HER TWISTED BEASTS

  BAILEY’S STORY

  PENELOPE WYLDE

  Copyright © 2023 Penelope Wylde.

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by Em Petrova

  Cover Design: Bookin’ It Designs www.bookinitdesigns.com/

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, email to authorpenelopewylde@gmail.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Visit my website at: www.penelopewylde.com

  CONTENTS

  In the know…

  Her Twisted Beasts

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Dark Reign - Session 2

  Chapter 1 - Their Dark Reign

  The Morning After Series

  Newsletter + Free Book

  Also by Penelope Wylde

  About the Author

  HER TWISTED BEASTS is part of the Sons of Bratva Savages universe. Here is where you can find all the books:

  Sons of Bratva Savages:

  Savage Justice - Ares & Nova

  Savage Thief - Dragon and Asena

  Savage Chaos - Riot and Lilith

  Savage Sin - Rage and Persephone

  Savage Hunter - Wolfe and Avery

  SAVAGE UNIVERSE:

  Room Eight - Sapphire Constantine

  Room Seven - Aster Constantine

  Room Six - Magnolia’s story

  MORE FROM THE SAVAGE UNIVERSE:

  Reaper, Room Two, Room Seventeen, Their Dark Reign,

  Her Twisted Beasts

  It all started with a contract calling for my death. And they are the hitmen.

  I thought running away from an unwanted life was the answer. It turns out, I can’t run fast enough to escape my destiny.

  Trouble comes in threes and these twisted beasts are dressed to kill with blood on their hands and hunger in their eyes.

  I should have listened to my gut when it screamed for me not to step into the back alley. I promised the villains I didn’t see them commit the ultimate sin.

  But they aren’t listening.

  Now I’m on the run again and this time my nightmares promise to be my every wicked dream come true.

  Liars. They are my darkest sins, my enemy and the ones who will kill me softly to collect on their contract. But the way their hands feel on my skin burns with proof I’m destined to be theirs.

  But they’ll have to catch me before they can fully possess me.

  *You met Bailey in Savage Chaos, Room Seven and Room Six, now read how she finds her happily ever after in Her Twisted Beasts, an enemies to lovers, Beauty and the Beast mafia romance!

  CHAPTER ONE

  DARIUS

  One law governs the way we rule over our empire.

  One. It keeps our focus where it belongs—on making money and protecting our assets. Keeping the streets of Seattle safe doesn’t happen when we have our dicks in our hands or our heads wrapped up in a woman.

  Until now it’s been easy to keep. My father died an unnatural death, leaving me no choice but to step in or watch his legacy burn to the ground. No one has had time for carnal pleasures. Not when one problem after another rolls in nearly daily. My father left behind debts that put me and my blood brothers—Augustine and Victor—in dangerous positions with men who shoot first and don’t bother with questions. We pay one off and another one comes out of the woodwork. It’s been a year since we buried the man and we are still paying for my father’s sins. But what keeps me up at night is that we are no closer to finding his killer than we were when I found him at the ass end of an alley with a bullet in his back.

  But the way my brothers stare at our enemy’s daughter tells me all three of us will forsake our oath to the family if it means having her.

  I look at Vi first. A sheet of paper holds more character than his expression, but thirty years as his best friend comes with a wealth of knowledge and I can read between the lines. His tell is his blank expression, believe it or not. No one sits there looking void of life on purpose. None of us leave our hearts on our sleeves, but Vi has made living behind a mask into an art. Beside him, Augustine runs his finger over the rim of his bourbon glass. That is his tell.

  We are all taken by the hellcat.

  Bailey D’Angelo.

  I know little about her beyond the obvious—adrenaline junkie, too young, too damn naïve, and trouble from the day she was born. But I’d like to know more. Does she want children? Do her kisses taste as sweet as I believe they will? I want to know what drives her to steal from her father’s enemy and does she scream when a man takes her from behind?

  I know the latter question will drive me mad until I find out she’s as untouched as I believe her to be. There are few men who will take a mafia princess to bed. They are too scared of daddy.

  Looking at her lights a fire to the last thread of my humanity. Because all I can think about is luring her between me and my brothers for a night—and a lifetime—of debauchery.

  Who am I kidding? The second she comes for us, we will be toast. I know it as a fact like I know before twenty-four hours are up I’ll make damn sure she’s moaning my name.

  I fill my lungs with warm air and take a minute to process the possessive streak tearing through me at the thought of another man besides us touching the sweet, not-so-innocent D’Angelo hellcat.

  Three and a half decades of my father conditioning me for a lifetime of solitude warps into nothing more than bad memories as I stare at Bailey’s leather-clad body caught by a security system she missed during her sweep for cameras.

