Forbidden wish, p.1
Forbidden Wish, page 1
part #3 of Forbidden Series Series
Copyright © 2023 Scarlett Finn
Published by Moriona Press 2023
All rights reserved.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
First published in 2023
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. It may not be used to train AI software or for the creation of AI works.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
FORBIDDEN
Forbidden Desire
Forbidden Want
Forbidden Wish
Forbidden Need
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Enjoy!
CONTENTS
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
TWENTY-NINE
THIRTY
THIRTY-ONE
THIRTY-TWO
THIRTY-THREE
THIRTY-FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
THIRTY-SIX
THIRTY-SEVEN
THIRTY-EIGHT
THIRTY-NINE
FORTY
FORTY-ONE
FORTY-TWO
FORTY-THREE
FORTY-FOUR
FORTY-FIVE
FORTY-SIX
ONE
“I STILL DON’T BELIEVE it. It’s like living in a nightmare.”
“You are living in a nightmare, Mila,” Imogen Stratford said. “No one should have to endure this.”
Four days ago, cops pulled the body of Mila’s roommate from a dumpster. The bereaved friend stood fixated on the coffeepot. Blank. Aimless. Completely on pause. Grief had a way of sucking the oxygen from a room. How did someone process such a devastating event?
Three days ago, she’d come to the apartment for the story no one else wanted to tell. No one cared. No one except her. As an investigative reporter with The Chronicler, it was her job to be intrigued by a puzzle, but this case was more than that. Since meeting Mila, a much more profound sense of duty thrummed within her. They were the same age. Had so much in common. The victims could be her friends. Her cousins. Could be her.
“When Steph was missing, I thought I’d do anything just to know, you know?” Spoon in hand, Mila stared into nothingness. “Now, knowing, hope’s gone. Just pulled right out from under me. I didn’t think it would feel like this. She’s dead. I know she’s dead, but… What her family must be going through.”
Stephanie Weet, the deceased, wasn’t close with her family. They were middle class. Respectable. Stephanie was a paralegal. Good job. Nice apartment. Nothing in her history suggested substance misuse or addiction. Law enforcement hadn’t released her cause of death, but she had it on good authority there was foul play. Not that she needed official confirmation. The victim hadn’t died in her sleep. A dumpster was not somewhere a person like Stephanie died naturally.
“It’s a terrible time for all of you,” she said, stroking Mila’s back in comfort. “You need time to grieve. Did she have a boyfriend?”
Mila snapped from her daze. “Cops said they talked to him. I don’t know, it’s just… He came around looking for her, you know, when she was missing? He avoided the cops though. I don’t know how they found him.”
Wouldn’t be the first time a perpetrator stuck close to a victim’s loved ones, despite knowing they were already dead.
“Maybe they knew him. What’s his name?”
“I only knew him as Bryan,” Mila said, picking up her phone to scroll through it. “They were going out a couple of months, but he never spent time here. Not much time. Overnight every once in a while. She could’ve done so much better. He wasn’t even that hot.” She handed over the phone. “What do you think?”
“Uh…” In the screen’s foreground, Stephanie smiled, wearing glasses… Her new glasses, that she’d picked up from the optometrist less than a week before she disappeared. In the background, a frowning guy in profile held a phone to his ear. “Nothing special.”
“Right?” Mila said, looking at the screen, tears gathering in her eyes again. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.”
“Oh, honey.” Compelled to pull her into a hug, someone had to do the job of comforting Mila, now Stephanie wasn’t around to do it. “They’ll find the bastard who did this.”
If they didn’t, she would. Somehow.
“People keep saying that, but…” Pulling away, Mila wiped her eyes with a sleeve. “Do they ever? I mean, can they ever be sure they will? If it was some crazy, spur of the moment, wrong place, wrong time thing, at least we’d know it was a crime of passion or some psycho lost control of himself, but… The injuries she had…” Shaking her head, the grief became disbelief. “They tortured her. Whatever happened to her wasn’t quick.”
Details had not been fully released to the press or the public. Those closest to the victim were provided more information. She understood why it was that way, that someone might want to know what their friend or family member endured. But did it make it easier? She wasn’t sure.
“I’m sorry for her pain and for yours.”
“Why would someone do that? What kind of sick animal would…? And Stephanie? Why Stephanie? She’s the kindest, sweetest… was the kindest…”
Another daze.
The least she could do was pour the coffee. She eased Mila aside to do just that. The woman may not drink it, coffee wouldn’t ease her grief, but it was something. Something to fill the void of futility. Still, somehow, it didn’t feel right to do something so mundane given their topic of conversation.
