Chapter 26: : Chapter 26

“Married?” Dutton questions loudly. “To the woman who’s trying to kill you?”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” I say as I remove my shirt and dump the bottle of water over my sweaty body.

Dutton and I have been throwing a few rounds in my home gym. Usually, Hawke and Ford would train with us too, but I have them out cleaning up the Dee mess. They were unimpressed by the fact that I didn’t take them as backup. But I don’t answer to them; they work for me.

I check my phone to ensure they’ve received the money without a hitch, and proceeded with the document exchange to begin the new contracts with Dee. I eagerly await to see what he already has in motion regarding the motorcycle gang, The Boston Delinquents. The moment I have the details, I have no issue with doubling back and removing Dee from the equation entirely. He offended my family, and people don’t survive that shit.

“Shocked? Weren’t we only having a conversation the other day about figuring out who hired her and then getting rid of her? Do your parents know about this?” he demands.

I look up from my phone. “It hasn’t been publicly announced, but my mother did decide to appear on her doorstep a few days ago.”

Dutton throws his hands in the air. “And then you decided to have a little shoot-out with your girlfriend against Dee and his men without Ford and Hawke. Have you lost your goddamn mind? She could’ve easily killed you then.”

“I’ve heard tests of loyalty are healthy for any relationship,” I say dismissively.

He laughs then, the sound both chaotic and lethal. “Relationship? What the fuck are you on about? You don’t do relationships.”

“It’s a means to an end. I can marry her, wait out the three months until I’m officially named head of the family, then decide whether I dispose of her permanently or pay her out and send her off so she can start a new life.”

Dutton stares at me incredulously. “Why are you going so far for this woman you barely know? And why am I repeating myself? She has been paid to kill you. This jeopardizes not only your life but your family as well. What if her client decides to kill not only you but your parents as well?”

“I won’t let that happen. Trust me when I say I have it handled.” I throw the empty bottle down, the rage I expelled while working out now piling up again. I love my cousin, but he’s the person who gets most under my skin. We’re close in age, but that doesn’t mean our perspectives and goals are the same.

I turn my back to him and pick up the towel to wipe over my face. “What the fuck happened to your back?!” he exclaims. I freeze, having forgotten about the wounds there. The moment she started carving up my back, I fucking reveled in it. Savored every squeeze of her tight pussy that was barely able to fit me inside.

The intensity of her gaze and needy, spiteful kisses. The knife down my back was fucking heaven. It created an uncontrollable sexual buildup I’d never experienced right before I blew into her, filling her with my cum.

There was something carnal about fucking her, and I’d do it again and again, even if I’d have to re-ink the lines of every single tattoo on my back. It was fucking worth it.

I look over my shoulder with a smug smile. His features harden.

“You’re a sick motherfucker, you know that?”

“I’m not the only one into some depraved things,” I remind him. “Remember how you choked out your last lover? You’re lucky she survived.”

He looks away. “It was an accident.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Is that how you got the nick to your throat? I don’t think any family dinner with your parents is going to go over well if you keep appearing with knife wounds.”

I shrug, done with this discussion. I’ve burned off enough of my excess energy to get me through the day. I haven’t seen Jewel since I dropped her off almost a week ago. And that’s specifically because I’ve taken time to sort out family affairs, contracts, and what some might consider a date for tonight. Jewel just doesn’t know it yet.

My fiancée is hellbent on not replying to most of my messages, but I seem to get a bite on the few that really antagonize her. And when I send her gifts, she often sends photos of them in the trash. Unless it’s a specific piece of jewelry or lingerie set that she likes the look of. Then I don’t get a reply at all. Her silence is as good as a thank you.

“I don’t like it. You’ve done some dumb shit in the past, but this is too much. Her pussy can’t be that golden.”

I turn on him then, sizing him up. “How about you keep my fiancée’s pussy out of your mind, or we’re going to have a problem.”

His eyes narrow. He shakes his head with a condescending smile. “You know what, motherfucker? For someone who’s talking about this woman being disposable, you seem awfully attached, calling her your fiancée. So don’t let me interfere with you potentially fucking up your life and getting yourself killed. I hope she’s worth it.”

A tic jumps in my jaw as adrenaline resurfaces, and that roiling anger that’s always close to the surface wants to rear its ugly head.

“If my parents find out this is a fake marriage, I’ll know it’s because of you.”

He looks over his shoulder with an arrogant expression. “Oh, don’t you worry, it won’t be me fucking this up for you. You can manage that shit all on your own. Just don’t come to me for help when it blows up in your pretty-ass face.”

He takes his shit and leaves. My knuckles turn white as I clench my fists. Motherfucker.

I know exactly what I’m doing, and I don’t need his permission to do shit—especially considering his sly deals and management of his own business are less than moral.

I look back at my phone, approving of the quick work of my men. Ford and Hawke are on their way with the goods, and that means I can focus on treating my fake fiancée to a little date tonight. One she won’t be able to refuse.

I have every intention of showing her off like a trophy wife because whoever can afford a hit on me is most definitely someone in or close to our inner circle. Unfortunately, it’s hard to tell who because I’ve pissed so many people off.

Once they know she’s mine, they’ll falter, perhaps reveal their hand or change their tactics.

In the meantime, I get to spoil my soon-to-be wife.