: Chapter 27

Enzo hasn’t been in our bed in four days. He’s here for breakfast, and then he’s gone until the following morning rolls around. Rinse, wash, repeat.

It’s getting on my fucking nerves.

“Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“No one must have warned you of such a thing, did they, Grandma?”

She mutters something about me being impossible and tries to take the half bottle of champagne left beside me, but I yank it from her grasp before she can, pouring another glass, just as Katana walks out in yet another ball gown.

Same as the last ten she tried on, this one has her frowning down at her body. Her eyes pop up to mine. “Can’t I just wear the dress I wore to the fundraiser?”

“If you want someone to cut it off your body simply to draw attention to your lack of commitment and care—it will likely be my sister, by the way—to the Greyson Society then sure, go right ahead. Recycle.”

Katana laughs, but when I don’t join in, her mouth drops open. “You’re actually serious?”

“And you’re actually annoying.” I roll my eyes, pushing to my feet and heading toward the door. “I’m over this. Pick a dress or don’t, I’m out.”

“You can’t just leave me here,” she squeaks, frantically looking around the place.

“Grandma is here, your guard is here, and this place is owned by one of our own. You’ll be fine and Nicholas will come back for you.”

“Boston, wait!”

I don’t wait.

Bottle in hand, I head toward my guard, waiting until he opens the door to signal the car is ready and waiting, and together we walk out.

Nicholas has the privacy window rolled down, and glances over his shoulder, his grin pointed at the bottle now settled in my lap. “Where to, your highness?”

“The Enterprise.”

Nicholas’s eyes widen at that, and he starts to shake his head, but I’m already rolling up the privacy screen, lifting a brow just as he disappears from sight.

Considering I left my glass on the tabletop, I lift the heavy bottle to my lips, glaring straight ahead, and I remain that way for the next ten minutes, mindlessly spinning my ring on my finger.

Enzo told me he’d disappoint me often, blah blah blah, but I’m not disappointed. I’m pissed.

And horny.

And where the fuck is my husband?

It’s not until my guard lifts his left hand, looking down at the watch on his wrist for the third time this trip that I snap. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” Maybe wherever my husband has been.

It takes the man a moment to realize I’m talking to him, seeing as how it’s in his job description not to talk to me. Or look me in the eye. Or tell me his name.

But he does two of those things a moment later.

Of course, it’s likely because I now have a knife to his carotid, though I’m pretty sure they’re instructed to take the blade rather than break the rules.

I imagine Enzo’s punishments would be far worse than my own. My muscles clench, eyes narrowing.

Fikile guards would understand this…

“Mrs. Fikile, don’t.”

I falter at the Mrs. part, but not enough to make my hand slip.

“What’s with the obsession with the time? Did my impromptu trip fuck up your plans? Who were you expecting? Were you trying to ambush us?” He says nothing, just lifts his hands in surrender. “I will cut this bandana from your face, likely taking some skin with it, if you don’t speak and speak now.”

“Don’t.” He holds my gaze and it’s another red flag. “If you remove the mask, I forfeit my position. My face can’t⁠—”

“Be seen by any, I know. That’s kind of the point here.” I glare, a sense of unease washing over me as my eyes flick up to the hoodie pulled low over his head.

Tension grows at the corners of his eyes, but there is no fear there, which is even more concerning.

Enzo’s men, my men, would most definitely show some sign of concern or distress, and I’m woman enough to admit it has nothing to do with the blade, even if they are well aware I’m prone to drawing blood when I’m pissed or don’t get my way. But that’s nothing in comparison to what they’d really fear facing. This guy is breaking rules, literally staring me in the eye for much longer than necessary, his blue eyes gauging me closely.

I force myself not to react, considering my options as I press the knife a little harder, breaking past that first layer of skin and letting a single drop of blood slip free.

His right hand rises in slow motion, as if he’s trying to show me he has no intention of using it to cause harm, not that I believe him, but my heart pounds harder when his next move is to pull his finger to his lips. He’s telling me not to scream or yell.

Why the fuck would I?

