Sadies Game (Ashby Crime Family Romance Book 7) Read online

  He swallowed nervously, unsure what to make of this new version of me. “No, uh, I wanted to talk to you, and you were just…naked. And hot.” He licked his lips. “And naked.”

  I took a step back and folded my arms over my chest, drawing his gaze to my cleavage. “What did you want to talk about? Luring me out so your friends can watch again?”

  He blinked, shocked I had the nerve to bring it up. “I’m sorry, Sadie. I didn’t mean for them to be there, it just kind of happened, and I couldn’t send them away.”

  Sorry? He was sorry? No, he wasn’t sorry yet. But he would be soon enough. “Boys will be boys, right?” I sighed.

  His gaze darkened and he nodded slowly. “Something like that.”

  I smiled. “Apology accepted, Owen.”

  “Really?”

  I nodded and flashed a shy smile, playing my role of prey to a tee. “Like you said, I liked it.” The words felt bitter on my tongue but I learned a lot over the summer and I planned to use it to my advantage. When the moment was right. “Want to come in?”

  His eyes widened again in shock. “Seriously?”

  I nodded slowly and took another step back. “Sure. But this time I want to enjoy it for real.” I sat on my twin bed and leaned back, showing off my new body. “But you have to be really quiet.”

  Owen couldn’t take his eyes off of me, and I felt no pleasure at his hungry gaze. On the contrary, I felt nothing but contempt for him from the moment he shucked off his jeans and boxers and climbed on top of me and stuck his stupid dick inside of me. I thought of killing him ten different ways while he grunted and pumped into me, but I had to plan it now that I knew how to exact my revenge. “Oh fuck, Sadie.”

  His hips pumped faster, and I knew he was close. I wrapped my legs around his waist and threw my head back, moaning low and deep as if I enjoyed myself as much as he did.

  “Owen,” I whispered and shook, faking every moment to reel him in.

  He pulled back with a smile and kissed me, slow and intense, like this fuck meant something.

  “Wow, Sadie, that was incredible. You got hot over the summer.”

  Asshole. “Thanks.”

  Owen left out the same window he entered, and as soon as he was out of sight, I took another shower to wash away his scent.

  And then I began to plan his demise.

  I had a little more freedom since I worked hard all summer and would start the year as a senior instead of a junior, so I took my time with the planning stage. Every night for the next week, Owen showed up at my window, and I reeled him in with all sorts of tricks I’d learned reading the Kama Sutra and other books not meant for good little Catholic girls. I sucked him off, let him fuck me from behind, and I even let him come all over my perky tits.

  By the end of the week, he was hooked.

  It was time.

  “Are you free tomorrow?”

  Owen paused in buttoning his jeans and looked up at me, a surprised smile on his face. “Can’t get enough of me?”

  “Something like that,” I purred and stretched, arching my back to my tits pushed up. “I want to try something new, and I’d like to be as vocal as I want to be.”

  “I’m listening.” He perked up at the idea of hearing me beg again.

  “You know that little creek that splits the town from the golf course?” I’d taken that path as a shortcut through town for years. It was where I cried after the rape, where I cried after I lost Emily’s friendship and every day for months last year.

  “I know it.”

  “Meet me there at nine. Tomorrow.”

  He let out a half-laugh and put his hands on his hips. “Going for a little romance?”

  “Not at all,” I assured him. “This place is quiet and private. Perfect for what I have in mind.”

  Owen gripped his cock through his jeans and groaned. “Can’t wait. Tomorrow at nine,” he confirmed and left through the window for the last time.

  The next night, I dressed carefully in a black tank top and black skirt with a matching black sweater to get past my mom’s worries about my nonexistent virtue. But under the skirt, I wore black lace top stockings. Perfect for the tease.

  Perfect for my prey.

  “I’m off to do some tutoring, Mom.”

  She frowned and clutched her rosary tighter. “But the school year doesn’t start for a few more days.”

  “Right, but these kids fell behind last year because they got into some kind of trouble, so I thought getting a head start on the year might help them succeed and turn their lives around.”

