches who give themselves over entirely to the dark side, letting the power guide their actions, instead of their hearts. When that happens, a powerful witch can become almost unstoppable, and Calliope is stronger than most I’ve encountered. It wouldn’t take a lot to push her over the edge. Hell, it’s only her strength of conviction that’s stopped her from devolving completely already. And though I have no doubt she’d be the sexiest serial killer on this side of the ocean, none of us can afford to bring any more eyes our way. Especially not from the alphabet agencies, or worse, a pack of rabid hunters.

It’s going to take some getting used to, being a good guy for a change. But I’m pretty sure we can both let our darkness out in the bedroom, where the only ones we might hurt are each other.

Hell, that’s half the fun.

Epilogue 5

Jenny

Iwalk in the door and kick off my shoes, bending down to rub the arch of my foot. Groaning in appreciation, I spend another minute cursing myself for wearing those torture devices to begin with, knowing I’ll wear them again tomorrow because they’re sexy as fuck and do amazing things to my legs.

Stripping out of my suit jacket, I hang it on the back of the kitchen chair as I make my way to the fridge and grab the open bottle of white wine. I use my teeth to pull the cork free before grabbing a long-stemmed glass from the cupboard. I fill the glass with a healthy amount before I take a sip and sigh. “Much better.”

I take another mouthful before I head upstairs to the bedroom, leaving my briefcase downstairs so I’m not tempted to keep working. With my free hand, I pull the clip from my hair and let it fall down my back. As I walk into the bedroom, I place the clip and the glass on the dresser as I take in my sexy man, reading in bed, a pair of black-framed glasses perched on the end of his nose. His salt-and-pepper hair is sticking up all over the place where he’s likely been running his hands through it, which he tends to do more when it’s in need of a cut.

“Hey, babe, how was your day?” he asks without looking up.

I glance in the mirror as I sit at my vanity and pick up a wipe. I drag it across my face, removing the makeup that I keep light anyway. Women of a certain age have to work with what they have, and a foundation that illuminates the lines of my face instead of hiding them is not the way to go. A little mascara, some concealer, a red lip stain, and a small amount of bronzer are all I really wear, so it comes off easily enough with makeup wipes.

“Babe?”

“Sorry, I zoned out there for a minute. It was okay. Client took a plea. Given the circumstances, it was the best he could hope for.”

I study my reflection. Even without makeup, I have to say I look good, but still convincing, for seventy. Of course that’s by design. I focus hard as the reflection shimmers, the secret ingredient in the wine working overtime. The lines on my face smooth out as the skin becomes taut once more. The extra skin around my eyes and jaw lifts and pulls tight, and the lines on my forehead disappear. The only things that remain untouched are my eyes. Now staring back is a woman two decades younger.

Wearing my real face, I get to my feet as I strip out of my clothes, a grin tugging at my lips as I feel James’s eyes on me. His book and glass soon end up on the nightstand as he leans back and takes in the show. I pick up my glass and drink my wine as my husband rakes his eyes over my naked body.

His hand pushes down the blanket, uncovering his naked torso to reveal his thickening cock. He wraps his hand around the root and holds it up. “Hungry?”