Monster: A Dark Arranged Marria Romance
COMING SOON!
Monster
Copyright 2021 Vanessa Waltz
Prologue
Tony
2 oz bourbon
2 dashes Angostura bitters
1 sugar cube
Garnish: orange twist
Vinn went too far this time.
My prick cousin bound my wrists. Threw me in a car. He dared to hood me, as though where we headed was a big fucking mystery. He was probably taking me to his place in the Quabbin Reservoir, where he buried his victims. My lawyer friend, Knox, would’ve helped me, but Vinn had stolen my phone.
Murdering little shit.
Wheels crunched as the car slowed over bumpy terrain. Doors banged open, triggering images, sensations—snarling fangs, a crimson-soaked leash, my cheek hitting the curb.
Hands wrenched me out. My feet landed hard on a shifting surface, probably gravel. The hold on my elbow yanked. Stumbling, I lost my balance. My ass hit the ground as I made an undignified fall, sharp rocks cutting into my skin.
They pulled me upright and shoved.
“At least buy me dinner before manhandling me. Is this because I won’t go to your barbecues anymore?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Don’t tell me. It’s another intervention?”
“You’ll find out in ten seconds.”
Vinn had no idea of the storm building within me, of the blind panic and the wrath he’d provoked. If he didn’t let me go, I would hurt someone.
It might be him.
I swung my boot, connecting with a leg.
Vinn grunted.
A hand crashed into my shoulder, right into my scar. The phantom pain pierced me like a white-hot poker. A vicious hatred burned my body before the wind’s salted scent chased it away.
“You took me to your beach house?” A seagull cried as I faced the body dragging me. “The one you bought for your wife?”
No response.
I laughed, even though I could’ve killed him. “Jesus, Vinny. Li won’t like that. She’ll never forgive you.”
“Pleading for your life?”
“I’m saving your ass. When she finds out you murdered a family member at your vacation home, she’ll divorce you. Get ready for bitter custody battles.”
He marched me up a lawn, jerking me to his side. His fingers gouged my flesh—predictable, boring, idiot. The hood was a stunt made to scare me straight, as if that ever worked.
The bag was ripped off my head.
Cold air stung my cheeks as the world exploded with light. Gradually, a seaside cottage melted into my vision. It stood on a watery shore. My guts clenched as waves lapped the beach. Foam crawled up the sand. A body floated in the water, facedown. Seconds later, it disappeared.
Alarm rippled down my spine.
Vinn jabbed me. “Inside.”
I tore my gaze from the ocean, heart pounding. I strolled through a door into a sprawling living room decorated in red, white, and blue. It resembled my zia Lena’s house—lots of plaid. I stepped in as Vinn sliced the zip ties, freeing my wrists.
Two men stood at the fireplace.
Once, I’d considered them brothers.
My insides blackened from the grim-faced Alessio to Michael’s softer eyes, ice freezing my stomach.
It was an intervention.
They thought I was high. Everything boiled down to the addiction that hadn’t been a problem in two years, and they wondered why I couldn’t stand them.
Christian entered, blocking the door.
My throat tightened. “I don’t need a goddamned intervention.”
“This isn’t about your sobriety. For once.” Vinny grabbed a chair and planted it in the middle of the room. “Have a seat.”
“I’m not. Fucking. Staying.”
Vinn didn’t budge. “You don’t have a choice.”
I hated those words.
Forcing me to do anything provoked my more violent tendencies. I couldn’t handle losing control. It made me unhinged.
I stormed to the door, but Christian blocked me. Hesitation flickered in his hawklike gaze as he squared his shoulders.
“Move.”
He shook his head. “Sorry. I can’t.”
Trapped.
The red haze flashed over my vision, and my hands balled into white, trembling fists. Old fashioned. I conjured an image of the drink and focused. Two ounces bourbon. Two dashes of Angostura—
“That’s it, Tony. Have a seat.”
Dimly, I registered a touch on my bicep.
My fist whirled, slamming into his jaw. Christian dropped, clutching himself. He moaned. I jumped on him and disappeared in the violence, my body on autopilot. Blood splattered over my numbed hand. A pounding grew in my ears like drumbeats.
Hands tore at my wrist. I snapped their digits. An arm banded my neck, and I hurled him into the wall. A body slammed into my back. I jerked backward. My skull cracked a hard surface, and the body stumbled away.
I wouldn’t give up.
I stopped smashing his face when Michael and Vinn tackled me. Three of them forced me into the chair, and then the fog cleared, revealing a scene of devastation.
A vase had been smashed, showering the ground with ceramic shards. Pieces of furniture lay on their sides. Michael cradled his fingers, cursing. They stuck out at odd angles. Christian peeled himself upright. Alessio massaged his eye. Only Vinn was unscathed.
His accusatory stare drilled into me.
“What did you fucking expect?” I wheeled at Michael, who had the grace to look ashamed. “You deserve it, you bastard. I saved your wife’s life. Now you’re throwing me in vans?”
“He's right. This was a stupid idea, Vinn.”
I smacked Vinn’s touch from my shoulder. “Why am I here?”
“You’ve crossed the line too many times,” Vinn glowered like a storm cloud. “I’ve given you chance after chance. I told you what’d happen if you defied me. I warned you.”
“I ignored you.”
“Honestly, Anthony. There are easier ways to kill yourself.” Vinn sank onto the coffee table, staring into his folded hands. “But in case this isn’t the desperate act of a broken man…I’ll let you off. Once. No more second chances. But your conflict with the MCs is over.”
“Can’t do it.”
Vinn’s jaw slackened. “When will you be satisfied?”
“When they’re all dead, and my dad comes back to life.”
“You never used to be so hateful.”
I wiped the blood on my slacks. “I’m not. I’m focused.”
“On what?” he shouted, the loudness ringing my ears. “Killing everyone who’s ever pissed you off?”
“I’d have shot you in the ass already.”
He gripped my collar and hit me, displaying a lack of self-control I’d rarely seen in Vinn. The impact smarted, but my pulse barely picked up the pace. If he thought he could scare me with pain…he was more likely to kill me.
Vinn leaned forward, glowering. “I’m going to level with you, Anthony. I think you’ve completely lost it. You’ve always been destructive, but this is crazy. You're taking us all down. I can’t have it.”
“Just do it, you fucking pussy.”
Vinn stood, raking his hair. “Not today. You’re lucky…You are so lucky I caught you before you did lasting damage. I got you a lifeline.”
“I don’t need your goddamned help.”