  A smile spread and she nodded. “All right, honey. Be careful.”

  “I always am.” As soon as I closed the door behind me, I grabbed the backpack and blanket I dropped outside my bedroom window and headed toward the creek. I took my time, savoring every moment of the walk, knowing what was about to happen.

  “Hey, babe.”

  After about an hour, Owen showed up, I was no longer nervous about my plan. I was calm. Excited, even. “Hey yourself, handsome.”

  His lips pulled into a confident smile as he dropped to his knees beside me, his eyes hungry, almost greedy. “Here we are.”

  Those words sent a shiver through me, reminding me of exactly why I was here tonight. “Here we are.” I let my knees fall open to give Owen a glimpse of my pussy, perfectly bare.

  “Oh fuck, Sadie. I love a bare pussy.” He was like a man possessed as he shoved at my chest and lifted my skirt, staring at my pussy like the Hope diamond was stuck to it. Then, he looked up with a dark and greedy look on his face.

  “Be as loud as you want. I don’t mind.” Then his mouth was on my pussy, and the sensation was even better than that first kiss.

  It was hotter, the feel of his lips and tongue on my pussy, the eager way he lapped at my juices. I didn’t know how to feel as real pleasure coursed through my veins against my will, but Owen ate pussy like he was born to do it. He fucked me with his tongue and sucked my clit so hard it sent fireworks shooting off behind my eyes.

  “Yes!” The word fell from my lips accidentally, but I meant them because this pleasure wasn’t like the reluctant orgasm from last year. This was real. It was true.

  It was genuine.

  “Owen, more. Please.” That word granted me exactly what I wished for, more of his hot mouth and thick tongue French kissing my pussy like I was his first fucking crush. I didn’t want to feel this kind of pleasure, not with him, but I did. The feeling took over my body until every inch of me vibrated with pleasure. I wrapped my legs around his neck and watched Owen, eyes closed, eat me up like Thanksgiving dinner. It was hotter than I could have ever imagined, watching his mouth devour my pussy. “Oh, yes!” I fell back, breathless and smiling as the orgasm shot out of every pore.

  Owen sat up on his knees with a smug smile. “I don’t know what got me harder, your cries of pleasure or the way you begged me for more.”

  It was the begging, definitely the begging. “Why choose?” I spread my legs a little wider and arched a brow.

  “Fuck me, I can’t wait.” He unfastened his pants and stroked his cock, eyes never leaving mine. “I need to fuck you now, Sadie.”

  I’ll just bet he did. “I have a better idea.” My heart beat steadily as I pushed him onto his back and took Owen’s cock in my hand, stroking him, slow at first and then faster and faster.

  “Yeah,” he grunted and let his head fall back. This moment would have been perfect but it wasn’t how I planned it and I needed to stick to the plan.

  “Oh fuck, Sadie,” he growled, and his hips bucked forward when I wrapped my lips around his cock and sucked.

  I took his cock slow and deep while he growled his pleasure, the sound echoing off the creek. I tickled and squeezed his balls as he began to pump into my mouth, faster and faster, nearly choking me. His thigh muscles tightened, and Owen grabbed my hair and yanked me back. “What?”

  “Your pussy. Now.”

  I lifted one leg and straddled his hips, s
lowly impaling myself on his cock. “This pussy?”

  He nodded; jaws clenched as he tried to ward off his impending orgasms. “Tight. Wet. Pussy.”

  My pussy was still sensitive from the earlier orgasm, and the feel of his cock against my walls made me shiver with pleasure. I didn’t like the way I felt, fucking my enemy and enjoying it. Was this the thing that worried Mom every time I walked out the door? The power of ecstasy, which could make me do things I shouldn’t, enjoy things I shouldn’t. “Owen,” I growled and moved faster up and down his cock.

  He gripped my hips tight and pumped up into me as I slammed down on his cock, sending him deeper and deeper. “Fuck yeah, babe. Just like that.”

  I fucked him like it was my job, enjoying it but paying close attention for the perfect moment. It came soon enough. Owen’s skin flushed pink and sweat beads popped out on his forehead. He was close.

