Captivated by Cutter (Twist Brothers Book 1) Read online

  One of his long legs swings over the top of the bike and he's standing facing me. His breath is forced and harsh, his brow is still folded, but an extra wrinkle of confusion has been added. Something is torturing him. I'm not even sure he's enjoying this.

  A quick grab of the rock hard shaft in his jeans answers that question. If he likes me, he sure has a very unorthodox way of showing it. I like that too. He's unique and he's being who he is. We should all let our authentic self show when we're with someone, whether it's angry sex in a parking lot with a stranger or an old familiar lover. Or maybe he thinks he needs to pretend to be angry because he knows I want a hate fuck.

  Whatever's going on with him, I'm not stopping this. We can talk later. Or not. Right now, I'm greedy and desperate, we're facing each other on his bike, and we're on the precipice of a life-changing experience.

  His kiss pushes me back and forces my breasts into the space between us. I wobble a little and his hands under my armpits hold me in place. His face dives in and licks between my breasts. He moves to a nipple and bites down over my clothes, drawing a cry from deep in my throat.

  He pulls the front flaps of my wrap dress open and exposes my black lace bra. His eyes stop on my Pennywise red balloon tattoo on my ribs. He grins and growls. I'm not sure what it means to him, but I think he likes it. Again, I'm wanting to know him when this is supposed to be purely physical. My curiosity runs rampant about the bumps on his back. Are they scars from a surgery? Was he in an accident? Did someone hurt him? I force my hands under his shirt and glide them up. The bumps extend all the way up to his shoulders, traversing his strong muscles like a wire mesh. I start to trace a straight line when he freezes.

  His hand leaves my armpit.

  Click.

  Something sharp pokes into the column of my neck.

  "Get your fucking hands off my back."

  I pull them out instantly and brace myself on his chest. With his hand on my throat, I'm wobbly again and my tiptoes barely reach the ground.

  Wait. Did he just pull a knife on me? Holy shit. My heart leaps out of my chest. He's going to slice my neck open.

  He takes a step forward so his massive thighs surround my legs. He has me totally pinned to this bike.

  His frenzied gaze travels from the blade at my neck to my eyes, down to the tattoo again, and back up to the blade. He stills for a second then slowly cups between my legs over my underwear. A finger presses in against my panties. He has to feel the wetness there. "You want to stop?" he asks me.

  What the heck? I'm totally confused. Is he asking me if he can fuck me with a knife at my throat? His rage seems to have dissipated now that he has the knife. He's still breathing heavy, but his brow is starting to unfurl. Now his eyes are pleading with me, asking me to say yes. No, he's begging me. He wants me to say yes more than he wants anything else. An unmistakable fire burns in his eyes.

  "Are you going to kill me?"

  His head jerks back a little. "Fuck no."

  It's unhinged and bizarre, but somehow it works between us. The knife adds an edge of menace and if it turns him on, I can roll with it. "Then don't stop."

  His eyes flare and he slams his dick into my core. "You'd let me fuck you with a knife at your throat?"

  "Yes," is my breathy reply as I close my eyes. I never knew I'd think this was hot, but the fundamentally carnal side of this man resonates with the wild child inside me and we mesh.

  My rapture is interrupted when he jumps off the bike, and my body pitches ungracefully sideways.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  "I..." I'm struggling to straighten my dress and get my boobs covered again.

  "You got a death wish?"

  I sit up and stare at him in shock. This guy is so hard to keep up with. "You said you wouldn't kill me."

  "And you believed me?" He snaps his knife closed and shoves it in his pocket. He runs his hand through his hair and paces away and back. "Fuck."

  "What's wrong?" My body is still reacting to him, wanting him to keep going, and he's far away now. Reality is setting in. I've made a huge mistake.

  "You have to ask? This is so fucked up." He pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and lights one up.

  "You want to stop?" I thought we were both getting off on the raw energy, but he's flipping out.

  He blows out a long stream of smoke and it folds up into the air. "I did stop. Because you're stupid as all fuck."