“Refuse me, and you won't leave this house alive.”
He was bluffing.
My stomach tensed. “You’ll lose everything.”
“Not necessarily. I can make a good case to your mom when she inherits your estate. She’ll hand it over. I’ll tell her it’s what you would’ve wanted.”
I bristled. “What do you want?”
“You to stop fighting,” he barked. “Marry a nice girl, and calm the fuck down. Stop antagonizing the people we’re trying to make peace with.”
“You and my mother would get along.”
“I’m not kidding. I negotiated a deal with Legion. You’re off their backs, forever.” Vinn’s mouth twisted wryly. “In exchange, you're marrying one of them.”
I froze, all decisions in limbo.
“What?”
“You’re marrying a biker girl.”
A vision of me at the altar with a girl in leather knocked the air from my lungs. I managed to laugh through stiff lips.
“Anthony, it’s done.”
This was an absurd prank.
Gradually, the feeling returned to my limbs. I grinned at Alessio and Michael, who glowered at me. All of them wore identical grim expressions.
They were serious.
Holy shit, this was real.
“Are you fucking insane?” I gaped at them, one by one. “What made you think I’d ever agree to this? I’d rather eat a bullet than marry into that garbage family!”
“That can be arranged.” Vinn crossed his arms. “Don’t push me.”
Heat scalded my face.
There was a difference between fucking around and taking a wife. I had no interest in building a life with anyone, least of all a woman from that world.
“I’m not getting married.”
“You will not let me down.” Vinn stabbed my rib cage with a finger. “This is exactly what you need.”
“Now you sound like my father.” My shout tore my throat. “Am I the only one with working brain cells? You know damned well I am not husband material. Tell them, Alessio.”
My former college buddy fixed me with a potent stare. His dark eyes bored into me.
“I agree with Vinn,” he said, lounging on the fireplace. “You’re ready. You just had to put down the drugs, and you’ve done that. You’ll be fine.”
My amusement at them playing matchmaker died.
Everybody thought they knew what I needed.
They had no idea.
“Are you speaking for your-fucking-self?” I burst, fed up with their bullshit. “I’m not marrying anyone.”
“You’ll do it, or I’ll have you killed.” Vinn stood in one fluid motion, sighing. “We’re staying here for a while. Lawyers are coming by tomorrow to draft the prenup. Oh, and Anthony? I expect you to start a family. As in, right after you’re married.”
This must’ve been a bizarre dream. I’d cracked on my sobriety and ingested a hit of LSD.
I laughed so hard my voice broke.
I felt delirious. “You’re a trip.”
“I’m dead serious, Anthony.”
“You’ve lost your marbles. You’re nuts if you think I’ll go for this white picket fence crap.”
“What you want has never been good for you.”
My body stiffened.
Then shock yielded to rage.
“You need a smack in the mouth. You don’t tell me what to do!” My fury boiled over as Vinn faced the mantle, picking up a framed photo of his toddler. “Wave the baby photos at me all you like. I don’t give a shit. I have no interest in settling down.”
He smiled, and it softened his appearance. “Once you’re a father, that’ll change.”
The fucking moron.
I shook my head, smoldering. “I won’t do this.”
“You will.” Vinn shoved a peg board of headshots under my nose. “Pick one.”
My sight landed on the third woman. She sat on concrete steps, legs crossed at the ankles like a princess. A leather headband pushed back her dark hair. She was like a firefly, lighting the gloom with her delicate beauty. I stared into her eyes, and something shifted in my chest.
Something broke.
No.
Something threatened to ignite.
Chapter One
Evie
I’m grateful that my fiancé has good hygiene.
I’m grateful that my fiancé is tall.
I’m grateful that my fiancé is handsome.
The ink bled through the paper as I wracked my brain for a fourth virtue for my gratitude journal. Every day, I wrote five things for which I was grateful. The simple reason for this was that when the darkness inside me lightened so did the world outside.
Not today.
No amount of pretty thinking made this situation better because I was giving up on love. I’d said my goodbyes to the man I’d never meet or marry, the romance we wouldn’t share, the butterflies that’d never flutter, the passion that’d never ignite, and the children we’d never have.
What I liked about my fiancé, Tony Costa, was vanishingly small and mostly superficial. There wasn’t a single-fucking-quality about his character that I admired.
My soon-to-be husband did not inspire people.
He put the fear of God into them.
The hotel suite’s door opened, admitting an older guy with an easygoing vibe. I liked his smile. It was warm without being too friendly.
“This came for you, Miss Craine. Tony sent it.” He appeared at my elbow, sliding a tall glass filled with a golden liquid into my hands. “Prosecco from Italy.”
How thoughtful.
I had no clue about wines. The club gravitated toward beer and whiskey, and anything more than twenty dollars was considered a waste.
My throat pounded as I swiped the drink. I tipped it into my mouth, the bubbles snapping my tongue. I drank, unimpressed by the warmth fluttering my chest. It lacked the punch of straight vodka, my go-to this week when reality got too close for comfort.
“He’ll be along shortly to check on you.”
“Great.”
Christian stood behind me, brows furrowed. Perhaps the tone in my voice concerned him. “You have nothing to worry about, hon. Tony’s a standup guy.”
“Really?” I murmured, playing with my new phone. “Is that why he’s forcing me to marry him?”
“He’s not as bad as you think.”
“Again, not very comforting.”
Christian grabbed the empty flute. He studied the glass, a deep frown wrinkling his brow. His sympathy was wasted on me. I didn’t trust Christian.
I didn’t trust any of them.
A combination of emotional blackmail and threats had forced me to accept Tony’s proposal. Dad stole my life’s work and would’ve sold it for a pittance if I hadn’t said yes, which was how I ended up in front of a vanity wearing couture. A designer bag sat in my lap, the pillowed leather gliding over me like silk. The finest accessory I owned, apart from my jewelry. The pre-wedding gift held my phone programmed with one contact:
T
My thumb traced his number.
I hadn’t worked up the nerve to call him. I’d treated the last week as a vacation, relishing the pampering I never could’ve afforded on my own. My future husband’s people had extensively prepped me. They’d waxed every inch of me. They’d thrust my hands into hot baths and trimmed my cuticles. They’d conditioned my hair, exfoliated my skin, and painted my nails.
I’m grateful my fiancé takes care of me.