  And in a snap of my fingers, my shared future with my blood brothers changes from bleak to hopeful of all things. When I strapped on my gun holsters and stepped into my office this morning, being hopeful wasn’t on my to-do list.

  Yet here I am getting worked up over an image on a screen and the idea of licking all that gorgeous beauty.

  I run the word through my thoughts again. It is heavy, unfamiliar and forces me to think of the world more than just black and white.

  Hope.

  What a loaded concept.

  I spill blood for a living. We ruin lives by night and grow our empire by day.

  Hope doesn’t have space in our lives.

  Until today.

  The idea of the coldness inside me finding warmth makes me want to drop to my knees and beg to be worthy of someone I shouldn’t want at my side, in the first place.

  No. It’s not that I don’t want love. I’m not soulless. It is the cost it brings with it that keeps my head down and mind focused. I’m not about to sentence an innocent woman no matter how much desire they stir inside me or any of us to a life of crime and death. And I know Augustine and Vi feel the same. We’ve talked about it enough times for me to know my friends’ desires.

  We have nothing else to offer a woman and I don’t see that changing soon. Not with the Mounts, D’Angelos and my family constantly battling for the same territory. And now a group from Chicago has moved in taking a cut of the gritty underbelly of Seattle for themselves. I see opportunities for business while others see a threat to their survival.

  Square-minded fuckers.

  It’s tiresome to think about on a good day. All the fighting keeps us in the filthy trenches when we should rule from a throne in the highest penthouse.

  I lean an elbow on the edge of the hearth and stare into the flickering flames.

  The more I see of D’Angelo’s daughter on the screen the more I have to wonder if we are all kidding ourselves thinking we control anything in our lives. None of us factored in fate and here we are, standing in the office of a man we should hate and listening to him beg us to help find his daughter.

  Or at least I think that is why we are here.

  What I can’t figure out is what sane woman walks into the lion’s den looking like fresh meat? She can’t be unaware of her father’s dealings. And why the hell did he allow her off this property unescorted in the first place?

  The selfish bastard in me shoves the obvious questions aside for a better one. Did she find the one piece of information that can lead us to my father’s killer in the safe? Someone holds the original contract and if D’Angelo is calling us that puts him low on our suspect list. Not clear from it, but at the bottom.

  I drag my palm over my chin and take another swallow of bourbon. That leaves the Mounts and a couple of other names to take his place. I don’t discard that weaker families could have killed my father, but it stands to reason one of the three stronger families had him
killed. Since I didn’t end my father’s life the list only has two names—D’Angelo and Mount.

  I paste a frown on my face and consider the space and the man. It’s void of life. Nothing that shows signs of a wild daughter on the premises. No shopping bags, lipstick cases or shoes left around. The guards are all on the outside when they should be in here guarding their king. Hell, we were not even patted down when the front door opened and a single enforcer led us to D’Angelo’s home office.

  It’s like he doesn’t care one way or another. The life is gone from his eyes the more he stares at that screen. He’s hurting, and it’s something he’s been living with for a while.

  Tonight is a night for questions.

  The aging mafia man sits on the edge of his desk with his shirt sleeves rolled up and a remote in his hand. A man in his position would normally be armed, but he’s got nothing in the way of protection. Worry digs into the creases across his forehead like an unwanted parasite. Gray spreads through dark hair and time in the sun tending to his stable of expensive race horses has left his face grooved and the lines at the corners of his eyes pronounced. But from the neck down he’s maintained his body. I’ll give him that. Old fighters like him have a hard time aging and D’Angelo Sr. is one tough son-of-a-bitch. That is why it’s hard seeing tears in his eyes as he stares at his daughter committing a crime that could get her killed.

  I push off the hearth and finish my bourbon before I come to stand behind Augustine. Per his usual MO, my right-hand man and best friend has kept his lips sealed as he takes in the information in front of him.

  I tap his shoulder, and he reads the silent signal. He flicks his hand toward the T.V. “We’ve seen enough. It’s clear your daughter is in trouble. But why call us?”

  Augustine crosses an ankle over his knee and gives off the vibe of being relaxed but D’Angelo would be a fool to believe he’s in the company of friends. Victor keeps his eyes on the screen but his mind is already clocking in what I hoped he’d catch.

  D’Angelo pauses the video, freezing the image of his daughter snagging piles of money and stashing contracts inside her leather onesie.

  The old man lifts a shoulder like the weight of the world presses on him. “The enemy of my enemy, right?”

  I flick my attention to Vi. A simple nod of his head confirms he sees the same thing I do. The proof we are after is with this man’s daughter. I guess that makes us all ears.