  I was ready.

  I leaned back, and the change in position sent his cock deeper, shocking a satisfied gasp out of me, momentarily distracted me from the next step. As I got used to the pleasure, I got back on track and reached under the blanket.

  “Babe, I’m about to come,” he growled, lips twisted in erotic agony.

  “Enjoy it, because it’ll be your last.” I waited until my words sank in and those dreamy green eyes looked up at me, and I plunged that knife deep into his chest.

  Again and again and again.

  With every plunge, his body jerked, and his cock thickened inside of me. Somewhere around the eleventh or maybe it was the thirteenth strike, Owen’s body convulsed with orgasm, and I stole it from him, stabbing him over and over, not stopping until I counted about forty-seven strikes into his stomach and chest and throat.

  His last breath triggered an aftershock that scared the hell out of me, and I rolled off of him, looked down at the blood that coated both of our bodies and the blanket. It was stickier than I’d imagined, but I wasn’t afraid. I wasn’t worried.

  I wasn’t deterred.

  I chose this spot because the water was deep, and though it took some time, I managed to roll him into the blanket and right into the creek. I put my clothes into a plastic bag, jumped into the stream to rinse away Owen’s blood, and changed into another all-black outfit before I made my way home.

  Thankfully, Mom was asleep and Dad was passed out in his recliner when I got home. I slipped into my bedroom unnoticed and hid the bag in the back of my closet. After a quick shower, I changed into pajamas and got into bed, where I allowed myself one final thought of Owen Doyle as I used my fingers to bring myself to another orgasm.

  That night was how I left Sadie Rose, good girl, behind. That night I became Sadie. Just Sadie.

  And I owed it all to Owen Doyle.

  My first kill.

  My first hate fuck.

  My first time escaping justice.

  He was my first for many things, and no matter how hard I tried over the years, I could never ever forget him.

  Chapter One

  Sadie ~ Present

  “You can wear this for your wedding, Kat. It’s timeless, and with a few alterations, it’ll fit you perfectly.” I held up the dress I wore when I married Colm. It was the same dress my grandmother wore when she married my grandfather back in Ireland. She cherished it so much, she made room for it in her trunk when they came to America. She loved Colm to pieces, was certain he was a good Irish man and would make an excellent husband for me and father to my children. Because of her certainty, she gifted me her wedding dress as a blessing.

  Kat gave the dress her usual critical eye, and the look on her face told me what she thought of the handmade silk dress with lace on the arms and around the hem. Old. Not Old Country, but just old.

  “I don’t know, Ma. The cut is kind of old-fashioned.”

  “It’s handmade silk and lace. Real silk and lace.” When I was preparing to marry Colm, I thought the dress was the epitome of wedding elegance.

  “The fabric is beautiful, without a doubt,” she said.

  I waited for the but.”

  And then it came. “But I want to look beautiful, Ma, not like I’m wearing my great-grandma’s dress.”

  She fingered the silk fabric, her mind racing with thoughts on how to change it, I was sure. “Besides all that, I’m five inches taller than you, and I don’t really want to wear a mini-skirt on my wedding day.”

  I’d had my heart set on her getting married in that dress, but she had a point. “It’s something to consider,” I said, my heart not in it.

  She held the dress up to her body with a wistful sigh as she examined her reflection. “It’s too bad Grandpa Ashby isn’t around to see me get married. I miss him so much.” She let out a low, nostalgic laugh. “He was so strong, so formidable, but when it came to us, he always had a few dollar bills and a handful of candy.”

  Kat wasn’t wrong in her memories of Cillian. He’d been the father I was denied by birth, teaching me the things I needed to know to make it in the real world. “I miss him too.”

  My feelings for Cillian were complicated. He was a good man, a strong man, but he was also the man who raised Colm, and I couldn’t think about one without remembering the other.

  In November of 1982, just months after my sixteenth birthday, I was out with Uncle Seamus, my new best friend. We were sampling a new brand of rot-gut whiskey because drinking with my uncle was my favorite pastime in the aftermath of Owen Doyle.