He’d spared no expense to make me his possession. My engagement ring was a gaudy diamond solitaire on a platinum setting. I’d studied it with my jeweler’s loupe and appraised it at ninety-thousand dollars. I hated the damned thing. It looked ridiculous on my petite hand, but Tony hadn’t asked for feedback. He hadn’t even proposed. His bodyguard had awkwardly shoved the velvet box in my direction.
Tony seemed to be all about status, like all wealthy egomaniacs. The ring, the Vera Wang dress, and the spa treatments belonged to someone else, a trophy wife, not me. I still clipped coupons. I lived in a mobile home and probably couldn’t name half the designers in his closet.
Why the hell did he want me?
Christian’s pocket buzzed. He answered his phone, murmuring in Italian. He always switched to the language when Tony called. Christian wheeled toward the door, closing his cell.
I clenched my jaw tighter.
The door opened to Tony’s powerful, Viking-like frame. His broad shoulders strained his suit. Normally, his hair was as untamed as the rest of him, but for the wedding he’d slicked it back. Salt and pepper marked his ebony mane. Everything about him was bold, the deep tan, the boyish lips built for sin. The media had dubbed him Mob Prince for a reason.
Tall, dark, and handsome didn’t begin to describe his level of gorgeous.
Heat stole into my face as my gaze raked over his devastating appeal. I drank in the lazy seduction of his big eyes, the cutting jawline. He was in his late thirties, and it showed in how he carried himself. He stood as though steel made his spine. A short mustache and beard clung to his upper lip and jaw. Dark wisps peeked from the V neck of his shirt.
Hot. Very masculine.
It was like he’d just left a vacation in the Amazon. I’d lived in Boston my whole life, and I’d never seen anyone like Tony.
“Looking good, T.” Christian slapped his back, exploding with enthusiasm. “Ready to get married?”
A cloud settled over Tony’s features. “I need a moment alone with my bride.”
“Of course, buddy.”
Tony glowered at Christian until the door swung behind him. Then his lightning rod stare landed on me.
I fisted my clutch.
It was very strange. He glared at me as though I’d condemned him to hell. As he crossed the room, my muscles tensed.
He held out his hand.
I took it, and a jolt passed from his skin to mine.
My body stiffened as he boldly assessed me, his gaze traveling down my face, neck, and breasts.
“I’m Tony Costa, and you belong to me now.” He beckoned me with a wave—a gesture for servants, not his fiancée. “Let’s see the rest of you.”
I stayed put. “Tony, I don’t want to be your wife.”
“You pick an odd time to complain.”
“I assumed you'd back out.” I lifted my chin, whispering with desperate firmness. “I’ve tried to meet you for days. You weren’t at the negotiation meetings. You didn’t come to the engagement supper.”
“I’m not a fan of chaperoned visits. My number is on your phone.”
“I only got it recently.”
His flat gaze held me still. “And?”
“Why the fuck do you want this?”
“I don’t,” he said, stunning me. “I rank marrying into your family slightly higher than blowing out my brains, which is the only reason I’m here.”
My chest tightened. “You’re not my first choice either.”
“No doubt, but nothing you say will stop this wedding.” His deep-timbered voice raised somewhat. “Are we clear?”
“Not one bit.”
My mind reeled. If he didn’t want to marry me, why were we doing this?
He squinted at me. “You are of age, right?”
I frowned. “I’m twenty-two.”
Relief smoothed his brows.
Weird.
He acted like he loathed me and had no idea of my age. I’d spent hours researching him. I’d read op-eds and articles. I’d scoured the comment sections for insight.
Tony literally didn’t know me.
“Didn't you ask questions about me?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t care about the details, considering you were all the same. They lined up photos of women and told me to pick. Yours happened to be the one that made my dick hard.”
I stared at him, tongue-tied and frozen.
Tony brushed lint off his jacket. “Were you expecting something romantic?”
My face heated at his mocking drawl. “I had my blood drawn for fertility tests.”
“So?”
A flicker of adrenaline surged through me. “You could’ve asked me. I would’ve told you to go with someone else.”
His mouth twisted into a cruel slant. “Should I have picked from the club sluts with more STDs between them than Paris Hilton? I chose you, the virgin, knowing at least I wouldn’t get the clap.”
This man couldn’t be serious.
“You're lucky you got a choice,” I snarled, abandoning all attempts at civility. “I’m stuck with Public Enemy Number One for my old man.”
“Don’t call me that,” he growled, the loudness piercing my ears. “I’m not one of you, thank God. Once you have my name, you’ll drop the biker crap. I won’t have it in my house or anywhere around me.”
That settled it.
I’d stab my husband before the night ended.
“I’ll wear ripped jeans and leather to all your family barbecues. And guess what’s going on the wall? A giant Harley Davidson poster.”
Tony’s dark eyes sparkled with the love of a challenge. “I’ll gag you with your panties. Force you to taste your pussy for hours. I’ll drag you over my lap and do things. Maybe in front of an audience.”
An unwelcome flush burned my cheeks.
He lightly fingered my chin, and the air vanished from my lungs. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
No, I don’t.
My heart hammered.
“And you don’t know it yet, but you chose the wrong girl.”
Chapter Two
Evie
I’m grateful so many people support our marriage.
Mom warned me.
Dating in the MC was not for romantics who planned their wedding in the first two weeks of a new relationship. She said I couldn’t handle the club girls, the cheating, and the heartbreak. Now I’d never know if she was right.
Because Dad was forcing me to marry him.
Tony stood at the altar, wearing an expression more appropriate for being stuck at the DMV, not celebrating his marriage. Nobody wanted to be here, least of all my fiancé. He glowered like I was the bug crawling up his ass.
Same to you, bastard.
A tense silence enveloped us as the march’s last notes faded, the droning of the priest not enough to cleave the tension. My gaze wandered to my leather-clad father in the front row, a grim set to his jaw. Behind him, rows of people shifted in their seats. Sympathy marked the women’s faces, but the men mirrored Tony’s put-upon boredom.
My spirits sank even lower.
I curled my hands into fists and shut them out. A woman’s wild sobbing broke the quiet, and I gaped at Tony’s side. His mother cried into a tissue.
I bristled.
Why was she crying? I was the wronged party in this situation. Her murdering son would be my husband, and he’d made it clear that he planned to use me like a blow-up doll.
Tony shot me a twisted smile full of lethal calm. Before long, his “I do” echoed as though he stood in a tomb. Then the priest turned toward me.
“And do you, Evie, take Anthony to be your husband?”
Grief tore at my heart, but my father’s threats rang in my ears. I swallowed the ache in my throat.
“I do.”
