Chapter 8: The Devil’s Bargain: Chapter 7

I wake up with my head cradled in Link’s lap.

That’s not really a surprise. As soon as he ushered me back into his car, he spread his legs and instructed me to stretch out along the back seat, laying my head against his crotch.

For a second, I froze, believing that he expected me to down on him. I mean, after what just passed between us in the bathroom, I’ve accepted that acting like his wife “in all ways” basically means that I’m expected to fuck him whenever he wants until he eventually knocks me up.

So a blow job in the back seat of his fancy car? It seemed a reasonable conclusion to me, though I should’ve known better. If the Devil wanted me to suck his cock, he would’ve pulled it out and told me to do it.

He didn’t. Instead, he ordered me to rest. It’s not a long drive from the judge’s house to where Link lives—wherever that is—but I was already yawning as he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, guiding me back to the car.

Once I listen and lay my head in his lap, I’m completely out. It’s way too late for me, my sleepy time tea has me dozing, the adrenaline crash makes me feel like my arms weigh a hundred pounds each, and after the way Link demanded that orgasm from me, I’m exhausted.

There’s no reason I should’ve woken up. If I hadn’t, I probably would’ve slept straight through the night, though being that vulnerable around this new version of Link is a bad, bad idea.

I get an immediate reminder of that when I come to and the first thing I realize is that he’s hard beneath me. I can feel his erection, hard and hot, through his suit pants, pushing against my cheek. After we finished in the bathroom, he tucked himself into his boxer briefs before zipping himself back up, then patting my dress back into place.

I have no idea what happened to my panties. Part of me hopes like hell that they’re not lying in the middle of Judge Callihan’s bathroom floor; if anything, maybe they got kicked aside and his cleaning lady will find them behind the toilet. The other part is intimately aware of the stickiness between my thighs, and the tangible proof that Link is more than ready to have sex with me again.

Closing my eyes again, hoping he didn’t notice I woke up, I will myself into falling back asleep. Not like that would stop him. A few years into our sexual relationship, both Link and I began to explore our individual kinks. Though no one who looked at sweet-faced, adorable Ms. Monroe would ever think she had a thing for having sex where anyone could catch them—like, oh, fucking in the bathroom of someone else’s home—Link’s was on the opposite side of the spectrum.

He had a thing about fucking me when I was asleep. We would be in the same bed, me snoring away on my side, and the thought of taking me while I was unaware did something to him. As a nineteen-year-old, he seemed almost ashamed of it, and he never tried anything without getting my explicit consent back then.

So I gave it. If he had no problem letting me climb on his lap while we were at the movies, or draping a towel over my head so that I could blow him at the beach, why wouldn’t I let him explore what turned him on the most. It’s not like I ever told him no whenever he wanted sex back then, and I told him he could fuck me whenever he wanted, whether I was awake or not.

It actually worked out better for me. If he got a hard-on in the middle of the night, he could take care of it himself without waking me up for a quickie. I got uninterrupted sleep, he got off, and we were both happy—until he walked out on me, of course.

Now, fifteen years later, Link is acting like he still has my permission to just shove his dick inside of me whenever he wants.

And, well, he does, doesn’t he? From the moment I said ‘I do’ and signed my name on our marriage license, I’m his…

For life, he said. ‘Til death do us part, and all because I killed a man tonight.

As that thought races through my mind, the reminder banishing the last of my slumber, Link shifts in his seat. His palm runs over the top of my head, stroking my hair. It’s a gentle caress at odds with how hard he took me in the bathroom, and I’m not so sure how to reconcile this side of Link with the boy I knew.

Then he murmurs, “Rise and shine, pet. We’re home,” and I stop worrying about it.

Oh, no. I have something else to focus on now.

After pulling myself up into a sitting position, I peer out of the tinted window and swallow roughly.

Now, I knew I wouldn’t be returning to my house. As quick as our impromptu wedding was, it’s barely been three hours since the phone call that changed my life. Is that enough time for a bunch of gangsters to “take care” of Joey’s corpse and the blood spattered all over my carpet? I doubt it, and I figured I wouldn’t go to my home.