  But that night I wasn’t drinking to forget. I drank because it was Friday night, and I was with the one person who loved me without condition. Without judgment.

  “If you have to drink this swill, I recommend a splash of cola. Not too much, or it’ll end up sweet, but just enough to mask that bitter, cheap taste.”

  I soaked up every tidbit of knowledge Seamus shared with me, nodding like I was as wise to the ways of the world as he was. “Why not just order the good stuff?”

  Seamus threw his head back and laughed. “Because some days, I just wanna get shit-faced, lass, and when those days cross paths with the days my pockets are empty, well, I have two choices. Deal with reality or get shit-faced on cheap whiskey. I choose the latter.” He chuckled to himself.

  “Makes sense.” I smiled and held up the glass with the dark amber liquid. “To delaying reality, at least for a little while.”

  Seamus raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.” He finished his drink and spotted a friend on the other side of the bar, leaving me on my own while he went over to say hello. Saying hello for Seamus could take ten seconds or three hours, so I turned on my barstool to people-watch. The Oak Barrel was the definition of a dive bar, with dark wood everywhere, fake leather in green and black, with black & white photos on the wall of men and women who looked to be old Irish gangsters.

  Most of the people at the bar, according to Seamus, worked for one of the Irish gangs in town. Some sat at the bar alone, drinking away their sorrows or their sins, while others laughed it up at the tables, enjoying wings and fried mushrooms to soak up some of the booze. The younger gangsters drew my attention most because they were loud and boisterous, and they were never idle.

  That night there was a broad-shouldered man wearing a leather jacket to perfection. He had thick black hair slicked back to highlight his pale skin and deep blue eyes. Despite the toothy white smile, this man was a bad boy through and through. It oozed from his pores, from the cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth to the expert way he held the pool stick as he hustled a group of young wannabe thugs and the distracted smile he wore while he did it.

  I watched him for more than an hour, transfixed by his beauty but in awe of the way he wore his confidence. Better than he wore that leather jacket. Deep down, I knew he was trouble, but I couldn’t look away. I wasn’t afraid of the kind of trouble he represented. I was probably looking for that exact brand of trouble.

  I didn’t think he’d noticed me because I wasn’t dressed like the few women inside the bar. They all wore tight
jeans or denim skirts, half-shirts and big hair. I wasn’t allowed to have big hair. My mother told me big hair was for whores. Well, I didn’t want to be a whore at all. So when those blue eyes settled on me, and he winked, my cheeks flushed. Warmth covered me, and I sucked in a deep breath, shy but still unable to look away.

  After he sent the young thugs on their way, he pocketed a little lighter, then sauntered over to where I sat at the bar and laid a twenty-dollar bill down on the scuffed wood.

  “A drink for me and the lady. Jameson. Double.”

  The fact that this handsome man wanted to buy me a drink left me thrilled, but I didn’t want him to get in trouble, so I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “I’m only sixteen.”

  He winked again, those deep blue eyes just a few inches from mine sparkled with mischief. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  I glanced over at Uncle Seamus. He had started a card game with his friends, so, knowing he would be busy for the next few hours, I turned back to the gorgeous man with deep blue eyes. “In that case, I’d love a drink.”

  He flashed a wide, satisfied smile that held just a hint of relief as he sat back and held his hand out. “Colm Ashby, at your service.”

  Colm. It was such a fantastically Irish name that I couldn’t help but smile as I put my hand in his and gave it what I hoped was a confident squeeze. “Sadie. Sadie Rose Ashby.”

  He frowned. “That can’t be your real name.”

  I giggled and took a big gulp of the whiskey that was much better than the cheap stuff Uncle Seamus ordered. “It is. What’s wrong with my name?”

  “Nothing at all,” he said with a smirk. “Just that you’re much prettier than a rose.”

  “I’m not,” I insisted with a shake of my head. Even though I’d started to make my world right by taking care of Owen, I didn’t have the confidence to match it. Not yet.