Tony’s surly best man handed him the rings. My family’s oldest enemy took my hand in his big, callused one. Shock slammed into my ribs as he slid another ring I hated onto my finger. His resentment drilled holes into my skull.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” said the distant voice of the priest. “You may kiss the bride.”
Our vulnerable gazes clashed.
Hatred blazed in those tawny brown pools. They had a burning, faraway look, like he couldn’t bear to share the same space. His arm banded my waist, pulling me roughly to him. He cradled my head. We stared at each other as though across an unfathomable distance.
Married, but still strangers.
I anchored my hands on his shoulders, my stomach twisting at our bodies pressed close. I tipped my head to kiss my husband, stowing my rage for later. Then his lips caught mine, and my senses leaped to life. His kiss was punishing and angry, sending spirals of heat through me. His stubble raked my skin. He was a flame eating the oxygen in the air, devouring my sustenance.
Scattered applause cleaved through my brain.
Tony pulled away, stone-faced.
I swayed, fingers digging into his jacket. At the base of my throat, my pulse beat and swelled. My lips tingled.
I wanted more. Tony was zoned out—and bored.
A fierce sting bit my cheeks.
That was it.
I officially belonged to a monster.
* * *
Dad had spent a lifetime warning me against men like Tony. Despite that, he’d permitted Tony to make my life hell forever. His only daughter, fed to Tony like a sacrificial lamb.
The betrayal sawed into my chest.
After an hour of photos, we drove to our reception at a waterfront museum. A giant wall of glass overlooked the Harbor, winking with a sea of yellow lights as the dark water reflected a cloudless sky. Seafood rested on ice, but I’d yet to go anywhere near the buffet. I had a mild allergy to shellfish, but nobody thought to ask for my preferences. His mother had planned everything.
Tony sat at our sweetheart table, brooding. He’d skipped the five-course dinner, glowering when guests approached us.
I grabbed a flute of champagne and offered it to him, but Tony waved off my peace offering.
“I don’t drink.”
“Not even at your wedding?”
He shot me a black look but didn’t elaborate. Then his gaze dropped to his ring.
I glared at him. “Strong and silent, huh? Are you that way because you’re too proud? Or are you not bright enough to string together words that aren’t insults?”
“I think we’ve had enough of each other.”
“Well, I have a lot to discuss, even if you’d rather sit there and pout.”
“This is the most backwards day in my fucked up life. I have the right to be pissed off.” His eyes echoed the smolder in his voice. “So do you. You’re paying for sins that aren’t yours. I enjoy tormenting my enemies, but this is cruel, even by my standards. And believe me, honey, I’ve seen some shit.”
I didn’t doubt him.
I’d heard all kinds of rumors, but separating fact from fiction required research. Since my father refused to tell me anything at all, what I’d read painted a billionaire playboy’s fall from grace and his comeback as a ‘human rights’ activist. Hard to accept that candy-coated spin when it was rumored he gave out cash for dead bikers.
I refilled the champagne and drank, hoping to dissolve the knot in my throat. I could deal with being his wife, but icy fingers seeped into my flesh at what was expected of me. The prenup had a list of requirements:
Sex once a week, bare minimum.
We were to start a family. If I didn’t conceive in a year, Tony could file for divorce, and I would get nothing. Since my fertility was already established, Tony would also be penalized if he failed to make an heir. Most of his estate would be signed over to his cousin, including property, stocks, and overseas bank accounts. A pregnancy within six months would grant me a bonus.
Any violation of the prenup would result in our marriage’s immediate termination, and my assets would be split down the middle.
My business would never recover. Not to mention, I’d have to repay every cent toward my business. I could be in debt to Costa forever, but he could lose half his net worth and still be a rich bastard.
Dream a Little Dream by Pink Martini pulsed from speakers, the jaunty romantic tune stabbing my brain like a pitchfork.
“I guess we should dance.” Tony sounded like he’d rather drown, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me upright. His touch splayed over my exposed back, flooding my skin with heat.
“I’m not a good dancer. I have absolutely no rhythm.” I took his shoulder, my skin flushing. “You’ll be embarrassed when I stumble over your shoes.”
Tony’s jaw clenched, but he nodded. Then he cradled me in a tight embrace, his chin hooking my shoulder. His warmth enveloped me in a musky vanilla scent. His arms banded my waist, pinning me to a wall of muscle. A current ran through me as we slowly revolved on the spot. It would’ve been sweet if not for the poison falling from his lips.
“They would give me an uncoordinated girl.”
I dug into him. “I have many talents. Dancing just isn’t one of them.”
“Like?”
“Jewelry design.”
“Jewelry design. Plastic beads, that sort of thing?” His voice boomed through my stomach. “Do you have an Etsy? Do you go to makeup parties to sell your handmade bracelets? How adorable.”
I rolled my eyes at his stupid assumptions and pictured his reaction when I moved in with a fully stocked jeweler’s studio, which included a blowtorch.
“And what have you done with your life, except spend Daddy’s money?”
He leaned in, his whisper brushing my ear. “Lately, I’m all about activism. Cleaning up the city.”
Killing bikers. Right.
“You should take a hard look at yourself.”
“I know what I am.”
A monster.
“I don’t have the luxury of waging crusades.” That was putting it lightly. “I have bills. Endless bills.”
“Which I’m inheriting, no doubt.”
“You bet your conceited ass.” I hadn’t planned on milking him, but why not? “I have bigger dreams than being your wife.”
Something that resembled a smile touched his brutally handsome face. “You could open your legs for me regularly. Might net you a quarter of a million dollars, if you’re lucky.”
“Not sure I’d call carrying your baby, luck.”
“If not for me, where would you be?” His brows narrowed. “Living a mediocre life with one of them, popping out three kids, only to be stuck alone when he gets jailed for drug trafficking.”
A furnace blazed up my neck, claiming my ears. “At least I wouldn’t be married to a psychopath. And I’d be able to work in peace.”
“Well, that won’t be necessary anymore.”
“I am not quitting,” I ground out. “It’s not just my passion. It pays the bills.”
“You need me to pay them, so how successful can you be?”
The barbed insult sank deep, striking behind my ribs. I inhaled sharply, fighting to breathe around the wound he’d caused.
I ripped away.
I needed a moment before I shattered the champagne glass fountain or threw him over the balcony. Unbearable heat flushed my arms. I crossed the glitzy reception hall to the wall of bearded men wearing leather cuts. A handsome prospect with chestnut brown hair waved.
Ghost.