“Stephanie didn’t deserve it.” She pushed a coffee to Mila. “I know some cops. I can try to find out more.”
The family was best placed to get further details about Stephanie. Often loved ones had to pester the precinct and assigned detectives for broad strokes, but they usually got them in the end. Most of the time. Specifics were harder to come by. Good thing she had a lot of practice finagling things from cops. Anything she learned could take them closer to nailing the perp.
One thing she hadn’t shared with Mila was her own hunch.
This wasn’t a random killing. It wasn’t an isolated murder. Other women had died in the past few months under similar circumstances. The cops hadn’t put it together, wouldn’t put it together despite her bringing it up more than once. It wouldn’t be fair to scare or upset Mila with her theories. Not until she had evidence.
“Has he been back? This Bryan guy? Have you seen him since they found Stephanie?”
Since they found her body.
Mila picked up the coffee and wrapped her hands around the heat of the mug, propping a hip on the counter. “No. I haven’t seen him at all.”
If he was a real boyfriend, a genuinely concerned boyfriend, she’d expect him to pay his respects. To send flowers. To be near others who knew her like he did. Then again, two months wasn’t exactly a lifetime. Could be he didn’t feel it was his right.
“Do you have a number for him? Maybe he could help piece together what happened. When did he last see her?”
“She left here to go meet him. That’s what she said. He said she never showed up. Cops said he’s got an alibi.”
Had they checked it out? If she could talk to him, get him to give her the info, she could follow up herself.
“Do you know where he lives or works?” she asked. Mila shook her head while raising the coffee to her lips. “Where he hangs around? Any of his friends? Did they go to a certain bar or restaurant more than once?”
Identifying a regular haunt would be the quickest way to find this Bryan.
“No, I…” The woman’s whole affect changed in an instant. Putting the coffee down, Mila pushed away from the counter to pass her and go into the living room. “We shouldn’t be talking about this.”
What just happened?
She went after Mila. “Why not?”
“It’s dangerous.”
Something juicy hung in the eaves of that statement. “Why is it dangerous?”
Mila put the couch between them. More than bereaved, conflict was written all over the pretty young woman’s face. “She swore me to secrecy, I can’t… It doesn’t even matter, she said she’d never been there, but…”
“But what?”
“She said Bryan had connections. That he could get them into some club.”
“A club?”
“Yeah, but if he had connections… could those connections have gotten her into trouble? Is that why she’s dead? May
be she saw something. Heard something.”
And the murderer wanted to shut her up? Possibly.
“What kind of connections are we talking?”
Politics? Drug kingpin? Strung out celebrity?
Toying with her fingers, Mila’s conflict appeared to eat at her. “You ever heard of…” Saying nothing, she waited for the woman to continue. Silence could be the greatest prompt. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you, should I?”
“Hey…” She went around the couch to take Mila’s upper arms. “You don’t have to tell me anything. You can kick my ass out in the street and demand I never come back. This is about what you need.”
“I need what’s best for Steph… If she was here, I’d talk to her and… She swore me to secrecy, said Bryan would be so mad if he knew she’d told me.”
“I don’t care about him. If this is tearing you up, you need to get it out.”
“You said you were going to help. That you wanted to find who was responsible.”
“I do.”
“This isn’t just… it’s not some sleazy story to me. She was my best friend.” Mila sighed. “I want to do what’s best for her… I told them about Bryan, the cops, I mean. They said they’d check him out, I don’t know if they ever did…”
“I can check him out.”
Shaking her head, Mila wrapped her arms around herself. “It could be dangerous. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”
“No one will get hurt,” Imogen said and smiled. “My brother’s not the type of guy anyone wants to mess with. He’d go to hell and back for me…” She bobbed her head to the side. “He’d probably tell you he already has.”
Mila managed a brief laugh. “He’ll look after you?”
“Yes.”
It took another few seconds, but the young woman relented. “Vex Manzani… do you know who he is?” Only too well. Youngest son of mafioso don Silvio Manzani. She nodded. “He has this really super exclusive club… Hustle. It’s invitation only. Do you know it?”
“No,” Imogen said. “But I know a man who will.”
TWO
HEATHER LANTRY.
Michelle Cadlow.
Stephanie Weet.
Their names were all she thought about. How did no one else see it? Others didn’t want to, so they wouldn’t. People loved to kid themselves.
Someone had to pay attention. Someone had to care. If she had to solve the mystery herself, that was exactly what she’d do.
I can do this.
That’s what she’d told her editor, Steeple, he hadn’t been so sure. She’d talked him into it. Sometimes it paid to have good skin and a great rack.