But then the brakes squeal, his eyes widen, and he throws his arm out to keep me from slamming my face in the glass across from me. The bottle breaks around our feet and he curses, seeming to be frantically attempting to slip out from the back seat before the car has come to a full stop. He doesn’t get the chance. A split second later the back door is torn open and heavy arms wrap around my waist, yanking me from the vehicle just as I see him torn from his own seat.

I spin my knife, stabbing it straight into the hand around me, hitting bone and forcing it farther.

A deep growl sounds at my back, and I freeze, head snapping over my shoulder as my heels hit the ground.

But Enzo isn’t looking at me, his glare is pointed across the hood of the car. I follow his gaze to find Mino and three others there, the guard who was inside with me locked between them, blue eyes on mine.

Enzo’s chest rumbles against my back, his hands tightening around my waist. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” My husband’s words are a thing of nightmares, like the song you hear in a movie right before that burned guy shows up and murders you in your sleep.

The guard, he winks, and my eyes narrow further, frown only deepening when no one appears.

“Okay then,” he hisses, and he must give Mino a look, as in the next moment, his second aims a gun at the side of the guard’s head.

“Touch him and your sister is dead.”

We yank left at the feminine voice, and my jaw drops open at the sight of the seamstress from the boutique—a boutique owned and operated by Delta’s extended family, intended to be a safe space for the females of our world.

“You must be the wife,” Enzo deadpans.

“Victoria Brayshaw.” The blonde smiles, lifting her left hand and wiggling her fingers.

Okay, fake seamstress. Wonder how she pulled that off.

When I look over Victoria’s shoulder, I spot Maddoc coming, the rest of their crew appearing one by one, all from different angles, minus the pregnant one. They’re essentially surrounding us, but not one has a weapon pulled.

I look back to the guard who was in the car with me just as they yank his hood and bandana from his head.

“You,” I mutter. I knew his eyes were familiar.

“Mrs. Fikile.” Captain smirks. “Nice to see you again.”

“I will gut you in the center of this street without a second thought,” Enzo seethes, and I press into him farther when he begins to shake.

“Don’t worry.” Royce appears, stepping right in front of the car, eyes wild, tongue slicing across his lower lip like some kind of wild animal. “We won’t be here much longer.”

Enzo stiffens for a split second, and in the next, I’m bent at the waist, spun, and shoved back into the car, the doors slammed and the tires squealing as we peel out, going backward at a rapid speed.

I barely have time to register Mino is also in the car with me when Nicholas slams on the brakes, whipping the car around, and we’re flying down the road.

“What the fuck?!” I scream, spinning and glaring over at Mino, who is frantically pulling his phone from his pocket. “You better be calling backup for him, Mino, or I swear to fucking God⁠—”

I cut off when Enzo’s voice fills the car and slide across the seat, huddling in closer to see the screen.

Mino yanks it away at first, pressing the mute button, but I am so done fucking around. I fist my pretty pink dagger, the two-inch one attached to my inner wrist, and slide it free, jamming it straight into his thigh.

“Ah, fuck!” Mino howls, head yanking my way in surprise. “Was that necessary?”

“Give me the fucking phone.”

Mino hesitates, eyes moving between mine.

“Now!” I scream.

With a sigh, he lowers his chin, passing it over just as a scared and shaking Katana appears beside Enzo.

I quickly press the unmute button.

“If you’re lying, you’re all dead,” Enzo issues his dark promise. “Even the pregnant one.”

Royce lunges at Enzo then, but his brother catches him around the middle, and Raven slides in front of him, putting herself between my husband and her family.

“He’s known to go rogue,” she snaps. “Don’t push him.”

“Who the fuck does she think she is?” I mutter to myself.

Mino scoffs, but I don’t look away from the screen, just lift my middle finger his way.

Enzo only lifts his chin. “Get the fuck out of my territory.”

I sigh, dropping back, and toss Mino the phone with a glare. “Great. We missed everything they said, jackass.”

Mino watches as the Brayshaws disappear and doesn’t click off the feed until Enzo is back in his car with the door closed. He waits several seconds, then looks my way with a grin. “You realize you’re in trouble, right?”

