That was poorly done.
The whole wedding was a fiasco. From the moment the girl walked into the church, it was obvious she had no clue what was going on. Bad enough to be shoved into an arranged marriage—but even worse for it to be a surprise.
No wonder she fainted.
God, she was like a little kitten in my arms. So small, blonde, and pretty. Her thick, golden hair was pulled back in a simple braid that made her look so sexy. She was tiny, maybe five-foot-four at most, with a petite frame. The sort of woman I could throw around. Good lips, nice figure. Conservative dress though, like she was on her way to teach kindergarten or something.
And that scar. An ugly wound, and I know about those. Someone sliced her from cheek to chin. She did a good job covering it with makeup, but there’s no hiding a scar like that up close.
Little kitten has been through something.
She reminded me so much of Natalia. But where my friend Nat was a firebrand, Dasha seemed so soft and trembling. It was that position, her shoulders on my thighs, her body under my hands, her eyes meeting mine. Her body pulled against mine as I cradled her. Just like the last time I ever saw poor Natalia.
Only with much less blood.
If I were a better man, I would’ve asked questions before taking her as my wife. Arsen gave me opportunities, but I just kept telling him it didn’t matter. What did it matter, honestly? I was willing to walk down the aisle for the sake of this alliance.
Bringing together the Brotherhood and the Zeitsev Bratva is going to completely change the power dynamics on the East Coast.
So why the hell would I need to know anything about some girl?
Now though, my heart burns with curiosity.
“Why didn’t you know?” I ask her, doing my best not to look at the girl. My driver, Damian, has the privacy window up. He gave me a wink as he did it like I’m about to start the wedding night back here.
The girl looks like she’s going to pass out if I touch her again.
That’s not happening.
“My dad probably didn’t think I could handle it.” Her voice is soft and meek. Why the hell is she staring down at the floor like I’m going to hurt her? Anger rustles in my chest. I need to be careful here. Gentle and kind.
But I’m a bad man.
“Why not? You seem strong enough to me.” Not exactly true, but there was a glimmer during the kiss when she moaned right there into my mouth. Quietly, but damn. The girl liked it. She showed a little spark.
Right now, though, she’s dull as hell.
“It’s been a complicated few years.” She hugs herself, looking away. “How come you ended up in this situation?”
“My brother is the patron of the Brotherhood. He’s already married, which leaves me as the highest-ranking bachelor.”
“Lucky you, I guess.”
“Look at me, pisik.” She doesn’t move right away. I resist the urge to reach out and touch her. I’m sorely tempted.
She hunches in more. Who the hell hurt this girl?
“It’s your wedding night. Don’t you have expectations?”
I almost laugh.
I’m a monster. I’ve killed, maimed, tortured, stolen, vandalized, burned, and destroyed my way across Baltimore. I’ve cut the throats of cousins and pulled the triggers on uncles.
But I don’t force women to sleep with me.
“I expect you to be my wife. Beyond that, whatever we do is your choice.”
She frowns and finally looks over. “Do you actually mean that?”
“I’m not going to sleep with you tonight unless you ask me to.”
Her eyebrows raise. Maybe she’s not used to a man being that direct. But I’m not the type to dance around the situation.
“What if I did ask?” she whispers, and there’s a spark of something in her eye and a little smirk on her lips. “Would you fuck me then?”
God damn. My cock stirs and stiffens. I can picture her lips around my tip, stroking my long shaft and moaning. I can see her grinding down and trying to take my thickness inside her little pussy.
I can imagine myself destroying her.
“Only if you ask nicely.”
She grins a little. There’s the glimpse I caught back in the chapel.
Hidden under the scared little kitty-cat routine is a vicious devil.
But her smile quickly fades. “It’s going to take a little while before I trust you,” she admits. “This is happening so fast. I’m kind of just trying to keep from freaking out.”
“That’s all right. I don’t blame you.”
I do blame her father, though. If he had warned her and given her time to come to grips with her situation, maybe she wouldn’t be on the edge of another panic attack right now.
Fortunately, I can make sure he never pulls something like that on my wife again.
We reach the hotel. Damian opens the door, and I escort her through the lobby and onto the elevator. “There’s no way I could have one more night at home?” she asks, arms still hugging herself.
I shake my head. The idea of letting her out of my sight right now makes my stomach sour. “You’re my responsibility, which means you’re under my protection.”
“Is being married to you that dangerous?”
“It could be.” I don’t elaborate on all the various men and women who want me dead. How I’ve been Arsen’s enforcer since he took over the Brotherhood and haven’t exactly made many friends.
My brother’s the politician.
I’m the knife.
He points, and I kill.
That’s just how our relationship works.
So far, it’s been lucrative for us both. We sit atop one of the most influential and powerful crime organizations in the country. The Armenian Brotherhood owns Baltimore, just like the Zeitsev Bratva owns a large chunk of Philadelphia.
With our combined might, we’ll force all the other families to their knees.
All I have to do is stay married to the girl—
And get her pregnant.
But right now, as I unlock the door to our honeymoon suite and lead her inside, I suspect it’s not the moment to mention the baby issue.
Soon though. Tonight, even.
Unlike her father, I’m not going to spring it on her at the last minute.
“It’s nice,” she says, looking around. Still hugging herself. There’s a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and rose petals scattered on the floor.
“Staff must’ve taken the honeymoon thing literally,” I grumble as I kick some of the flowers aside. “We’ll spend the night here. You can have the bed. In the morning, you’ll say your goodbyes, pack your things, and we’ll get out of here before dinner.”
“Where are we going?” she asks, lingering near the small couch.