Asking questions was her job. In the name of getting to the story, risks were part of the process. Hadn’t all the greats gone undercover to get to the truth? Okay, she was no hardened crime reporter… or even a jaded detective, but this was worth it.
Someone had to put the pieces together.
Right then, that someone was her.
Her brother lived and worked at Jagg’s Autos, her next stop. Ford would be reasonable, wouldn’t he? Someone had to listen to her, why not her brother? First her colleagues shrugged her off, then her boss was dubious. Even the cops shooed her away. Family was her last hope, and she’d choose her brother over her father any day.
The dark gray corrugated metal fence around the vast warehouse site didn’t offer any glimpses inside. Being Friday afternoon, the guys may have closed for the day already. If they had, she’d need to go to her father’s… She shivered. That was one line of questioning best avoided.
The wide sliding gate was open. Good start. Now on to locating her brother.
Cars and bikes lined up under the covered parking area, running the width of the site. The glass doors at the front meant to be the main entrance would be locked. She didn’t need to peek through the glazed frontage showcasing the beauties inside to know that.
The real magic happened around the back. Unless someone had an appointment, there was rarely anyone in the showroom.
At the side of the building, a black door led to the front desk of the service department. Yeah, custom paint jobs were the biggest money, but they catered to all kinds of customers.
All kinds.
Standing around waiting for service wouldn’t get her anywhere. Patience was not a virtue she possessed anyway. Nor was reserve or restraint. The sound of masculine laughter didn’t deter her from rounding the corner of the massive building or striding across the painted concrete floor toward her brother at the back with a bunch of guys.
Whatever they all did around there, it was car related. Hence the vehicles on ramps or in various states of dismantled. People didn’t concern her. Ford was her focus. She walked right up to him, ignoring everyone else.
“We have to talk.”
“Whoa, shit, who’s the hot-ass babe?” one of his buddies hooted.
His friendship group expanded and contracted all the time. Those who’d stuck around a few years, she knew. Those who hadn’t were apparently idiots. No surprise. Jagg, the owner of the garage, had a habit of cutting breaks for guys down on their luck. Sometimes it panned out, sometimes he wasn’t so lucky.
“His sister, asshole,” Sutherland said before someone got smacked. “Show some respect.”
“Yeah, off-limits,” Coakley added.
“You say that like you asked, Coak,” the guy with the big trap said.
“I did.”
More laughter, but she didn’t flinch. Ford didn’t either, he studied her expression and must’ve concluded she was serious.
“Come here.”
The door by them went to the corridor that ran from the back shop to the showroom. From there, he took the second on the left into their breakroom. One of the three doors in the far corner was open an inch, but she had no idea what was back there. Jagg was his best friend and had been forever, but it wasn’t like she hung out there or ever went exploring.
Curiosity would wait. “I need your help,” she said, getting to the point as soon as Ford closed the door they’d just come through.
“What’s up?” he asked, coming in close. “You’re amped.”
“Yeah, I am,” she said. “Do you still do work for Evander Manzani? Vex they call him, right? Never mind, I know you know people. I need to get into his place.”
“What place?”
“He has a club.”
“More than one. Vex likes to have a good time.” Her brother used the mafioso’s street name. Everyone did. “His family has a lot of business interests. Why do you want to get mixed up with a guy like that?”
“I don’t care about Manzani. I care about getting into his club.”
“Why?”
“None of your business.”
“It’s one of your stories, isn’t it? You wanna write about Vex Manzani? Do you have a death wish?” His fist went to his forehead for a second before it leaped out into the air. “No. I won’t help you.”
“I will do this with or without your help. Showing up with my brother, who does work on the side for the club owner, I might be saved from pawing hands or crazy gangsters.”
“Not going at all saves you from both.”
She shook her head. “Not an option.”
“Me coming with you is not an option,” he said and came to lay a hand on her shoulder. “If Dad found out—”
“If Dad found out you abandoned me there…”
His head relaxed. “You spoken to him yet?” She said nothing. “Hard for him to find out if you don’t speak to him.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, it’s not. It’s about the cop.”
Not entirely. Her brother didn’t know about her latest run in with their father. And she didn’t have time to loop him in.
“You know, you don’t have to call him that,” she said. “He has a name.”
“Never learned it while you were with him, don’t plan on learning it now.”
“And it’s that kind of attitude that drove a wedge between me and Dad.”
“Mom didn’t like him either.”
“How would you know? You never visit her.”
“I don’t like leaving the city.”
“Yeah, it’s like you’re worried you’ll die without the pollution, crime, and overcrowded-deprivation infecting you every second.”
