Bedmates

By Jess C Scott

Follow THE WILDE TWINS in a twisted tale of love and loyalty. . .

BEDMATES (Wilde Twins, Book #2)

As teenagers, the siblings pursue random hookup romances in an effort to distract themselves from two things: their propensity for murder, and the burgeoning sexual tension between them.

What begins as harmless flirtation soon turns into jealousy and ruthless competition in a wild game of sibling rivalry, as Tania and Trevor seek to prove their undying love and loyalty to each other.

Book #2 in The Wilde Twins: a psychological thriller about an "evil twins" serial killing team--and their slow descent into amoral mayhem.

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WILDE TWINS Books:

Book 1 - Playmates
Book 2 - Bedmates
Book 3 - Soulmates

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Praise for Jess C Scott and her award-winning fiction:

-Reviewer Top Pick at Night Owl Reviews (2011)
-Readers' Favorite Five Star Award (2014)

"Visceral and exciting...beautifully twisted...Jess C Scott is a very creative and fiercely independent spirit carving out a completely separate piece of territory in contemporary fiction."
-- Joseph Grinton, author of Winternights

"A great explorer of human evil, Jess C Scott knows how to transfer pain to the paper. In this story her voice can sound cynical, but shejust hits the right chords, reminding us how much our infancy shapes our future, and how much we must strive so our kids grow up healthy in mind and body. Chilling."
-- Jeffrey Kosh, author of Feeding the Urge

"Events [in Playmates] progress to a crescendo and offer no predictable conclusion. This means readers should be prepared for the second installment of a slowly-building psychological thriller of the emergence of evil and sociopathic responses to an impossible life."
-- D. Donovan, Senior eBook Reviewer, MBR

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jess C Scott
• Release date: Apr 19, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311460233

Jess C Scott

Jess is a writer who's moved on to better things.She thanks her (loyal!) readers for appreciating her writing over the years.She continues to write lots of non-fiction these days. And yes, she still blogs in a range of different specialties.Jess was a participating author in the 2012 Singapore Writers Festival, and has been called “bold, daring, and always original” by The Arts House.

Book preview

PRAISE for BEDMATES

Visceral and exciting...beautifully twisted...Jess C Scott is a very creative and fiercely independent spirit carving out a completely separate piece of territory in contemporary fiction.

— Joseph Grinton, author of Winternights

"Tapping into a deeply dark and emotional subject matter, The Wilde Twins promises to develop into a spine tingling journey to unveil the human darkness within us all. Right from the start you know this tale is going to disturb you to your very core, so read on if you think you can handle it."

— K.C. Finn, author of The Atomic Circus

A great explorer of human evil, Jess C Scott knows how to transfer pain to the paper. In this story her voice can sound cynical, but she just hits the right chords, reminding us how much our infancy shapes our future, and how much we must strive so our kids grow up healthy in mind and body. Chilling.

— Jeffrey Kosh, author of Feeding the Urge

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BEDMATES (Wilde Twins, Book 2)

By Jess C Scott

Published by jessINK | Smashwords Edition

Text Copyright © 2014 by Jess C Scott

Cover Design by jessINK

Cover Image by B-D-S/Bigstock

Website: www.jessINK.com/wilde.htm

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

1. Fiction—Psychological

2. Fiction—Thrillers

3. Fiction—Crime

Summary: As teenagers, Tania and Trevor embark on a wild game of sibling rivalry as they seek to prove their undying love and loyalty to each other. Book #2 in The Wilde Twins.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

PART 1: 13 Years Old

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

PART 2: 13+ Years Old

Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18

PART 3: 14-15 Years Old

Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 | Chapter 24 | Chapter 25 | Chapter 26

PART 4: 16 Years Old

Chapter 27 | Chapter 28 | Chapter 29 | Chapter 30 | Chapter 31 | Chapter 32 | Chapter 33 | Chapter 34

PART 5: 17 Years Old

Chapter 35 | Chapter 36 | Chapter 37 | Chapter 38 | Chapter 39 | Chapter 40 | Chapter 41

SNEAK PEEK: SOULMATES

JESS C SCOTT’S OTHER WORKS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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Dedication:

To Billy and The Kids.