A flash of loneliness stabbed my heart. I headed toward him, but a hand on my wrist stopped me. Glowering, I faced my husband.
“What?”
Tony’s grip slid down my arm and tightened.
“My wife is not associated with bikers. Especially with the boy that’s been eye-fucking you all night.” An ugly suspicion darkened his voice. “Yes, I notice everything that concerns me or mine.”
This was a bridge too far.
“I’m part of that world. You can’t pry it out of me!”
“I can and will.”
I wrenched hard, but his hold was iron. “Let me go.”
“I will not have him around you, Evie.” His tawny eyes blazed, daring me to challenge him. “I don’t hurt anyone without reason, but if I find out you’re still friends, I’ll send you his hands in a box. Do yourself a favor and behave.”
The threat plunged me into ice.
“You’re every bit as horrible as they say. You’re a sick bastard.”
Chapter Three
Evie
I’m grateful that my husband doesn’t mince words.
I’d married the monster.
Soon I’d have to sleep with him.
It was a splinter in my mind, driving me mad.
Until now, the activity at the reception had swept it from my head. There’d been enough to occupy me with the forced wedding, the endless receiving line, and my husband’s strange hostility. Getting in the mood would be impossible, even if he hadn’t threatened to dismember someone.
Tony was certifiable, more jaded than a former convict. He stood on the harbor, his sharp silhouette illuminated by yellow lights. Apparently, he preferred standing outside in the miserable weather than talking to me.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Didn’t he eat?
My vision tunneled as I finished my Aperol spritz, a cocktail I’d never tried before. There was so much I hadn’t experienced because I’d grown up in a clubhouse, and I loved the way the orange syrup cradled the bottom of the glass, the citrus tang, how the sparkling wine teased my tongue before sweetness rolled in. The drink went down easy, so I’d had four.
A blurry outline swam into focus.
I ignored the bold frame. My mouth was papery, dry and dusty. I gulped the melted ice. The heavy presence lingered, heating the space between us like smoking coal.
What did he want?
I gave his immaculate suit serious side-eye.
Tony didn’t take the hint. My chair jolted with his sudden weight. Then a jacketed arm swung forward. He pried the cup from me and set it aside. He had beautiful hands—tapered, tanned, neat cuticles, with tattoos crawling from his sleeve. Small nicks and scrapes marked his knuckles, but I could’ve used him as a model for my watch.
“You’ve had enough. No more.”
Drinking wasn’t making it better, but his cold disapproval whipped me in a fury.
“If I’m spending the night with my cheek stuck to the bathroom floor, that’s my problem.” I raised my head, glaring at him. “Not yours.”
“By all means, make a fool of yourself. Peeling you off the ground would be the perfect ending to this wedding.”
“You realize you’re the reason I’m drinking, right?”
I thought he’d leave. Instead he slid into the seat beside mine.
“You’re in for a rough eight hours unless you eat.” He turned, addressing the bodyguard. “How many has she had?”
Christian squinted. “Five?”
“Get her some water.” He grabbed my empty glass and handed it to the man. “And a plate of food. Something heavy with meat. Don’t skimp out on the starch. She needs it to absorb all the cocktails.”
A thin chill hung to Tony’s words.
Christian raked his hair. “It’s a wedding.”
“You trying to give my bride alcohol poisoning?”
My cheeks warmed. “Tony, I’m fine.”
“Sorry, T.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” He gripped my arm. Then he leaned in, his body heat burning through his suit.
The aggression didn’t scare me, but the hand weighing me knotted my insides.
“I’m not that drunk.”
“You’re a lightweight, Evie.” Sparks in my chest erupted at my name rolling off his tongue. “Evie. Is that French?”
“No idea. Mom probably heard it on TV.”
“Where is she?”
I shrugged, ignoring the ache. “Living her best life somewhere else.”
“What does that mean?”
“Now you’re interested in my backstory? After biting my head off the whole fucking night? Give me the spritz back. Then make like a leaf, and split.”
His grim expression broke with the ghost of a smile. “You’re so wasted that you’re confusing your idioms.”
“Oh fuck off.”
I rarely got this nasty, but he brought it out in me. He’d trashed my every expectation and turned a celebration into a funeral.
A Whitney Houston ballad warbled through the air, breaking up the agony of another Italian folk song. Couples in the dark revolved, spinning effortlessly. That shot an arrow through my lingering euphoria.
A pang burrowed in my heart.
God this sucked. “Can we go?”
“Not yet. You’re slurring and off-balance.” He planted the water in my hands. “Drink. Sober up.”
“Why do I have to sober up?”
“I need to make you mine, and I don’t fuck drunk girls.”
I squeezed the glass.
The bodyguard returned, balancing a giant plate of frites and poached salmon. The fat from the fish spiraled into my nostrils. Tony’s stare bored into me until I seized the fork. Then I dug into the entree. Cajun spice hit my tongue, melting with the buttery meat. I ate until the heaviness dissipated from my mind, leaving me in frazzled panic.
What would I do when Tony got me alone?
“Feel better?”
I nodded, staring at his tie. I waited, torn apart by nerves.
He took my elbow. “Let’s get this over with.”
* * *
The hotel room was smaller than I liked.
A king-sized bed sat in the middle, swallowing the space. My dress trailed the carpet as I approached the windows overlooking the Boston Common, showcasing a flurry against the midnight sky. Snowflakes danced, weightless and free. I pressed my palm against the cold, willing it to enter my body and freeze my heart.
The door shut.
I swallowed hard.
My cousin coached me for tonight. She’d held my hand through the gory details of violent sex. Guys in the clubhouse could be rough, borderline abusive. There was always gossip about one or two members. The worst had been Crash, who’d died several years ago. He was a biker with an unblinking glare that reminded me of Tony.
Something was…wrong with him.
I turned, unable to bear the silence.
Tony stood nearby as though he expected me to run. He lifted his square jaw, his dark eyes growing with a wildness.
A hunger.
He’d already unbuttoned his collar. His rolled up sleeves revealed hairy, tatted forearms. Taut muscle peeked through his shirt, the bronzed skin accenting the shadows. My gaze panned down his golden neck and the savagely virile, perfectly sculpted body. Every fiber in me urged me to escape, but his beauty sucked the air from my lungs.
He’d take my virginity.
And the bastard wouldn’t be gentle.
A furnace-like heat consumed me, but I didn’t fight when he peeled his coat from my back. He’d wrapped me in it as we’d left the reception, the gesture warming me more than the wool.
I flexed my hands. “I guess we’re doing this.”