  It’s D’Angelo’s lucky day, and he doesn’t know it yet. We’ll do anything he wants to get those stacks of contracts. Having unfettered access to his mischievous daughter just makes the deal sweeter.

  D’Angelo crosses to the TV. He reaches out and strokes a finger over the black-and-white image of his daughter’s face. Not something a man does if their daughter is safely tucked away in their room.

  My smile is grim when the older man turns from the screen and looks at me. “We’re listening,” I offer and receive a stiff nod back but he doesn’t start in on his spiel right away.

  This is the weirdest shit I’ve experienced, but I’m curious what this is all about so I mean what I said.

  “I don’t make a habit of calling men who would rather put a bullet in me than listen to my proposal, but you’re here so I’m going to gamble with my life and ask a favor. If it means anything, I have something you want. I have territory and I’m willing to give it up if you agree to help me.”

  I spin my head toward Vi who sits up and rests his elbows on his knees. The muscle in his jaw ticks and he’s fiddling with the ring on his right ring finger. He’s agitated but just as curious as I am. Or he would already walk for the door.

  “You have five minutes and that is us being generous with our time. But answer one question and we might give you ten.”

  “What is that?” D’Angelo lowers himself into a chair behind his desk. He thinks it gives him a level of power, but where a man sits means nothing to me. He’s weak no matter which side of the desk he is on and we are about to exploit that weakness.

  I said I was a bastard.

  “Why the hell did you let your daughter break into the Mount’s safe?”

  D’Angelo huffs out a humorless belt of laughter, looking torn down the middle. He wipes his face and shakes his head but neither gesture meant to school his emotions work. He looks no less torn between too much rage and copious amounts of fear eating his insides.

  “If there’s one thing you must understand about my daughter, gentlemen, it is that no one lets her do anything. She does what she wants and never thinks about the consequences. Just like her stubborn and very dead mother. I told her sleeping with the head of the Mount empire would end badly.”

  I take the third leather-back chair positioned between Vi and Augustine.

  “How did she die?”

  I grunt at Augustine’s question. I have no desire to help this man unpack his past grievances with a wife that is no longer alive. The daughter however is very much on my radar. And why the daughter is rebellious, I would wager.

  Gray hair falls as he shakes his head. “I rather not talk about her. It’s my daughter I am worried about now. But if you must know, she took her own life rather than live in a loveless marriage.”

  I nod. I’m not here to pry into another man’s business and I really don’t care about the mother. “Where is your daughter and how did you get this video?”

  My gut says I will not like the answer.

  “Bailey.”

  “We know her name.” All three of us make it our goal to know the enemy better than they know themselves.

  “Of course you do. It’s been a year since I’ve seen my daughter as you can see from the date on the security feed.”

  “I noticed.” Vi stands and moves across the room, looking out the back sliding door that leads into a garden. He’s getting restless.

  He turns and says what I’m thinking. “The Mounts are blackmailing you. Do they have your daughter and why have they taken so long to contact you?”

  “This isn’t sitting right.”

  That is Augustine.

  “We’re not playing games, D’Angelo.” Augustine stands, looking ready to walk. I hold a hand up for him to be patient while D’Angelo collects his thoughts.

  D’Angelo crosses back to the TV and keeps his eyes on his daughter as he speaks. “Her friends, daughters of my enforcers, dared her to prove herself worthy of my seat when I die. A stupid idea when my crown already belongs to her for the mere fact she carries my blood. But the stupid girl went through with the dare. It didn’t go over well.”

  “How many men did you kill in retribution for the dare?”

  Cold, black eyes lock on mine. “You know how many men I had guarding us,” he deadpans. Thick fingers curl around the edge of a large wooden desk as he leans his weight forward. “How many do you see left?”

  I grunt. “I would have done the same.”

  D’Angelo turns back to the TV. “They are lucky I spared their daughter’s life.”

  “Go on.” Augustine joins D’Angelo, crossing his arms. A sign he’s intrigued. I stay in my chair listening to what is not being said.

  Like how this video happened a year ago. He hasn’t seen his daughter in that year. There was no news of a dead princess filtering through our world or through the news feeds of Seattle. We wouldn’t be here if she were dead.

  D’Angelo looks at his hands. Probably seeing the stains of blood on them and wishing he could kill the men who he thought betrayed him all over again. Old-timers like this man don’t think logically. They are tied down by tradition, loyalty and if anyone connected to you betrays them then you are just as guilty. And why his men are dead for their daughter’s crimes.

  “Where did you hide Bailey, D’Angelo?” I ask, my voice void of emotion.

  It’s the only logical move a man like him would make.