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

Mino chuckles and, for the rest of the ride home, says not another word. But he does laugh when, yet again, the moment the car yanks to a stop, the door is yanked open, and my ass is hauled out by my very pissed-off husband.

I sigh, going limp in his arms and forcing him to use his muscles to carry me.

If he wants to get inside to fight, he’s going to have to work for it.

I figure he’s going to take me to our bedroom and have this out, but he doesn’t.

He takes me to his office, throws everything off the desk with one swift swoop, and sets me on top of it.

His eyes are wild as he glares down at me, and slowly he starts to remove his jacket and tie. Never once does he take his gaze off me as he goes, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows next.

He opens his mouth, and I expect him to start to shout, and he does, but not at me, for his second.

Mino saunters in a moment later.

“Lock the door,” Enzo demands, and his second does as he’s told.

Enzo pushes my ass back a bit, then grips me by the ankles. Lifting one to the desk, sticking straight out to my left. He takes the next and does the same thing, putting me into a full split.

I lift my chin, unfazed. I could hold this position for hours on hours. Not sure what he thinks he’s gaining here. Enzo pushes on my chest lightly, and I take the cue in stride, using my core muscles to lower onto my back with ease, my legs not so much as moving a muscle. He rounds the desk then, and my eyes snap to Mino, leaning against the wall near the door, gaze trailing his boss.

Enzo runs his hands from my shoulders to my palms, linking his fingers through mine as he pulls them up, stretching them out at my sides, so they’re parallel with my legs. He lowers, skimming his lips across my forehead, and I do all I can to keep my expression blank.

“Mino, do you remember the man from the Karson case?” he asks his second.

Mino doesn’t respond, but after a moment, his footsteps draw him closer until a shadow falls over my torso. Enzo opens a drawer, something clicks, and then I feel them.

The chill of cold metal, locking around my extremities; by the time I attempt to yank upward, they’ve already got the other wrist and ankle in their hands, and I’m officially locked down on top of the desk. Still in a full split with my arms out at my sides.

My eyes snap up, locking onto Enzo’s as he pushes to his full height from his position behind my head. His eyes are hard and a complete contrast to the gentleness in which he gathers my hair from behind me, laying it out so it hangs over the edge of the desk. He runs his fingers through the curls a few times before releasing it completely and moving back around the desk so he’s at Mino’s side.

They both stare at me, and Mino only moves when Enzo nods his chin, and I follow him with my eyes until he’s just too far to my upper left that I’d have to arch my back to look at him. I won’t give them the satisfaction of that, though.

A drawer opens and something clunks at the desktop beside me, but I don’t look. I keep my gaze locked on my husband’s. I’m as stoic as ever but that swiftly changes when he does what I never would have expected.

He lifts a knee to the desk and crawls on top until he’s hovering over me. His lips come down on mine, but he doesn’t kiss, rather sliding his mouth along mine until he’s dipping into my neck, where he nips at me.

My nostrils flare with a sharp inhale and Enzo keeps going, lips gliding across my skin until they meet my left hand. He bites along my ring finger before taking it into his mouth. His tongue swirls around my skin and I tug on the handcuff a little, so he presses firmly against my forearm, forcing me still. Finally, he pops free and when his chest leaves my view—his face, now front and center—he pulls his lips back, revealing my ring sitting there, right between his teeth.

My eyes narrow, and he drops the diamond to my chest, tucking it into my bra right where it presses to my breastbone.

“Still no words for me, Little Bride?” he murmurs, running his nose along mine and making me want to stab him. “No questions? No threats?”

My response is to flick my tongue out, licking across his lips.

It works like a charm.

Enzo snaps, catching it between his teeth and sucking it into his mouth, his lips coming down on mine with angry, electric energy. His kiss is full of possession and an unspoken warning. I’m to behave in this moment because one way or another, he is getting what he wants today. Right now.

I just wish I had a single fucking clue what that was.

Enzo

If I could strangle her with my tongue, I might be tempted to do just that right now I’m so fucking pissed. Enraged.

I take it out on her mouth, pressing hard against her, biting and sucking and punishing.

I flick my wrist at Mino and I hear him get moving.