This must be Link’s, and since I’m his wife now, I guess it’s mine, too.

“Oh.” I almost crawl into Link’s lap, trying to get a peek at the building we’ve pulled up at. “You live here?”

He rests his hand possessively on my ass. “We do,” he says, proving me right. “The penthouse is ours.”

The Paradise Suites North in Springfield is the tallest building in the city. Visitors might think it’s a fancy hotel, and they’re not wrong. The bottom half boasts rooms for the night that cost half as much as my mortgage, while the top is made up of luxury apartments for the well-to-do who pretend parts of Springfield—specifically the East End and West Side—aren’t a dark, dangerous underworld.

And Link, one of the most dangerous of all according to his reputation, owns the penthouse.

Before I can say anything to that, someone opens his door. Beneath the glow of lights that illuminate the building no matter what time it is, I see a man a couple of years younger than me. He’s good-looking in a slick sort of way, with styled blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a dimple in his left cheek as he grins down at us. Like Link, he’s in a suit, though his is better tailored to his leaner frame.

“Been waiting for you, boss.”

“Is everything ready inside?”

He nods.

Link hasn’t moved his hand from my ass. With his friend watching us closely, he squeezes me. “Let me introduce you to my underboss, pet. This is Royce McIntyre, second of all Sinners.”

He smiles at me, a hint of a flirting tease there when he says, “You can call me ‘Rolls’.”

“She’ll call you Royce,” Link says firmly. “And if you don’t stop flirting with my wife, you’ll refer to her as Mrs. Crewes until you get it through your fucking skull that Ava is mine.”

Oh my God. For years, I wanted nothing more than for him to claim me, but not like this. Not when I traded my hand for his protection, or when I’m his last option to have a kid before the syndicate decides he shouldn’t lead them any longer.

Looking at Royce, I can’t imagine him ever turning on Link. His entire expression changed when Link snapped at him, and while he still exudes a friendly manner, all flirtatiousness disappears instantly.

“You should’ve warned me. I didn’t know this was Ava.”

Link snorts. “The wedding dress didn’t give it away?” He pats my ass this time, and if I wasn’t afraid of offending him in front of his second, I would’ve sat down on the seat so he’d stop touching me like he owns me. I know he does, but still… “Royce is the one who brought it over for you. The ring, too.”

Am I supposed to thank him for helping Link force me into marrying him? Sure, I agree, but it’s not like I had any other choice—and considering he was probably there to held with “clean-up”, he knows exactly why.

I don’t thank him, though I do wave shyly over at him.

Link nods in approval at my greeting. Finally, he drops his hand, but only because he slides out of the car. With a gesture, he motions for me to do the same.

Grabbing the skirt on my dress, I shuffle my way out.

“Royce is going to bring you upstairs,” Link tells me. “And your bags,” he adds, and though he wasn’t addressing the other man, Royce immediately heads over to the trunk where the driver threw my luggage inside. Once he’s out of sight, Link lifts his hand, running his thumb along the edge of my jaw. “Be a good girl for him, okay?”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have a couple of things to take care of. I’ll be back soon.”

I don’t know how I feel about that. He was the one so quick to make me marry him tonight, and then we couldn’t leave the judge’s house until we consummated the marriage—which, unless Link’s lost his stamina over the years, was also a lot quicker than it should’ve been.

However, now that he has me wearing his ring, he’s even quicker to pass me off to his friend.

I shouldn’t be hurt by that. Odds are that, whatever business he has, it’s him holding up his end of our bargain. I married him, so now he has to make it so that no one knows what happened at my house tonight.

I nod. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you later.”

His hand is still on my jaw. Tightening his grip, he holds my head in place as he bends his down to mine. His kiss is bruising, almost punishing as he presses our lips together. Instead of coaxing mine to part, he forced his way into my mouth, devouring me whole.