  Stupid? Oh that's it. He doesn't know me at all. That word stupid is a brick wall for me. My mom used it a lot, and I won't tolerate it from anyone ever again. Once the bite of pain from the verbal abuse from my mother sinks in, I'm done. I don't want him anymore. He's suddenly the ugliest man I've ever seen.

  He played me. He knew I was upset and vulnerable. He took me to his bike and pulled a knife on me and asked me if I was okay with that. When I said yes, which from what I saw in his eyes, was what he wanted desperately, he turned on me and called me stupid.

  With one word, he's distorted what I thought we were sharing and turned it into a weapon against me. Dayton did the same thing yesterday. If you trust men before they earn it, they have power over you. They can turn on you in an instant and make you feel like trash on the street.

  This is a sign. I need to change. I can't let stupid men make me doubt myself. I'm not giving any man that chance again. I'm going to focus on my business, and I'm not going to waste anymore time with stupid, stupid men.

  Right here. Right now. I'm formulating a vow and committing to it. Never again.

  As I'm signing my name on this internal resolution with myself, he walks slowly over to me. "I'm sorry," he says quietly and resigned. The tip of his cigarette glows in the night as he takes a drag.

  His apology is way too little too late. I already hate him. He farted in church, and he can't take it back or pretend like it wasn't him. There's only two of us here right now. "I need to call an Uber." I reach into my little purse to pull out my phone. I turn my gaze away from him because his eyes are soft now, and it's disconcerting.

  "I had some shit go down tonight too," he says to my back as if this information will untangle this clusterfuck.

  Clearly he has his own garbage going on in his head, but I don't care anymore. Five minutes ago I would have loved to talk to him about his shit going down. Now he's screwed me over? I have no more fucks to give. Literally.

  When I turn back to him, he's squinting at my phone in my hand. "I'll give you a ride," he says like he's doing me a favor and it's a given I would accept it.

  "Uh. No." I'm trying to figure out what number to call but he has me flustered, and I'm staring at all the icons confused.

  "Get on." He points back to his Harley.

  My hand drops and I lean into him. "You just called me stupid for trusting you. Now you're telling me to get on your bike? No fucking way."

  The muscles in his neck strain, and the growl returns to his voice. "Get on the damn bike." Oh, mean biker dude is getting pissy again? Good. I hope he's furious and frustrated just like me.

  I plant my hands on my hips and stare at him. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you psycho." I turn my back on him and try to focus on my phone as I'm walking back into the club.

  Within a few seconds, I'm up in the air. One huge arm around my waist lifts me and hauls me over to the bike. My back arches to break free but he has me totally controlled like a falcon subduing a mouse with one claw so he can use the other claw to tear it to pieces. Before I realize what's happening, he has my butt on the back seat of his bike, the right way this time. He's careful to make sure I don't get hurt, and he positions me so I won't fall.

  As I'm catching my balance, he drops his smoke and steps on it with his boot. More proof he's a jerk for littering.

  Before I can hop off, a heavy helmet plops on my head and echoes around my ears.

  "Where to?" he asks with his arms crossed.

  "Not saying." I cross my arms too and stare straight ahead. I'm not goin
g to try to climb off because he'll just plunk me down again.

  "I'll take you home safely. Least I can do after what I did." He's giving me beautiful puppy-dog eyes and that raw honesty in his voice again that I find so appealing.

  This guy has me bewildered. Is he a serial killer or a good samaritan? My instinct is telling me he's good. It's all twisted up, but he's looking out for me. I still hate him, but I'm pretty sure I'm safe with him. I just made a vow with myself never to trust a man again, yet I wouldn't mind a ride home on his bike. I've only ridden on a motorcycle once before, and it was a dirtbike out in the desert with friends. I liked it though. It was thrilling and fun.

  "I live in Palms." I decide to let him give me a ride home. After that, he's part of my past. This night was a huge mistake, but I learned my lesson.

  His muscles tense and he blinks while he stares at me. "The Palms? South of the ten?"

  "Yeah. You got a problem with that?"

  Tension oozes off of him again. Palms isn't a bad place. Just because a city is south of the freeway doesn't mean there's something wrong with living there. I love my neighbors. "It's not The Palms anymore. Just Palms."