Because a balanced teenage life shouldn’t be an impossibility.

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We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is practiced in broad daylight.

~ John Lennon

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PART 1: 13 Years Old

Chapter 1: Trevor

Seeing the blood from Tania’s split lip was the moment that changed everything.

No! I charged straight into Dad’s body just as he was about to hit the back of her head against the jagged rock surface.

We hit the ground, all three of us in a tangled heap.

I scrambled off Dad’s body—body, arm, leg, whatever—and shoved him to one side with a hard kick.

Where was Tania? Was she all right?

Trev!

I turned around when a vice grip around my ankle sent me slamming onto the dirt trail once more.

Dad had fallen over the cliff ledge but was hanging onto my foot. I was going to be dragged down with him if he didn’t let me go.

Trevor! Tania yelled as she grabbed my hands.

It was tough feeling my body being pulled in two different directions. I imagined it must have been a zillion times worse for people in the Dark Ages who were tortured to death by having their limbs torn apart one by one.

I shook and jerked my foot and squirmed around until I kicked it free.

Tania clung to me when I moved us a couple of paces away from the edge of the cliff.

He’s still there, she whispered, pointing in front of us.

Dad’s grazed fingers were gripping the ledge. The man cursed us for being ungrateful bastards. He gritted his teeth as he struggled to gain a foothold in order to pull himself up.

Not anymore, I replied Tania.

We held hands, facing each other as a wide I-Dare-You smile crept over our lips.

Let’s do it. My dear sister licked some of the blood from the cut on her lower lip.

Each step we took was in sync as we went right up to edge. None of us uttered any last words out loud—Dad’s eyes were open when we took turns prying his hands off the ledge.

A person was nothing but weakness when they were hanging on to their life’s last moments.

Kids? Dad was hoping we’d change our minds and help him up at the last second. He was heaving through his lungs as his eyes searched for something in us that might have signaled we had a change of heart.

Bye, Tania finally said. She literally crushed his fingers off the edge.

Both of us were silent as we waited...waited...waited...for the tell-tale crumpling thud of the body striking the ground below.

Tania and I shared a tight hug, reveling in another secret that bound us to each other for life.

Another one bites the dust, I commented, sneaking a peek over the cliff.

We should clean ourselves up a little bit. Tania pointed to the trail in front which led to the stream under the bridge.

I washed my hands in that cool, clean water, scraping under and around the fingernails just in case there was too much of Dad’s skin cells there from the scuffle we’d had earlier. Was plain water enough to get rid of the traces of DNA?

But it was still better than nothing.

I’ll be the hysterical one, Tania said. Leave that to me.

She was totally working her amazingly calm, serious face and demeanor. Anyone would’ve thought she had just finished conducting one of her innocent, insect dissection experiments.

Who’re we going to tell first? I stood up, shaking the water off my hands.

Twenty seconds, I counted down silently. My hands would be dry in about twenty seconds if I repeated that shaking action. Dry hands. Clean hands. We’ve washed our hands clean of this.

Tania stood up, triumphant—the little Amazon princess who’d overthrown one of her chief abusers with the help of her princely twin.

First, we’ll go to the ranger. Tania lightly ran a hand along her collarbone, where Dad’s hand had last been before he almost slammed the back of her head into the rock face. He’ll probably call the police, and we’ll take it from there.

Take it from there? I was a mix of emotions—the diametric opposite of Tania. Oh, my God...

What’s wrong?

My heart beats faster when I realize we just did it again. The back of my neck turns icy when I think about having to face the police. But I get exhilarated too from—

I know, I know, Tania said, taking my cold hands in hers, which were nice and warm. It’s just something we need to do. We can’t go on the run now.

Where would we even go?