We don’t have to talk about what I’m expecting. My earlier question and taking her ring off with my teeth were enough for him to get the idea.

My wife rips away from my mouth, head yanking in his direction, green gaze narrowing as he preps her pretty little finger, but I take her chin between my own, forcing her attention back where it belongs. On me.

“You fucked up today, wife.” My fingers skim along her jaw, skating down her neck before I take it in my palm. “Got drunk. Left. Got in the car with someone who wasn’t your guard.”

“You’re just mad they got the jump on your men,” she sasses, brow popped high. “How’d they do it, by the way? I imagine the real guard is still alive and breathing somewhere?”

Mino scoffs and her head jerks in his direction, but my hold on her is still stiff as stone.

Her eyes narrow and I glare right back.

“You really think the man who put my wife at risk would get to simply walk away?”

“You really think you cannot come home and not tell me about it?”

My cock twitches.

She doesn’t care about the man in my cellar or the plans I have for him.

No, my little bride has a one-track mind at the moment.

“You’ve had your caramel, hot and ready each morning, have you not?”

Her features only harden more.

“I warned you, baby. Disappointment more than not, remember?”

“I’m not okay with that.”

I run my nose along the column of her throat, whispering against her. “And what would my wife have me do, hmm?”

“Take me with you.”

“Too dangerous.”

“I can handle it.”

“I have no doubt.” I use my teeth next. “Fact still remains.”

“So, is this your plan, then? Tie me up and tell me no?”

“You’re cuffed not tied, but I won’t be telling you no. Not right now anyway.”

She arches up, bumping her torso hard against me as she tears her head away from my lips, but I’ve still got her by the throat, and I smile when her little growl vibrates against my palm.

“What are we doing here, Enzo? Are you torturing me? Punishing me? Fucking me? Whatever it is, can we get on with it already?” She huffs, flicking her eyes upward. “I’m getting bored.”

Mino chuckles and then a soft thrumming sounds once, twice. I hold her head still, glancing over to meet his gaze. He gives a curt nod and I look down at my bride.

My wife.

“My queen,” I whisper.

She stares at me with her brows drawn tight, dying to know what the hell is going on but refusing to ask if only to be ignored again.

I straddle her on the desktop, my long legs bent, knees pressing against her sides as I hover over her.

“I need you to stay still for me, baby,” I rasp. “Can you do that?”

Her lips purse and she gives me no verbal response, but every muscle in her body eases beneath me.

My wife, at my mercy, has complete and total trust in me.

My cock hardens in my slacks and a small smile pulls at her lips, though she says nothing, just stares with those big green eyes.

“How well do you take pain, wife?”

“I dance until my toes bleed, body shuts down, and muscles give out. I’ve been stabbed, cut open, and sewn back together and never once have I taken a pill to dull the ache. Alcohol? Sure. Muscle relaxers? Every now and again, but pain is a part of me. Has been for as long as I can remember. Now tell me why.”

Stretching my arm over her, I gather her waterfall of hair, drawing it forward and laying it along her shoulders, fingers running through the thick, silky length. “I’m going to do what I promised.”

Her eyes fall to my neck, pupils dilating at the sight of her lips forever imprinted on my skin. “Enzo⁠—”

“Begin.”

The buzzing sounds again, and in my peripheral, I watch as Mino places his hand over my wife’s, holding her in place, simultaneously flattening her fingers to the wood beneath her palm.

My eyes never leave hers, and after a few seconds, there’s a small pull to her brows, slight pinch to her lips.

“Stop,” I bark out.

The buzzing ceases immediately, and Boston glares further, slowly raising a brow in challenge.

Clenching my jaw, I give a small nod, and Mino begins again.

My wife breathes deeply, her chest inflating below me, and I follow its path with my fingers, down her chest, along her breast line, and then all the way down her stomach.

She’s wearing a dress today. It’s tight and slinky along her waist, flaring out along her hips. Thank fuck for that or else her entire pussy would be out, and I’d already be in.

Her tongue runs along her lower lip as she watches me, daring me to come and play, but then she jerks, features scrunching up. My hand flies out to the right before I can stop it, wrapping around Mino’s throat.

