Twisted (Never After, #4)

by Emily McIntire

My mother used to have me pick my own switches. I’d traipse through the small, wooded area at the back of our house and find the smallest branch I could: one that was thick enough to replace the belt but wouldn’t hurt quite as bad. Then she’d whip me until I bled. “It will only hurt for a little, piccolo,” she’d always murmur. Afterward, she’d apologize and take me for gelato.

“The girl and everything that comes with her are mine,” I say, my eyes flaring.

That’s what cancer does. It ravages you from the inside out without caring who you are. It doesn’t matter whether you keep the world in the palm of your hand or if you have more money than God. It just feeds on death. And death always wins, one way or another.

It’s rude for him to have a voice like that and a face like he does when his soul is so rotten.

She’ll be its ruin. She’ll be my ruin. Unless I become the man she marries.

now, she’s burned into my brain. And I’m not sure how to get her out.

“If I wished for it,” I murmur, leaning in until our noses touch, “I could make you need nothing but me.”

I don’t feel butterflies like when I stare at Aidan. More like fire that’s sizzling beneath my skin, Pop Rocks exploding in my stomach one by one until they make my body tremble and heat flare between my legs.

“What do you want?” He smiles, his grip tightening until it stings. “You.”

I hate how attractive he is. But I guess it makes sense that the devil would appear as perfection to lure away souls.

“You’re playing a dangerous game letting me touch you like this.” Her eyes flash and she leans in, resting the weight of her face against my hand. “Maybe I like a bit of danger.”

“I can’t work. I can’t eat. I can’t think of anything except spreading you wide open and slipping between your perfect thighs so I can fill you up.”

Honestly, I don’t know if anyone outside serving staff has ever plated food for me before, and it’s a nice gesture, one that makes me feel cared for in a different way than I ever have been.

But that’s the thing about abuse, I guess. The pain always lasts even after the bruises fade.”

“If I’m the devil, amore mio, cast stones at the one who made me.” And then I kiss her.

“You stubborn, silly man.” Sliding my fingers up his jaw, I cup the back of his neck, lifting on my tiptoes while I drag him down until his forehead rests on mine. “Don’t you know I’m yours?” I whisper.

Men like me don’t get into heaven and we don’t get second chances.

I don’t give a single fuck if I inherit Sultans. Couldn’t care less about the lost lamp. Not as long as I get to keep her.

“My love for you is dangerous.” A heavy breath whooshes from her mouth, a tear rolling from her eye, dripping over the back of my knuckles. I move, pressing a kiss to her wet cheek to soak up her cries. “I would kill anyone who looked at you. Anyone who dared to even breathe too close.” Her body shakes against mine. “I want your blood and your anger and your violence and your lust.” My thumb brushes against her bottom lip. “I want your smiles and your tears and your insolent fucking mouth.”

“I want to reach into your chest and hold your heart in my hands, making sure it only beats for me,” I rasp. “But I don’t want your firsts, Yasmin. I want your forever.”

“You’re an angel, gattina. And I’ll break your wings just to keep you by my side.

“I’m in love with you, Julian Faraci. And I would burn the world myself if it meant I could keep you by my side.”

Some people say that family is family, blood is blood. But I say that toxic is toxic, and no one is more important than my inner peace, even if it means I lose them for good.

“Don’t you know yet, gattina? I would do anything for you. Burn this life down to the ground and build a whole new world if you demanded it.”