Contents

  About Wicked as Secrets

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Wicked and Bare

  Wicked Lovers: Soldiers for Hire

  Other Books by Shayla Black

  About Shayla Black

  WICKED AS SECRETS

  Wicked Lovers: Soldiers for Hire

  Written by Shayla Black

  This book is an original publication by Shayla Black.

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  Copyright 2023 Shelley Bradley LLC

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  Cover Design by: Rachel Connolly

  Edited by: G. G. Royale

  Proofread by: Fedora Chen

  ISBN: 978-1-958075-01-2

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by an electronic or mechanical means—except for brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews—without express written permission.

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away, as it is illegal and an infringement on the copyright of this work.

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  All rights reserved.

  ABOUT WICKED AS SECRETS

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  He’ll do anything to protect her from danger…but it will cost her everything.

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  Security specialist Matt Montgomery has never forgotten—or forgiven—Madison Archer for walking away and ripping out his heart. Three years later, she crashes back into his life, terrified that her wealthy husband is trying to kill her. Matt vows to protect Madison…but there’s a price. He’ll have revenge by making her submit to his every sexual demand.

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  Part of a powerful, ruthless political dynasty, Madison's soon-to-be ex has deep, dark secrets. When uncovering them nearly proves fatal, she turns to the one man she knows can protect her—the lover she’s never been able to forget. Matt’s ultimatum is both shocking and intoxicating. But if she wants to keep herself and her ailing father alive, he’s her only option.

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  As the danger escalates, so do Madison and Matt’s feelings. But navigating their rocky past while trying to stay one step ahead of her deadly husband proves perilous. Will their forbidden love survive the danger and give them a second chance at happiness?

  Chapter One

  Washington, DC

  July 1

  The second Madison Archer-Pershing climbed out of her Mercedes coupe, the night air smothered her, thick and oppressive. She refused to let it choke her as she slammed her car door behind the expensive, exclusive building she wasn’t supposed to know about.

  This day had been more than two long years in coming. No more waiting. Starting now, she was taking her life back. She intended to confront her husband, Todd, in the secret apartment he kept to engage in activities that violated their vows and to tell him she wanted a divorce.

  He wouldn’t care about losing her, only about how it looked. And to save appearances, he’d be ruthless. The whole family would be.

  Madison was prepared.

  As she marched for the covert door under the old-money lobby, the one erected so drug dealers, underworld business associates, mistresses, and hookers could enter without being detected, her heels clicked on the concrete. No surprise a lot of DC insiders lived here. The secrecy was undoubtedly what had persuaded her husband to conceal a place on the top floor.

  Finding it had taken her over a year. Naturally, she hadn’t thought to look for his clandestine den of sin during their whirlwind romance or even the early days of their marriage.

  Her Uncle Martin had introduced her to Todd, the only grandson of the esteemed Senator Winston Pershing, at one of those hoity, do-nothing benefits. She’d felt so out of place, but he’d set her at ease with his charm and attention. He’d asked her to go sailing the next day. A week later, he’d insisted that she was a breath of fresh air, and he was falling hard.

  After Matt Montgomery’s romantic hit-and-run weeks earlier, she’d felt abandoned. Heartbroken. Oh, he’d had good excuses and he had eventually called—to hook up again. Same song, different verse in her love life, but this tune had been particularly wrenching because in a mere weekend, Matt had rewired her body and stolen her heart. The pain of his rejection had made her vulnerable to Todd’s smooth talk and BS. She’d believed every word because she’d wanted to.

  At the time, she’d been twenty-four and too naive, not to mention a little starry-eyed at all the wealth, glamor, and beauty of Todd’s privileged political world. He rubbed elbows with ambassadors. He played golf with the VP every now and then. He had the Speaker of the House on speed dial. He was even on a first-name basis with the president. And he had wanted her, an average girl from Cajun Country in Louisiana. He hadn’t seemed to care that she knew more about fishing than setting a proper table or that she’d never traveled the world. God, he’d made her feel so special.

  Looking back, she suspected Todd had known about her bad luck with romance. And her bad taste in men…

  Weeks later, he had proposed, giant rock in hand, swearing he couldn’t live another day without her. Coupled with Uncle Martin’s persuasion, she’d seen no reason not to say yes.

  Mere days after they exchanged vows, reality began to set in.

  At first, she’d tried to make their union work, fixing Todd’s favorite dinners and wearing her sexiest lingerie. She had helped, supported, and cheered for him. She’d genuinely tried to understand him. Wasn’t that what married couples did? She’d listened to, empathized with, and soothed him. Whenever he’d been upset, she had given him encouragement and affection. She’d been there.

  None of that meant a damn thing to Todd, and after enough of his drunken nights out and “friendships” with questionable women, she’d given up, accepting that she was merely a prop—a sweet-as-pie, small-town bride who had “reformed” him after he’d been caught in a compromising situation with a not-quite-legal Georgetown coed—something she hadn’t known about until after the wedding.