“Yes.”
He dropped the coat.
It landed, the sound making me jump. I gathered his coat. Shaking, I smoothed the fabric and draped it over a chair.
“It’s too nice to leave on the floor.”
He studied me, head-cocked. “Nervous?”
His velvet-edged tone sounded curious, and my pulse raced uncomfortably.
I inhaled a ragged breath as I paced the narrow space between the bed and the dresser. I itched for something to do and glimpsed the mini-fridge. I opened it and grabbed a bottle.
Tony seized my wrist.
“I said, you’ve had enough.”
His growl mangled my nerves, but I daringly met his eyes.
“Who the fuck asked you?”
“Your liver.” He twisted the vodka from my grasp and shoved it away. “Your heart. Your brain. Every organ gets damaged from alcohol.”
“Is that why you’re such a nutcase?”
Doubt and fear congested my mind as Tony refused to take the bait. He kicked the fridge shut. “You’ll thank me in the morning when you’re not dry heaving.”
“You won’t even be here,” I shot back. “Right?”
“Nope.”
Thank God.
I sagged as a weight lifted from my shoulders. Then my spirit blackened as I pictured waking up alone, every single day. His tone confirmed a lifetime of lonely mornings. What a depressing start for our marriage.
My throat thickened.
None of this was what I wanted.
Tony seemed to hate it, too. He ripped off his suit jacket and threw it in the door’s direction. Rage spoke through the violence in which he undressed. It scoured my skin when his gaze fell on me.
He moved fluidly to my side, a big cat stalking prey. He caught my neck like jaws on a kill. Dread pitted my stomach. My cousin had instructed me not to resist, and I wouldn’t, but this was worse than I’d imagined.
I trembled at being taken by such a powerful man. My lungs tightened. I breathed in shallow gasps. His stare sent a tremor through me as he unlaced the buttons on my lower back.
Snap.
Snap.
Snap.
I swallowed hard. The roaring in my head drowned out my panic as his lean body molded into my curves. The wall of mouth-watering muscle reminded me there was no escape.
He seemed to notice my torment. His burning palm briefly cupped my face. Then he stroked, the sensation warm and sweet. Heat webbed my skin as he slipped to my neck. I held my breath as he explored my curves. All my senses filled with Tony, the feelings he provoked. He made no sound, but his breathing vibrated through me. I could taste the musky, vanilla scent clinging to him. Flames erupted everywhere he touched.
I waited, my nerves shot. “Are you always like this?”
His eyes flicked at me with a silent question.
“You’re very…intense.”
That was putting it lightly. Tony clasped me to him, roughly, like he’d forgotten how to hold a woman without causing her pain.
I couldn’t swallow the rock in my throat.
“And you’re jumpy for someone who grew up in a clubhouse.” Tony’s stare sliced into my bones. “You must’ve seen all kinds of shit.”
I shuddered. “Nothing I want for myself.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not that kind of girl.”
A sadistic curve touched his full lips. “I’m supposed to believe you’re as innocent as you look?”
“Believe whatever you want. It doesn’t change who I really am.”
He yanked the straps down my shoulders.
Holy fuck.
His violent movements fired my bare skin. He teased the lace over my breasts, and a bolt of pleasure struck my core. I gasped at the unexpected passion flooding me. Shame bit my cheeks as my nipples hardened into stiff, aching points. Suddenly, he pulled the dress off, and just like that, I was topless.
“Fuck,” he cursed, hands on me. “Jesus.”
More soft curses heated me as his arm banded me, sliding in between my breasts. He took one in hand. The sight of him fondling me was so titillating I clenched my thighs. A hot ache swelled in my throat as he played with me. Warmth spiraled where he stroked.
It felt so good. I was dipped in molten heat, my head rolling backward to bump his chest.
He flicked my peaked nipple.
I moaned.
“So responsive.” His cold gaze danced over my body, which had begun to tremble. “Maybe you’re not a liar.”
“Of course I’m not!”
Tony seemed unconvinced. He looked at me through a fog. He was on autopilot—not remotely romantic. Even more disturbing, he didn’t dial back the aggression. He pushed me against the wall, hard.
I didn’t struggle. I never moved against him, but he ripped off my dress like a wolf tearing into a kill. Flames chased the chill biting me as he jerked me close. A gasp escaped my lips. I had no time to feel embarrassed about being stripped to my thong. A growing hardness pushed into me with bruising pressure. Painful. Deliciously feral. One arm gripped my waist, keeping me still.
My frantic breathing frosted the glass wall.
Did he hate me that much?
I studied his reflection, the grim set of his jaw.
How could he be so cruel?
He raked my hips, catching the cotton string. It caressed my thigh, and then my panties tumbled to my feet. I stared at them, legs clasped, the space between them extremely hot.
The lack of light meant nobody from the street could see us, but my mind ran wild with images of people at the ground floor, pointing at the groom pinning his naked bride against the window.
The air thinned, and I made a choking sound.
“How can you be so afraid of sex?” His nails lightly brushed my curves, and the shock scorched through my body. “Haven’t you seen what happens to club girls?”
I swallowed tightly. “I-I’m not a club girl. I’m the president’s daughter.”
“So it’s all right from them to get fucked by everyone, but not you?”
“Your ideas about us are so warped,” I hissed, annoyed with his assumptions. “They want to be there. Club girls like tattoos and Harleys. It’s a trade-off for free food and shelter.”
“Sure. All they have to be is village pussy and can never refuse sex.”
“You elitist prick. You think you’re better than us.” I glared as a muscle flicked in his stubborn face. “Look at what you’re doing!”
“I didn’t choose this.”
“But that won’t stop you from taking my virginity.”
Tony flipped me, and I winced as my shoulders kissed the freezing glass.
“Why the fuck would it?” His eyes blazed, the fire in them growing as I prolonged the moment.
“Because,” I choked out. “We hate each other. We don’t even want each other.”
“Sounds like a typical marriage to me.”
He thought bullying his wife was normal?
Saliva pooled in my mouth. If he tried to kiss me—if he dared—I would spit at the motherfucker. His eyes, black and dazzling, darkened like angry thunderclouds. Tony lifted a finger to my lips as I shook. The caress was a command, one I wouldn’t have obeyed if I weren’t so vulnerable.
He hovered over me, his face kindled with a passionate beauty. He fingered a loose tendril on my cheek. Then he trailed down my temple, my skin tingling where he touched. His closeness was like a deadly drug, conjuring warmth in my belly.
I couldn’t move.