Fuck, she doesn’t even know where I live.
“Baltimore. I have a house next to the harbor. You’ll like it.”
“I’ve never been to Baltimore before.”
“The Brotherhood controls the city. You’ll be safe in my home.”
“Right. Safe.” She sits on the edge of the bed, breathing fast. “Sorry. I just, I’m trying to process.” She laughs bitterly. “I thought tonight was a birthday party.”
My eyebrows raise. “It’s your birthday?”
“Twenty-five. Imagine that. I’ve barely left my house in over ten years, and I thought finally I was going to be brave and go to a party. Now look what happens.”
There’s a whole lot to unpack in that sentence. I move over to her, drop to a knee, and take her hand in mine. She flinches back.
“Happy birthday,” I tell her and kiss her thumb. “Twenty-five. That’s a good age.”
“Yeah? How old are you?” She pulls her hand from mine and covers her mouth. A hysterical giggle escapes her lips. “You’re my husband, and I don’t even know how old you are.”
“Thirty-three.” I stand and give her some space. I’m tired from this mess and just want it to be done. “There’s another room over there.” I gesture toward it. “That’s where I’ll be.”
“You’re just leaving me alone?” More panic in her tone.
“I didn’t think you’d want me hanging around.”
“No, it’s just, I don’t—” She gets up, storms over to the champagne, and rips it from the bucket. She fiddles with the paper and the covering. “How the hell do you open this thing?”
“Let me.” I take it from her and twist off the cork cover, then pop it open. She flinches and looks away. I pour two glasses. “You said something a minute ago about not leaving your house.”
“Looks like we both should’ve done more research,” she mutters, drinking the champagne. But she doesn’t elaborate. “I need something to sleep in.” She gestures down at her dress.
“Give me a moment.” I step into the other room and call down to Damian. I tell him to go to her house and get her some clothes. When I come back in, she’s refilling her glass. “Clothes are on their way.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.” I finish my drink and study her. She’s over near the window. Her hair’s down to the center of her back, and I can picture wrapping it around my fist as her lips glide up and down my vein-covered shaft. How the fuck am I having these thoughts about a woman I don’t even know? Some scared girl on her twenty-fifth birthday?
Trapped in a marriage she doesn’t want.
And yet the monster in me likes the idea of making her mine.
“Tell me about yourself then.” She keeps her distance, but the alcohol seems to be loosening her up. “Just one brother?”
“Technically, he’s my cousin, but it’s a long story. We were raised as brothers, and I owe him everything.”
“Sounds complicated.”
“What about you?”
“One older brother. He was there tonight.”
I vaguely recall an angry-looking young man with some family resemblance, though I could barely keep my eyes off her.
“Are you close?”
“Sometimes, but it’s hard, you know? He moved out and has his own life. While I just…” She gestures in the air.
“Stayed inside.”
“Exactly.” She laughs lightly, but there’s an edge to it. “You know, a crazy shut-in.”
“I don’t think you know crazy, pisik.”
“What does pisik mean, anyway? It’s something like… small cat?”
“Little kitten.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
I finish my champagne and fill another glass. I ask her questions about her life growing up, some of which she dodges. I get the sense that whatever happened, it happened when she was young, and it left her with the scar on her face.
Mostly, she talks about school, hobbies, and her garden.
There’s a knock at the door. Just as she was loosening up a bit talking about her rosebushes, she suddenly clamps down and shrivels. I go to answer, and it’s Damian with a light blue duffel bag. “Her things. I met her very kind older brother.”
“Do I need to take care of him?”
Damian grins and shakes his head. “Nah. He was just pissed about the situation. A protective older brother.”
“Good. That’s how it should be.” I thank him and let him go for the night. I head back into the room and hand her the bag. “Apparently, your brother’s concerned about you.”
“That’s good, I guess. Glad someone cares.” She unzips the bag and takes out a pair of black sweats and a pair of black underwear. She glances at me and quickly shoves the panties away, her face turning pink. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have seen those.”
I can’t help but smirk at her reaction. “It’s underwear, pisik. I can handle seeing a woman’s underthings.”
“Still, we’re practically strangers.” Her spine straightens as she gathers her things. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“You’re my wife. You can get changed in front of me.” I’m grinning now, unable to help myself.
Her blush deepens. “No, definitely not. I can’t do that. I mean—”
“You’re acting like me seeing you naked is somehow improper.”
“That’s because it is.” She looks around in a panic. “We don’t even know each other.”
“But you’re my wife. What’s more proper than seeing my wife’s naked body? Who else can we fuck, if not our spouse?”
“I thought you said it was going to be my choice.”
“And it will be. But you’re acting like I’m some man off the street. You’re my wife now, pisik. If I see your body, if I see your underwear, these things are normal.”
“Maybe to you,” she grumbles, backing away toward the bathroom door. “But not to me.”
I gesture for her to go ahead and use the bathroom. She strides away, spine straight and chin held high, which surprises me. I expected her to scurry like a scared little mouse.
But there’s definitely fire in her belly.
She hides it under that meek little exterior. I don’t know what happened in her life to make her like that, but I’ll find out. And maybe, with some time and a little coaxing, I’ll be able to draw her out.
I decide to change as well. My comfortable clothes are in my suitcase in the closet. I get them out and take off my suit, shrugging my shoulders and stretching my arms as I go. It’s been a long day, and I’m ready for it to be over. I step out of my suit pants with a sigh and toss them aside.
“Okay, that’s much—”
I turn around.
There she is, wearing an old Metallica t-shirt and tight sweats.
Her face is so red I’m worried she’s having a heart attack.