His head pops up, face completely blank.

No shock, no worry or anger. He simply stares.

“You’re hurting her,” I force past clenched teeth.

“Boston,” he rasps around my grip. “Tell your man you’re fine.”

“Enzo,” she calls, but I don’t look away, gaze now frozen on her tiny, perfect finger. Bleeding.

She’s bleeding.

I start to shake.

“Husband…”

I blink, eyes snapping her way. I frown at the softness in her stare, one that tells me she would be reaching for me if she could.

“Come here,” she whispers.

Slowly, I release my hold on Mino’s throat and do as she asks. I lean over, bringing myself closer to her, our lips a breath away from one another.

“I’m fine,” she swears. “Mino, keep going.”

“No,” I snap.

“Yes,” she breathes, stretching as much as she can, her tongue sneaking out and sliding along the seam of my mouth. “He won’t hurt me. He’d never hurt me…right, Mino?”

“Never, tiny dancer,” he promises. “I would never hurt you.”

His hand leaves hers, slowly stretching out until his fingers are running up and down her arm in slow, tender strokes.

My eyes move back to my wife.

Her lips are parted, breathing growing deeper but more labored. “If my hands weren’t cuffed in place, I’d⁠—”

“You’d what, Little Bride?” I snap out of it, grinding down into her, my dick hard and fucking thick against her, and I take no mercy, rubbing along her slit with long strokes. “Take me in your palm? Guide me home, right into that tight little cunt of yours?”

“In a fucking heartbeat.”

“You’d let Mino watch while I fucked you?”

“What better way to show him who I belong to?”

“Very slick, baby, but he needs no reminder. He knows.” I tug her lower lip between my teeth, freeing it only when it stretches to the max, and press my mouth to her ear. “Look what a good boy he’s being, touching you so softly, making sure you know he wants you to feel good and your pain isn’t pleasurable to him.”

“Stop teasing the poor girl, Enzo.” Mino’s tone is coy, and he makes no changes to what he’s doing. “I think it’s clear what she wants.”

“Hmm,” I hum, sucking on her neck until she gasps, tits pushing up into me. I can’t help but bite her then. “Should I give it to her?”

“Do you want your queen to want or have?”

“Always have. Never want.”

“Then, what is it you’re waiting for, my friend?”

“More like a brother, wouldn’t you say?” My hand goes to my belt, my button and zipper undone just as fast.

She moans softly at the sound, and my lips curve to one side.

“I definitely would,” he murmurs, and then her eyes blow wide, and I look over, just as his tongue leaves her skin, her blood now smeared along her knuckle.

Reaching between her legs, I move her panties to one side, slowly sliding inside her.

Her mouth opens and I swallow her cries with my own, pressing inside her until there’s nowhere else to go. To reach. I’m buried, drowning in her heat and going delirious with her moans.

There’s a soft clacking then her fingers are in my hair. Another, and then her other hand is digging into my neck, but that’s the last sound.

Mino leaves her legs locked in place, but her torso flies off the desk, forcing me back.

My feet plant firmly on the floor, hands digging into her hips, and I pound into her, her body bouncing, our skin slapping.

“Holy shit,” she rasps, clawing at my shirt until she’s yanking the buttons free, fingers rubbing all over me.

She grips my neck, shoving it to the side, and then her hot tongue is gliding over my tattoo, licking and kissing and sucking. She moves to the opposite side, taking my ear between her teeth.

She bites, and I pull all the way out of her pussy, slamming back inside.

She screams into the space, the shrill, salacious sound echoing and beating at my eardrums, and I want it again and again. I fuck her hard, rough, and she begs for more.

“Keep fucking going, husband.”

“Call me that again and I’m going to come.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Baby, I’m a man.” My chest rumbles and I squeeze her ass, pushing in and grinding her down on me. “I can come inside you right now and keep going for as long as you need me to, and then I’ll come again.”

She clenches around me, and I groan, digging my hands under her cheeks and lifting her from the desk, just enough for my knuckles to press to the wood.

I use my hold on her for support, fucking us into each other at a steady, speedy rhythm.