Exactly, Tania said sullenly. It’s always about the money, isn’t it?

Seems like it.

We should rob a bank one day.

I hope we do.

Well, I’m going to be crying and you can tell the ranger what happened. There was an insane amount of unwavering focus in Tania. We’re going to say Dad tripped at one point, and that we tried to help him but it was too late. You can, and should, look guilty—just do it in a believable way.

How?

Tania made a gesture with her right hand like she was flicking the end of a cigarette. You should appear…guilty that you weren’t able to stop Dad from falling. She drew inverted commas in the air when she said the last word of that sentence. And look serious about things. That you’re now the older brother who feels the weight of the world on his shoulders because you feel responsible for the both of us, yadda, yadda, yadda.

We’re a talented brother-sister team. I felt less jumpy when Tania’s silent calm met with my gaze.

Let’s go.

Both of us were making our way down the route beyond the bridge when Tania started whimpering.

What is it? I held her, almost gripping her arms as worry got a hold of my senses.

Get them to call the park ranger, Tania whispered. She pointed to a couple of visitors who were a certain distance away and walking in our direction. Just tell them of The Tragedy.

The blood drained from my face as things sped up during those precious few seconds.

We started running—Tania cried out when she nearly twisted her ankle over a slightly raised tree root and the couple took notice of us.

I blabbered something about our father being in trouble because of an accident.

And the guy whipped out his phone to call the ranger while the woman overflowed with concern as she pressed us for more details on what had happened.

I knew we were going to be all right, when I saw the intense faces of the couple as they considered our plight.

Well, all right in terms of the two of us not being found out,

We’d just have to roll with it with the police, and cross our fingers we’d managed to be pitied now that we were officially orphans.

My lips were desert dry, but I wasn’t particularly upset. Dad didn’t deserve an ounce of respect once Tania told me what he was doing to her. At least Tania and I respected ourselves enough to put an end to put an end to everything we couldn’t accept anymore in our lives.

While we were waiting for the police to arrive at the ranger’s office, I was gathering my thoughts on people who were meek or easily bullied.

Thanks to Tania, I now knew the cure for weakness.

Murder would erase all traces of weakness, down to the last drop.

But I wasn’t going to mention that to the authorities, of course. I could already read the pity on the cop’s face when he absorbed the news, even though he was serious as hell as he went about his duties and protocol with questioning me to get a statement.

The first thing I realized then was that my sister liked to play deadly games.

The second thing I realized was that her passion for it was certainly infectious.

Chapter 2: Tania

I would have taken that blow for Trevor. I still remember closing my eyes, waiting for Dad’s fist to smash my nose to bits.

It was a good thing there weren’t any glass bottles lying around on the trail. I would not have hesitated to use them, to crack his skull open as some sexy alter ego that was lurking inside me who could lift cars and kill people by whipping or strangling them with her long hair.

I was also bracing myself in case Dad sent my head crashing onto the rock behind me. As a light breeze blew through the trees, I was preparing myself to hear the glorious sound of my skull fracturing.

There was only one thing I regretted. I really wanted to watch Dad’s blood spill and seep into the dirt ground beneath him, the only place his ashes and remains deserved to be. I had a tinge of regret, at having been unable to stand there over him, to watch him drown in a pool of his own vile bile.

I enjoyed fooling Trevor with my tears when I started sobbing. I did that as soon as I saw a couple in the distance on the same trail we were on.

There was a drama show I saw on TV once, a few days before we turned thirteen, where the facilitator was explaining to a group of students how to cry convincingly.

How to cry on cue, the teacher explained. Many of us think that crying, like laughing, is a spontaneous behavior triggered by strong emotions.

I was waiting for a but which came quickly enough.

But, the teacher went on, for actors and actresses, you have to feel it here.

I thought she was going to point to her heart and elaborate at length about imagining the worst bits of a personal sob story or two.

The teacher pointed to her nose instead, somewhere between the bridge and the tip of the nose right at the end.