I could barely squirm.
Heat bubbled in my chest at being made weak.
“Don’t talk. Just listen.”
My breath burned in my throat.
“I know that you’re scared and pissed off. You’re here against your will, totally helpless, and you don’t trust me. I’m the opposite of what you wanted in a husband. You probably think I’m up to no good, and you’re absolutely right.”
Did I hear that correctly?
Pain shot through my jaw from my clenched teeth.
“You can still walk away unscathed. Say the word, and I’ll let you go.” Tony’s nostrils flared as though he’d scented my desperation. “Then you’ll be back in the clubhouse, catching all the dick. Is that what you want?”
“You don’t scare me,” I snarled, sounding a lot braver than I felt. “I’ve heard it all, and you’re nothing compared to my boys.”
“Your boys. The same guys who let an Italian marry one of their women?”
I imagined throwing him off the balcony.
“Make your decision, Evie.”
My jumbled thoughts collided like two fireworks exploding into each other. Dad would be furious if I screwed up this alliance. He’d write me off, and then what? He’d sell my jewelry and the gold, torch my studio, and kick me off of the property.
I couldn’t risk that.
His hand rolled over my shoulder, anchoring there. He branded me like a hot iron. It didn’t occur to me to shake him off. He made his intentions clear with the massage he pressed into my lower back.
I wouldn’t allow him to play games with me. If I had to do this, we would have sex on myterms.
Should I touch him?
I was morbidly curious about that stony jaw but couldn’t work up the nerve. Instead I stroked the sliver of chest peeking from his shirt. Hair brushed my palm before I pressed down to caress his warmth. He was so strong. His rock-like shoulders filled my hands.
Tony seized me like I came at him with a knife.
“What?” I asked, rattled. “Can’t I touch you?”
His nostrils flared.
Apparently not.
Slowly, he released me. Then he turned his head, lips grazing my arm. Sparks danced where he kissed—my forearm, the inside of my elbow, gliding to my shoulder. His mouth fastened in the crook of my neck. He sucked, crumbling a mountain of tension.
His teeth sank into me.
I winced, but the pain tingled like warm feathers. The burn spread between my widening legs. He lapped at the sensitive skin. I arched my back. A thrill leaped in me when he ripped away from me. He pulled me from the wall. His hand found my waist, shoving me over the bed.
I braced myself.
It was coming—the rough sex my cousin warned me about. She told me to separate mind from body, but I didn’t want to hide. I wanted to be present for every agonizing second. I didn’t hate his hands on me, far from it.
His fiery touch swept across my back, sliding lower, to my ass. He tapped it lightly. Then he struck. Stinging burst on my skin. He landed another smarting blow on my thighs, forcing my legs apart.
“Ow—what the fuck?”
“Hold still.” His detached voice chilled my blood as his palm rained hellfire. “It’ll hurt less if you don’t struggle.”
“Why are you—ow!”
He spanked me again. I gritted my teeth, hissing with the fierce ache. He hit me. Did he think I would allow him to—I gasped, distracted by him caressing my inner thigh. The sensual movements lit my body on fire. He stroked me as I clung to the bed, trembling.
A bold strike slapped my left cheek, and I jumped forward.
“You’ll be a perfect wife. You’ll greet me at the door with a kiss and a blowjob, in that order.”
“You picked the wrong girl for your 1950’s cosplay.”
His hand whirled, snapping my skin. My legs tightened with the stinging slaps, the blows erotic more than painful. He grasped a fistful of the fullest part of my ass and then—smack.
I licked my lips, jaw clenched tight to prevent a hiss of pleasure. I couldn’t take much more. It was amazing. He’d thrown me into a pool of bliss, and I had no idea what to do with myself. The wicked burn flowed inward, stroking my pussy.
He fisted my hair and yanked.
My back arched, thrusting my hips closer.
Warm liquid dripped on my ass. Was it his cum—no—he’d spat on me. Tony scooped his saliva and lathered himself, slipping between my legs. Then he jammed his fingers inside me.
The blunt force stole the breath from my lungs. I writhed at this forced submission. He fingered me with his saliva, coating my walls. He might’ve been preparing me for him, but he was getting me off. Perfect. I sank into the bottomless ecstasy as a burning ramped in my chest. I leaned into his touch.
His fingers shoved into me. His hands assaulted me, bringing me to the brink of pleasure.
I bit my lip to kill my groan.
Oh shit.
I was coming.
It built up before I could resist. A high-pitched moan exploded from my lips as the slick pressure fucked me. I welcomed him into my body. I couldn’t grab him, so I bunched the blankets. His fingers stroked the bundle of nerves in my pussy. I reached behind to grab a handful of his steel ass and squeezed, relishing in his fitness. Damn it, but I needed to touch him. I turned my head and kissed his shoulder.
He pulled his fingers out and slapped my ass.
The burn jolted my arousal. Fuck, that was amazing. My breathing hitched. I shuddered. Then he shoved his fingers back inside me. A wall inside me crashed, obliterated by Tony’s thrusting. I screamed into the mattress. My thighs twitched as his strokes slowed, and then I shattered into a thousand glowing stars.
The wave of bliss burned behind my eyes. Suddenly, I burst into tears, overwhelmed. The orgasm was like sunshine hitting my face, pure and joyful. I lay in a flood of liberation. I wanted to hold him.
I groped the sheets, searching for him.
Tony backed away. His warmth left me, dousing me in ice.
What the hell?
I flipped over.
Tony’s shirt still hung on his back. His bronze skin cast darker shadows over the lean muscle, and I could’ve run my tongue over the valleys. A pang hit between my legs at the outline of his perfect cock.
I imagined him taking it out and rutting me. I expected him to.
But he didn’t.
Shock flew through me as Tony buttoned his shirt. He dressed like the room was on fire.
What happened?
I wiped my face, thrown by his behavior. “What are you doing?”
Tony threw the dress at me, his voice detached. “Leaving.”
Cold struck my belly. “You are?”
He’d owned me. Made me come so hard I’d cried. The space where he’d filled me ached for more. He should finish what he started, not leave me wanting.
“I was never going to fuck you.” Tony zipped up his slacks, his mocking drawl in full force. “Just had to see how badly you wanted my cock.”
Heat blistered my cheeks.
He winked.
Then he left.
Chapter Four
Tony
3 oz Prosecco
2 oz Aperol
splash of soda
Garnish: orange wedge
I thought about them.