I can’t escape him. There is no relief, and as I reach out, fisting his button-down shirt, I cling to Link as he takes everything he wants from me.

When he finally releases me, I have a death grip on his shirt that takes a few seconds for me to break. I’m panting, not sure if I hate him for treating me like he owns me, or that I’m already addicted to this forceful, powerful side of him.

His eyes are blazing with an emotion I can’t quite read as he threads his fingers in my hair, resting his chin on top of my head. With our height difference, it’s probably the most comfortable for him—or it’s just his way of showing me that he’s in control.

I’m panting, but he sounds as cold as ice even as his words burn me up from the inside: “It’s our wedding night, pet. The beginning of forever. I wouldn’t miss a minute of it unless I had to. Remember that.”

Catching my breath, resisting the urge to fall against his hard chest, I whisper, “I will.”

“Ava, kochanie. I can’t believe it’s you!”

The moment I follow Royce and my two packed bags off of the private elevator that led us to the penthouse, I’m immediately engulfed in a tight hug that would’ve scared me shitless if I hadn’t recognized the accented voice calling out to me a second before I was being squeezed.

Mona Jankowski was the building’s grandmother when we were kids. She immigrated from Poland during her early twenties, settling in Springfield where she buried two husbands, three kids, and was still the sweetest old lady I’ve ever known.

Growing up, her apartment was a floor below my family’s, right next door to the Crewes’s. Because I spent all of my time there, she treated me like I was another one of her treasured grandchildren, but I haven’t seen her since the day Link’s mom kicked him out, and I left with him.

She always smelled like flour, I remember, breathing the same scent in now as she gives me an excited squeeze before letting me go.

Her grey hair is done up in curlers. Her big, fluffy body is covered by a white terrycloth robe, the hem of her pale pink nightgown escaping the bottom of it. Despite the late hour—and the fact that she must’ve been sleeping earlier—her rich brow eyes are alert, and her thin lips are spread in a big smile as she looks over at me.

She’s aged a little in the fifteen years since I’ve seen her last, but I recognize her regardless.

“Mama Mona,” I say, greeting her with the name all of us kids had for her back then, “what are you doing here?”

To be honest, I would’ve thought she’d pass by now. As a kid, she seemed so old, though now that I’m looking at her, I can’t imagine that she’s more than seventy, and still in good health if her rosy cheeks and big belly are any clue.

“I work for Mr. Lincoln,” she says, beaming over at me. “He hired me as his… how do you say? In Polish, it’s gosposia…” She snaps her fingers. “Housekeeper, that’s it. I’m his housekeeper. He gave me a job when I needed one, and I get to take care of one of my chidrens.”

I don’t know how to respond to that. Did… did Link move Mama Mona out of the ramshackle apartments we grew up in once he made it big, letting her move in with, hiring her as his housekeeper, taking care of her the same way she thinks she’s doing him?

I glance past her, getting my first glimpse of the penthouse. It’s a long hall, with a huge kitchen to my right, an elaborate living room to my left, and who knows what at the other end of the shadowed hall.

Looking back at Mona, I say, “You live here?”

“Tak. I was sleeping, but when Mr. Royce woke me up, telling me to get Mr. Lincoln’s room ready for his new bride, I thought I was dreaming. O mój Boże, to see you here… I must still be. Tell me, Ava, are you the bride?”

This time, I glance down at the white dress I tugged on what feels like a lifetime ago now, glad that she can’t see how wrinkled the skirt is behind me from where Link tossed it up and pounded away inside of me barely an hour ago.

With a half smile, I admit, “I am.”

“My heart,” Mona says, clutching her massive boob. “I thought one day I’d see you with Mr. Lincoln again, but today God blesses this home, bringing you back to us. Hura, hura.”

Hura… whenever Mona was excited, she would say ‘hura’, an old-fashioned way of saying ‘yay’ or ‘hooray’ in Polish.

Well, at least one of us is happy about this situation…

A few steps to the side, Royce clears his throat. “She needs to go to sleep, Mona. Maybe you two can catch up in the morning?”