Feel it here, the teacher instructed. There’ll be a sharp sensation right here.

I tried it at first and nothing happened. I tried again—my face was slightly scrunching up and my brows were furrowing, but I still wasn’t getting it right.

It was something that I knew would come in very handy. If I could fake an emotion, to the point where it looked real, I could go around lying to people that way.

No one would even be aware of the mask I wore. Who knew what I could later get away with?

So I practiced, again and again, whenever I had some private time. I didn’t even try it when Trevor was around because I would have found his presence too much of a distraction.

One of the toilet cubicles in school turned out to be the best place for my solo sessions.

I’d just lock myself in there and put the lid of the seat down, before cleaning and wiping that seat clean with bunches and bunches of toilet paper. Then I’d sit on that toilet seat and try to do what that drama teacher said to do.

It took a few tries over many weeks, but holy shit, even I was convinced my heart had just broken when the tears—real glistening fat drops of tears—started rolling out from my eyes. I was sniffling and rocking back and forth on the seat until a girl slammed her hand a couple of times on the door.

You okay? the girl asked. She wasn’t faking her care or concern.

I glanced at the pair of shoes—it was a slightly dirty pair of flats that definitely didn’t belong to one of the popular diva types from the likes of Courtney’s posse.

I knew who it was. It was Denise, the awkward pimple-faced tall girl with her nose always buried in a book.

I’m all right! I called out, pretending to hack and cough into some of the wads of tissue paper to signal to the person to Go Away. Thanks.

There was a slight pause. Tania…is that you?

I kept quiet, waiting for Denise to peek over the top of the door. She was tall enough to do it if she really wanted to. She just needed to tiptoe a little bit. I saw some of the taller girls do that all the time if they wanted to tease someone. Hell, I would have, if I was blessed with that modelesque height.

I saw her walk out of the restroom. Denise was a nice girl, unlike Miss Courtney, which was why Courtney received the neat little scar on her forehead to remind her of the fact.

It was fun fooling the couple at the park, the police, and just about everyone else about the hiking accident. Trevor couldn’t cry on cue as well as I could—not to my knowledge, that is. And I knew how difficult it could be to do, because I knew from first-hand experience that it’d taken me real dedication over the span of several weeks to finally learn how to cry convincingly.

Red eyes and bawling alone wouldn’t do the trick. Real tears were the thing people always believed, whether or not there was an actual emotion behind those real tears. But if people didn’t know, how were they ever going to tell the difference between real or fake tears?

The police questioned Trevor and me together. I let Trevor do most of the talking while I did more whining and crying for the hysterical backdrop. Trevor was good too, turning towards me at the right moments to comfort me, or appear to be comforting me.

Hey, let me teach you how to cry, I almost said to him.

But boys don’t cry—or at least that’s what everybody’s supposed to believe.

My attention wasn’t on the standard gibberish coming from the sympathetic police. I was obsessed with the reality of the line I kept repeating to myself: He won’t ever touch me again.

Trevor and I were driven by the police to the Perri Foster Care Center, where the person at the counter made some calls before one of our neighbors turned up at the center.

Oh, you poor dears, Mrs. Henderson said to us, removing her pale pink pillbox hat. She was a tiny old woman, and had worn that same hat for the past decade.

Mrs. Henderson signed some papers that the girl at the counter passed to her. The girl’s face had sorrow written all over it too.

Your aunt from Florida is on her way to Perri, Mrs. Henderson said, with much more kindness than Tania and I were used to. My husband and I will look after the two of you before she gets here.

I was a little faint and delirious at this point. Florida sounded like…freedom.

This was it. It would lead to something new, and somewhere new for Trevor and me to begin a new life.

Aunt Hilda and Uncle Bruno weren’t psychos. I knew they liked going to church, but they weren’t crazy with the Bible like Momma was.

I didn’t have a preference as to whether Trevor and I ended up with some relatives we didn’t know well, or got thrown into a random foster home.

All I wanted was