Every night, their faces pressed into the silk fabric of my mind. I relived the things I’d done. Depraved acts that made my heart thump and the blood rush to my cock. I’d escaped that place, but I wasn’t free.
I opened my eyes.
It was dark, the sort of pitch-black heaviness that can’t be penetrated, invading my lungs and devouring my being like smoke belched from a fire. I was a charred husk, angry and empty. My rage heated the bed as I laid there. No relief could be found in this darkness, only more torture.
I tossed.
I turned.
I lost minutes…hours before my brain paused its war on itself. My head hit the pillow. I drifted, but there was nothing peaceful about my sleep.
Wood creaked.
Heavy boots scraped the floor.
I rolled over, stomach tensing.
A faint glow crawled into the room as the door swung. More footsteps, then a man’s strong silhouette stood in the threshold.
My heart skipped a beat.
I froze at the familiar face—round cheeks framed with shaggy blond hair—the face of my enemy.
What was he doing here?
Shock yielded to the pounding in my ears. I shot upright, fists clenched.
His lips curved.
I launched at him.
He flew back, skull cracking into the wall. Plaster splintered. He shoved me. My feet slipped on the wood as he hammered blows into me. I grated my teeth, holding him back.
Then his fist slammed into my shoulder. Agony plunged into my flesh. The pain jarred me into consciousness.
I bolted upright, blinded. I gasped for air as I groped for the curtains. I yanked them so hard they broke from the rod.
My pulse galloped ahead as light spilled across the bed, illuminating tousled sheets. The compression on my lungs eased. I rubbed the two-inch scar. The comforter poured onto the carpet of a room I didn’t recognize. My feet hit a bundle of clothing.
A hotel room.
Right. I got married.
Married, it still seemed unreal.
The digital clock on the nightstand bled with red numbers—six a.m. She was probably asleep. My awareness drifted to an object that pressed into my palm. The metal bit into my skin before a ripple of shock zipped up my spine.
A knife.
Christ. Get it together.
My breath stalled as the door trembled with a knock. I gripped the handle, hiding the blade behind the door. The lock unlatched, swinging open to my cousin.
“Morning.”
I gritted my teeth. “It’s too early for me to deal with you.”
Nevertheless, I stepped back. Vinn strolled inside, dressed down to jeans and a hoodie. He frowned at the knife in my hand. His gaze flicked to my face, to the weapon, to me again.
Vinn might’ve been boss of the Family, but I pulled the strings. Officially, I wasn’t involved in the mafia. Dad had kept me out of the mob, but everything had changed when he died. He’d left me the accounts and contacts. The whole empire was mine, locked in trust funds and real estate that made Vinn’s position mostly symbolic. I owned it all, except Vinn had wanted me to stop funding the biker wars.
My feud with Legion MC was terrible for Boston. I backed street gangs like Rage Machine financially and bought them weapons. In return, they hammered the shit out of Legion, who then retaliated by bombing Italian businesses, which forced the mayor to summon the National Guard. The mandated curfews and violence killed small businesses throughout Boston, which affected Vinn’s bottom line, and the mafia was all about money. After I’d funded a local politicians’ efforts to pass a heavy-handed drug trafficking law, I suddenly found myself tied up and thrown in a car.
Legion was keen to get me off their ass forever. They were paying hand over fist just for peace. This marriage was supposed to end the feud between the groups, and having a baby with Evie would cement that alliance.
The injustice clawed at my insides. It demanded reprisal. This match was so ass-backward I couldn’t see us lasting more than a few months, during which I’d lose my mind. We would never work. I couldn’t accept this—the very idea disgusted me.
Vinn had done this.
It was his fault.
My throat tightened, and I resisted the urge to lash out—Aperol cocktail recipe. I breathed in deeply. Three ounces of Prosecco.
“You should return to her hotel room,” he said in his low, deep voice. “You don’t want people to talk.”
Two ounces of Aperol. Less, if you prefer a dry cocktail.
I held out my hand. “Give me my fucking phone.”
“No.”
I could’ve punched his throat. All last night, I’d endured his smug grins, his glib comments, his pats on my back.
A splash of soda water. Garnished with—
“What more do you want?” I bellowed, blood rushing in my ears. “I married the girl. She’s moving into my apartment. She hates me, and I can't stand her, but we are together.”
“You both agreed to start a family.” He pulled the cell from his pants and slapped it onto my palm. “No more messing with bikers. You will embrace domestic life and focus on her.”
I shoved the phone into my pocket, annoyed Vinn hadn’t disappeared. “Leave before my hair-trigger temper gets us both killed.”
Vinn gave me an unfathomable look before he shook his head and left. As soon as he’d gone, I swiped through my texts. I a note to my lawyer friend. I’d headed out the door before I remembered my wife.
Damn it.
Heaviness centered in my chest. An odd twinge nagged at me as I changed directions and strolled next door.
Last night was a disaster.
The rage had built in me as she drank Aperol spritzes, which happened to be my favorite summer cocktail. I hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol in ages, but watching her drink them had triggered me. I could’ve sucked her tongue dry.
God, the way her cunt gripped my fingers. Evie was more tempting than a line of Columbian powder. I’d almost held her down and fucked her. She'd begged me to, but I took it way too far. She’d made me lose control.
I was off balance.
Fuck.
A clawing sensation gnawed my throat. I shut my eyes, inhaling through my nose. I had to master this crazed impulse.
I slid my keycard in the lock.
The door yawned. Wide-open curtains glowed with the faint light, washing her sleeping silhouette in blue. What I wouldn’t give to be that blissfully unaware.
Her cheek pressed into the pillow and her mouth was parted. Her brown mane fanned on the sheets, the perfect bun from the wedding undone. Without the makeup, she looked younger than her twenty-two years.
I kicked the bedframe. “Wake up.”
She startled horribly, dragging the sheets to her mouth. I braced myself for pleading and begging, but Evie groaned like I woke her up for school.
“Get up. We’re leaving.”
Evie pulled the comforter over her head. “Too early.”
“We need to go.”
She didn’t move.
I ripped the covers from her body.
She hissed, legs curling under her satin slip. “Fine. Jesus. I’m getting up.”
She rolled off the bed and stretched. Light kissed her face, illuminating her bewitching face. Dark, mysterious eyes frowned, furrowing slender brows. Her plush pink lips offset the gentle slope of her chin. Her skin complemented the golden room. She seemed of the earth, pure, and desiring her felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Evie’s beauty was the devastating kind that hit a man in the chest, and if I didn’t pull back, I would lose sight of my goal.
I could never love her.