  He looks at me for a second before hopping on in front of me and prepping the bike then bringing it level. The engine roars and rumbles louder than I expected.

  "Hold on. Feet on the pegs." He pulls my hands around his waist and leans forward. My feet find some tiny pegs sticking out of the wheel. My face is plastered to the back of his leather jacket. I can't help it but take in a whiff. He smells like acrid smoke mixed with old leather.

  The sudden motion as we take off pushes an unintentional yelp from my throat. My hands rest precariously close to his dick, so I quickly move them up, which puts them smack on his abs, which are also hard, so I move them back down again to his midriff. Is any part of this man safe to touch?

  His belly shakes a little like he's laughing at me.

  It's not funny to me at all.

  Jerk.

  ***

  After we pull up in front of my apartment, I climb off and hand him his helmet. "Thanks," I say without enthusiasm. I'm still angry at him even though he gave me a ride home.

  "What's your name?" he asks me.

  "Cass."

  "He called you Cassiopeoia."

  Oh yeah, Dayton called me by my full name at the bar. "I hate that. My mom did that to me."

  "It's not bad." He shrugs.

  "You…" Nevermind. I'm not telling him anything about me. "Goodbye." I turn and walk toward my door. Tonight was a total bust.

  "Wait. Cass?"

  "What?"

  "You want to go get some food?" His voice is shockingly unguarded. He wants to spend more time with me after tonight's fiasco?

  "No thanks."

  "Why not?"

  "I'm really not interested in a guy named Cutter who pulls knives on girls while he's fucking them."

  He flinches like I hurt him. "I apologized for that."

  "No. It's good." I hold up my palm flat toward him, warding him off. "I learned my lesson. No more men for me at all. I made a vow. Staying safe. Focus on my career."

  He squints and tilts his head. "What do you do?" People always start to care when it's too late. The damage is done.

  "I'm a special effects makeup artist." I don't know why I answered him. I guess I want him to know I have a career. I'm a person, not just some girl in a bar.

  "That's cool."

  He nods and I feel somewhat vindicated, but I'm done talking to him. New me. No more mistakes and this guy has mistake stamped all over him. "Bye, Cutter."

  "Cass?"

  "What?" Now I'm annoyed.

  "Watch over yourself."

  What the hell does that mean?

  "Sure."

  Whatever. I turn and walk into my apartment. All I want is an hour in my jacuzzi tub. I need to stay far away from Cutter, from Dayton, and from all humans with peens.

  Chapter 3 The Redhead

  Knox (Cutter)

  My family's having a barbeque tonight, but I won't be attending. I have an invitation to an elite Hollywood party. Only the richest of the rich will be there. I scored the invite by pretending to be Neil Ainsman, son of the late great Kelsey Ainsman, founder of Market Studios, the biggest movie production company in America. I told him I was looking for models for my new start-up cologne and perfume line.

  Arthur was thrilled to have the son of such a powerful man at one of his parties. My skin crawled at the sound of his voice.

  The real Neil Ainsman is hiding out on an island in the Caribbean and hopefully won't hear of my charade before I find out what I need to know. There's a slim chance Arthur will figure it out as Neil's been on the island for years and I doubt he'll recognize me since he hasn't seen me in ten years.

  With his picture up on the mirror, I comb my short hair forward over my hairline with shiny gel like he does. Insert brown contacts. Button up a shirt and slipknot a thin tie. Slacks, belt, and loafers, and I'm a reasonable impersonation of Neil Ainsman.

  I leave my cabin and try to sneak out to the garage, but my sister, Sutton, stops me. "Cutter! Wait up!" She runs out from the fire pit in the backyard and catches up to me. She smirks as she takes in my disguise. "Look at you. What's with the geeky clothes and short hair? Your eyes look funny."

  "No they don't." I try to brush her off before I attract any more attention, but she grips my elbow.

  "You haven't had your hair this short in forever. Look at that, you have skin like a baby's bottom under all that beard." She runs her finger over my freshly shaved jawline. Her brows pull together and her smirk freezes. "What are you up to?"