My head falls back, neck stretching, and she licks along my chest, heaving herself closer, pushing her pussy into me as much as she can.

“There you go, baby.”

“So close,” she gasps, burying her face in my neck, holding on to me for dear fucking life.

Like I want her to do for the rest of hers.

For-fucking-ever.

I groan into her hair, sinking my teeth into her neck.

She starts to shake, the cuffs around her ankles jingling, arms tightening, and then she shatters.

“Fuck, Enzo!” She comes hard, pulsing over my cock, and I follow right behind.

I jerk into her, liquid heat making the perfect fucking mess between us.

I pull out all the way, just to see the rope of my pearly seed spilling from her, then swipe along her slit, gathering what I can on the head of my dick and pushing it back inside.

“Why is that so hot?” she murmurs.

I look up at her, and her eyes are hooded, delirious. Using my pinkie, I push the pieces of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead back, and a small, almost shy, smile pulls at her lips.

“You look good and well fucked, my wife.” My voice is lower than intended.

“You’re really good at what you do,” she whispers teasingly, and a soft chuckle leaves me.

She leans her head on her elbow, one arm draped over my shoulder, mine slung around her back the only thing holding her up.

“Should we head for bed?”

“Bath first?”

I smile down at her, kissing her lips softly. “Anything for you.”

Reaching over, I unclick the cuffs from the metal bar on the ends of the desk, leaving them hanging around her ankles as I lift her bridal style into my arms.

She cuddles into my hold, tucking her arms and head until she’s cocooned as much as possible. My slacks are barely hanging on around my thighs, but I don’t set her down. I shuffle my ass to the elevator and then down our hall until we reach our bedroom.

Easing her to the bed, I kiss her forehead then kick my slacks off before moving for the bathroom to start the bath. I open the floor-length windows, letting the night’s breeze through, and head back to strip my wife of her clothing, but when I get back in the room, her eyes are closed, her hand pressed to her chest. Her left hand.

I lower onto the comforter, gently taking it in my hand, and she doesn’t stir.

Not when I run my finger over the spot her ring belongs, my mark right there for the world to see.

A stamp that will never be erased.

A claim that can’t be undone.

Queen Fikile.

My queen.

My wife.

My entire fucking world.

I could have lost her tonight. Should have, in fact. Anyone else would have taken my little bride, to keep as their own, to rape or murder or sell, sadly the possibilities are endless.

Those Brayshaws got through my walls. Me. The goddamned king of defenses.

The only reason I didn’t obliterate that entire family on the spot is because they dared to do what they did in the first place. That is no small decision. It’s one they were willing to put their lives at risk for. I don’t know for certain why I let them live today. The only thing I can come up with is some subconscious thought that it would hurt my wife if I hadn’t. Because of her sister’s relationship, maybe. I don’t know, but there’s a rage building up inside me I need to unleash.

It was weak to let them live.

I press a soft kiss to my bride’s fingertips, gently easing her hand right back where she had it, over her softly beating heart. She sighs, curling her feet up under the blanket, so I pull them higher, covering her completely.

Weak, but right.

My wife is strong, stronger than I expected, and I expected a lot. In my mind, she was perfection when I knew nothing but her face, yet she surpasses my expectations every damn day.

Some men fear what a woman’s touch will do to them, but not me.

There is no doubt in my mind that any weakness that might wash over me, her strength will make up for in spades.

She couldn’t be a Greyson girl, and while it used to make me murderous to know she was wrongly written off as not good enough, now it does the opposite, because I couldn’t agree more.

She couldn’t be a Greyson girl. Greyson girls are equal. A unit of four, well, three currently, with an unbreakable, unshakable bond. That’s fantastic, but that’s not my bride.

She’s not meant to be one in a pack of princesses.

No, she was meant to be a queen of her own castle.

And that’s exactly what she is.

With a heavy inhale I stand, eyes tracing every inch of my wife’s flawless face.

There is someone in our mix these people are after, and I would bet my life it isn’t Philip fucking Mitchell.

But I would bet hers that I will be the one to find him.

Whoever the fuck he is.