  The potential scandal had been hushed down to an urban legend, explained away as “misinformation,” then intentionally overshadowed by their elaborate nuptials. Money had changed hands and favors had been granted, so the press had willingly parroted the family’s fixer’s spin that the incident had been fabricated by his grandfather’s political enemies. Of course, Todd had never touched the girl.

  Madison scoffed. If it wasn’t hush money or child support, why did her father-in-law write the former student a hefty check every month?

  She hated the lies, hypocrisy, and fabrications. She couldn’t stand another day of plastering on a smile as fake as the Pershing family image. So she’d begun planning her exit months ago. Tonight, she would tell the son of a bitch exactly where he could go.

  Under the venerable building, she passed a couple of suits with earpieces. Security. Would they prevent her from entering? Madison kept walking like she belonged. Neither man stopped her as she waltzed onto the basement-level elevator and ascended to the top floor. The doors opened into a foyer that was an impossible step up from the ultra-swanky lobby. Naturally. Only the best for Winston’s golden boy.

  This morning, she’d swiped Todd’s keys while he slept off a drunk that had him stumbling in at four a.m. and copied them all. She’d returned his ring an hour before his brief appearance at the family’s Sunday dinner a few hours earlier—a ritual the Pershings undertook for the press and the public, not any real desire for togetherness. As usual, it had been somewhere between stilted and silent, except for Todd’s mother filling it with meaningless chatter about coming social events and the important members of the press the family, Madison aside, must dazzle. Since she lived in Todd’s background, unless they needed her for an appearance or a photo op, reporters were told she was “unavailable” that day. Her entire existence was a hollow lie.

  She’d rather have the bleeding truth over a pretty delusion.

  She stomped to Todd’s door, half expecting goons standing guard to stop her. But she saw no one.

  Clearly, her darling husband hadn’t expected any intrusion on his vice this evening. All the better for her.

  Her hands shook as she slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. Since Todd often came home smelling like sweat and sex—if he came home at all—it wasn’t hard to guess what he did here. But it was early. Hopefully, he was still alone, not coked-out and having an orgy.

  She crept inside, then quietly shut the door and scanned the apartment. Of course, the place would be as upper crust as Todd’s upbringing. It had a staged quality, as if no one actually lived here, merely used the square footage for show.

  The contemporary sofas with their low-slung backs and minimalist pillows in creams and grays were European and had obviously been chosen by a big-budget decorator to perfectly accent the moody, monotone art above the sleek fireplace. The cost of the bleached zebrawood flooring could feed an average family for a year. It gleamed from wall to wall, giving the apartment an unbearably wealthy, h
ip vibe. A tall, onyx statue of a galloping horse provided an unexpected, masculine flair. It shined black in the moonlight beaming through the bare floor-to-ceiling windows with unfettered views of the city, seemingly swallowed up by the foggy night.

  On the far end of the room, an overtly masculine bar ran the length of the room’s lone exposed brick wall, bisected by shelves lined with overpriced crystal and even more expensive booze. A black cabinet with mirrored doors and underlit glass countertops sat beneath, littered with a couple of glasses and an open, half-empty bottle of scotch older than her.

  To her right sat a pristine kitchen—Miele appliances, white oak cabinets with marble counters waterfalling to the floor, a bold black backsplash, and a custom range hood. Pity. She doubted anyone had ever cooked here.

  Sudden, muffled male voices sent Madison’s head zipping around. Todd was here. Who with? Damn it, she hadn’t wanted to confront him in front of others, but he hadn’t left her much choice. Besides, she didn’t want to put off freeing herself for even another moment. And some curious part of her was dying to know what went on in this place.

  Glass shattering from another corner of the apartment startled her. Her heart picked up its pace when a guttural shout followed. The growl sounded full of rage, especially when a thud—like someone being slammed into a wall—followed.

  What the hell was going on?

  Madison bit back the impulse to call out and ask if anyone needed help. But the air in the unit felt…off. Over the last two and a half years, she had become well acquainted with the taste of malice. It sat acrid on her tongue. Bitter anger thickened the flavor.

  She swallowed down fear she didn’t understand, grabbed her phone in case she needed to call 911, and tiptoed toward the voices, avoiding an overturned vase, probably priceless, now shattered all over the floor. The furious huffs and hisses grew louder and more insistent. She listened, giving into her screaming instinct to start rolling video.

  “Don’t fuck with me,” Todd warned in a voice Madison almost didn’t recognize. She’d heard him pissed off, annoyed, and even incensed. This voice was harsh and full of unrelenting rage.

  Suddenly, her heart thrashed like a wild thing in her chest. Foreboding burned her skin.