  "Nothin'." Sometimes having an ultra-observant sister who looks up to you and watches every move you make sucks.

  "You're going after Arthur. Aren't you?" Having an ultra-intelligent sister sucks more.

  "No." My curt answer says stop asking questions, little sis.

  "You're dressed for the city. You're totally wearing contacts. It's so obvious, Cutter. You have an agenda. Spill."

  She's not going to let me go, and she'll hold me here till I'm late for the party. "All right. I'm going down to check out one of Arthur's parties. I'm in disguise."

  "Who are you pretending to be?"

  "Neil Ainsman." I answer under my breath.

  "Who the hell is that?" she asks loudly. The girl has no chill.

  "Don't worry about it. I need to go."

  Too late. We've caught the attention of my adopted parents, Mila and Foster. They aren't that much older than me and adopted me when I was sixteen, but we've all grown into our roles. We're solid as a rock. Unfortunately, because we're so close, they're going to notice my change in appearance too and figure out something's up. "Where you going?" My dad asks me with a casual tone, but a hint of warning in there.

  "Going to the city."

  "Santa Cruz?" My mom asks me. Santa Cruz is about forty minutes south of here.

  "LA," I reply. I have a four hour drive ahead of me to get to Los Angeles, and I need to get going. Now my overly involved family is going to make me late.

  "He's going after Arthur." My sister rats me out the first chance she gets.

  My dad shares a there-he-goes-again look with mom. It's not the first time I've gone down to LA to check on Arthur, but it's the first time I'm doing it with a disguise.

  "Cutter…" My mom sounds instantly concerned.

  "I'm fine, Mom." I'm twenty-seven, but I've been calling Mila "Mom" since I was seventeen. It's automatic now. Wasn't always, but now she's my mom. She still worries over me like I'm a kid. It's how she shows she cares, but it's misplaced here and it's slowing me down. "I really have to get going."

  My dad moves in front of me and blocks my exit. "I told you for years to let this vendetta go." He glances back over at the rest of the party at the fire pit. A few eyes are on us but no one can hear us.

  "He's in jail or dead, that's when I'll let it go."

  Sutton looks wo
rried as Mace and Remy, my adopted brothers and best friends, walk up next to her and stare at my clothes and hair. "What's up?" Remy asks.

  Awesome. Let's have a family meeting about my secret identity. Note to self; go around the back next time and don't get spotted. "Look. I appreciate the interest, but you guys are gonna have to let me handle this on my own."

  "But you're not on your own anymore," my dad reminds me.

  "I want in," Mace adds. He doesn't even know what's going on but he's always in for it and up for it.

  "I'm going alone. It's not dangerous. Just a party. Gathering some information. I'm not gonna hurt him or anything."

  "If you hurt him, I wanna be there to see it," Mace says.

  "I think you should focus on the family you have now," Sutton says.

  "Let this go, please," my mom pleads with me and it tugs at my heart. If anyone could convince me not to go it would be her, but that's not happening tonight. This is too important.

  "I can't let it go. He's a sick and twisted predator, and the women around him are disappearing. I need to step in, and I need to do it alone."

  I'm feeling stuck in a tiny metal cage right now. This tie, these shoes, the contact lenses, so many eyes on me. Everything is too tight and suffocating. I just want to get out of here.

  "I'm leaving. Don't follow me." I raise a finger to Remy. He would follow me in his helicopter if he thought I needed him. He nods.

  "Remember, Cutter," my mom says. "Stay calm. Play it cool. Fake it till you make it."

  She learned all about playing a role to keep the peace when she was a made man's daughter back in Manhattan. She's free of that now, but she can still hide behind her old persona if she needs it. "Got it, Mom."

  Sutton reaches up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. "I love you, Cutter. Be careful."

  Now that's the motivation I need to get through tonight. I lean down and kiss her temple. "Love you too, Sutton."

  My dad doesn't say anything and looks at his boots. He's disappointed in me. He'll get over it. He's also proud as hell of me for taking this on. He just can't say it in front of my mom and sister.

  I turn and walk away from my family, my safe haven, my everything, and head back to my past where all my haunted memories live.