“Ach, yes, kochanie. You must be so tired. Come. Let us bring you to Mr. Lincoln’s bedroom.”

I gulp. Right. Because I’m his wife, so obviously I’d sleep in his bed.

Mona goes first, stomping her way happily forward in her matching slippers. I tiptoe behind her, my flats scraping against the hard floor. Royce brings up the rear, still carrying my two suitcases with him.

She stops at the first door on the right. It’s closed, but when she pushes it open and flicks the switch just inside of the room, I see that it’s a bedroom three times as big as mine back home.

The massive bed in the middle—a King, at least—is just as intimidating.

He has a dark oak headboard, and a bed frame that matches. All of the furniture is the same shade of brown. His sheets are a dark blue, the only spot of color in the whole space. It’s definitely a man’s bedroom, without any hint of femininity in there.

Maybe that’s why I can’t bring myself to walk in there.

That, or because all I’m thinking about are the countless other women who stood right where I am, knowing that Link might fuck them in there, but they’ll never truly belong…

As if he can sense where my thoughts have gone, Royce sidles up next to me as Mona moves further into the room, patting the pristine sheets of the made-up bed. He’s careful to keep at least a good two-feet between us, but he still tilts his head toward me as he says, “How’s it feel to be the first woman besides Mona to set food in this room?”

My head snaps over at him. “What?”

Royce grins. “Don’t worry. She’s just his housekeeper. She makes the bed, she doesn’t lie in it.”

That’s not what I meant.

Mona looks back at us. “Come in. Set her things down, Mr. Royce. I’ll put them away for you in the morning, Ms. Ava—”

“It’s just Ava, Mama Mona,” I murmur.

She continues as if she hasn’t heard me. “—but you should get some rest. I’ll send Mr. Lincoln to you when he’s home again.”

So I get to rest in his big bed without him, and Mona will wait up to report to him after being interrupted from her own sleep earlier.

“I’ll go to bed, but only if you do, too,” I tell her. “Link can find his own way to bed.”

And when he does, I’m not going to be there.

I… I can’t.

While Mona nods her head, agreeing with whatever I say, I twist the wedding band Link slipped on my ring finger. It’s at least two sizes too big for me, and I can’t help but wonder who the dress and ring were meant for before me. Both Link and Royce made it obvious that he hasn’t been jumping from relationship to relationship—that his empire comes first—but… I don’t know. I can’t believe a man as powerful, rich, and gorgeous as Lincoln Crewes is would stay purposely single, no matter how dangerous and busy he is.

Unless he has another reason why he did. He said that he only wanted to enter into this marriage of convenience—sorry, real marriage—because his syndicate expected him to take a wife. It didn’t matter what the woman thought so long as he did what he was supposed to as the head of his crew.

I’m not his wife. No matter what he says, or who he tells that I am, I’m just the woman he needs to keep his position as head Sinner.

He’s never let a woman into his bedroom? Why should he start now?

“Mama Mona,” I ask, keeping my flats planted firmly in the hall even as she bustles around, telling Royce where to set down my luggage. “Does Link have any guest rooms in the penthouse?”

She stops, blinks, visibly confused. “Tak. Of course. Sometimes one of the boys stays, like Mr. Royce, and he asks me to keep them ready just in case. But they’re empty tonight.”

Perfect.

“Tonight, they won’t be. I’ll take my suitcases then,” I tell Royce. “Point me in the direction of the nearest one, and I’ll get myself settled in, if that’s okay.”

Mona starts fussing—I’m betting she’s going to insist I stay in Link’s room—but, surprisingly, Royce comes to my rescue.

Grabbing a suitcase in each hand, he offers me an undeniably amused grin. “Don’t worry, Mona. I’ll show the new Mrs. Crewes where to go.”

She hesitates for a moment before her apple cheeks crease into a warm smile. “Of course, Mr. Royce. And I’ll go prepare Ms. Ava some tea.”