  “Are you threatening me?” snarled another man whose voice she knew well, Brent Westbrook. “Think twice. And get that knife away from my fucking throat.”

  Madison couldn’t see them, but those words gave her a visual very quickly. She slapped her free hand over her mouth. Why would her husband intimidate his favorite cousin and carousing buddy? More often than not, whenever Todd did something questionable, Brent was by his side. What could they possibly be fighting about?

  “No, man. You’re not fucking up a good thing. I have to stop you.”

  How? By doing what? He wouldn’t really hurt Brent, right?

  Madison’s brain raced a hundred miles an hour. Should she confront Todd and break up this terrifying altercation? Or call the police? The family would be furious. And if this got violent, would the cops reach them in time to stop anything?

  “People are going to find out,” Brent pointed out. “It’s a matter of time…”

  “Because you’re a fucking bastard!” Todd roared an inhuman sound. “You’re not pinning this on me…”

  “It’s the swamp, man. If I have to drown a rat to get ahead, I’ll do it. Your granddaddy will save you, as always. Now let me the fuck go. We both know you’re not going to kill me.”

  “That’s what you think. I should never have fucking trusted you. I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Then a grunt mingled with more of Todd’s snarls. Some thumping ensued, as if the two men battled by slamming against walls, thudding their way across the hardwoods and onto a tiled area that echoed. The adjoining bathroom? The bang of a door striking the wall resounded, followed by more indistinct struggles. Then a shout full of terror split the air.

  Madison crept forward, fingers shaking as she eased open the bedroom door. The cautious part of her brain told her to stop, to run, to get away. But as if she was in a dream, her feet took her forward until she stood in the doorway.

  The gaudy room was dominated by a black platform bed flanked on all sides by glossy wood walls layered with mirrors. Since her husband had always liked to look at himself, she knew without asking that he had sex here. But that didn’t faze her the way her glance into the extravagantly masculine attached bathroom and the two men fighting to the death did.

  Todd panted, pressing a serrated kitchen knife to Brent’s throat. “Die, you motherfucker.”

  Her husband’s voice dripped disdain the way his body dripped sweat. He flexed his arm and slowly pressed the blade in. Brent’s choking as he fought back filled her with horror. Madison was still trying to think of a way to stop this when Todd, who had five inches and forty pounds of muscle on Brent, yanked the blade across his cousin’s throat in one long, vicious swipe, severing his neck nearly to his spine.

  Seconds later, Todd backed away. The body fell to the shower pan with a horrible thud of finality. After that, only Todd’s heavy breathing resounded above her pounding heart. The horrible scene filled her phone screen.

  Madison bit her trembling lip. Oh, my god. Her husband had just killed his own cousin. His friend. And she—along with her footage—was the only witness. She hadn’t had any illusions about the kind of man Todd was for a long while, but she had never imagined he had the cold blood to murder, especially Brent.

  She had to get out of here. Before he saw her. Before he had any idea she’d ever come.

  After two years of marriage, she knew how the Pershings functioned. This death, like Todd’s statutory rape of the coed, would be hushed up—no matter what it took. If that meant sacrificing her to keep her mouth shut, the senator and his team would have no compunction. And Todd certainly wouldn’t miss her. He had never wanted a ball and chain—his words—in the first place.

  Still, she felt frozen, as if she were trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t wake from. Her legs felt leaden, her thoughts jumbled, her system in shock.

  Until Todd spit on Brent’s body, then started to climb from the shower, his previously blue button-down and gray shorts splashed with seeping red blood.

  As soon as he turned, he would see her standing there. She had to flee.

  Pressing her lips together to hold in a scream, Madison crept back through the bedroom door. Her heart slammed against her chest. Fear burned her tongue as she maneuvered out of Todd’s line of vision. She tried to catch her breath.

  “Fuck,” Todd muttered as he seemingly rustled around for something. Then a few moments later, he spoke again, his voice horrifyingly calm. “Hey, Grandpa. I need some help…”

  Todd explaining the night’s events would give her a few precious moments to escape before the “cleaning crew” the family had on speed dial arrived to mop up the murder scene. She had five minutes—tops. How the Pershings would explain away Brent’s disappearance was anyone’s guess, but this wasn’t the first time the family had gotten their hands dirty. Nor would it be the last.

  Dragging in a breath, she stopped the recording and tried to steady her shaking limbs so she could get the hell out of here. If she didn’t… Madison shuddered at the possibilities. She doubted Todd would merely threaten pulling the funding for her father’s healthcare in his fragile condition to keep her mouth shut. More likely, he would end her, too, and the family would buy off the press to spin it as a tragic murder-suicide following a torrid affair. It wouldn’t matter that she’d always hated Brent.

  Stifling her panic, Madison tiptoed down the hall and emerged into the living room.

  “Three minutes?” Todd sounded unnervingly close, like a few steps and the turn of a corner, and they would be face-to-face.