A Tempting Arrangement (Twisted Vows Book 1)

39. Misty

The crisp zestof ginger ale fills my mouth as I take another sip, breathing through my nose. Why did I think I could hang with murderers? I can definitely not hang.

My stomach flips at the thought of all of that blood, and I drop my head between my knees where I’m sitting on one of the large leather lounge chairs in the Everette’s private room at Elysium.

“You okay?” Damon asks, rubbing a hand tentatively on my upper back.

No, Damon. I’m not okay. I just participated in my first torture, murder! My hands grow sweaty as I let that settle over me. We’d killed Thomas. Like, if there was ever a guy, he’d be it, but still. I’m just a normal freaking girl.

People joke about killing their ex. In Mia’s case, she helped get hers arrested.

We definitely do not murder them.

Well, most of us don’t. Rae looked pretty comfortable with the idea. I wonder if Damon will give me her number?

The nausea fades, allowing me to finally look up.

Damon kneels in front of me. His fingers brush a damp piece of hair from my face and tuck it behind my ear. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought you in there.”

Honestly, I’m not sure if it was the whole concept of murder so much as it was the overwhelming amount of blood. My stomach rolls at the thought.

I swallow hard. “Does it have to be so messy?”

Damon cocks his head to the side.“Torture? Yes, normally, although there are psychological techniques that are just as effective.”

I hold up my hand to stop him. “You know what? Never mind.”

The door pad beeps as Matthias enters, a frail older gentleman following closely behind him. His eyes dart skittishly around the room before landing on Damon and immediately looking down at the ground.

“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Everette,” the man says, lifting the strap of a large leather bag higher on his shoulder.

Damon scowls at him, and I swear the man can feel it because he shifts his weight from side to side. “Dr. Clark. This is Misty Everette, my wife. She’s gone through an ordeal tonight and is feeling light-headed.”

The doctor looks up, and there’s a complete change in him. Now that he understands why he’s here in the middle of the night, his confidence has fully returned. I can’t help but wonder what other things have they’ve called him out for.

He approaches me, and Damon reluctantly moves a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest as he watches the doctor work.

“I’m Dr. Clark. So, you’re feeling dizzy?” He holds out one of those small pen-like flashlights all medical professionals seem to have and flashes it in my eyes.

“I’m fine, just a bit squeamish from?—”

“You don’t have to tell me what happened.” The doctor cuts me off, glances quickly at my husband, then turns a relatable pale shade of green.

I hold up my can, wanting to put this poor man out of his misery. He looks like if he has to spend a second longer under Damon’s stare, he’s going to pass out. “Like I said, I’m fine. Just a bit of nausea.”

“Misty, you fainted. Let the doctor work,” Damon commands, and I raise a defiant brow at him. He matches my expression, and I give up.

I look back at the doctor. “What do you have for me?”

“I’ll give you an IV for fluids. That should help,” he says with a tentative smile.

“Are you freaking kidding me?” The doctor flinches, and I wince, mouthing, “Sorry,” then turn my anger on the man who deserves it. “This is overkill. Let the poor doctor go.”

Damon completely ignores my outburst. “Alright. What else?”

The doctor’s entire body stiffens at Damon’s tone. The man is genuinely terrified, and not for the first time, I wonder what my husband did to earn this type of response. After tonight, I definitely have a better idea. “Food…something to eat will help.”

Damon turns his attention on me, his brows pulled together in worry as he searches my face. “What do you feel like eating?”

I shake my head. “Damon, it’s like 3:00 a.m. Nothing’s open.”

“Let me worry about that.” He seems entirely too confident in his ability to get what he wants.

“I want a clubhouse and fries from Smitty’s Sandwich shop.” I smirk. I know for a fact that they aren’t open.

“You’re going to feel a small pinch,” the doctor says a second before stabbing me with a needle.

I flinch at the pain, and Damon prowls forward, his expression dark on the doctor, who is practically trembling in front of me.

“Sorry, I should have expected that.” I give the doctor my best comforting smile, and he looks at me like a lifeline.

He hangs a bag of clear liquid on a hook he’d assembled above my head. He adjusts the line that leads to my arm. “Twenty minutes ought to do it.”

“You’re dismissed. I can handle the rest.”

The doctor sighs, and his shoulders relax as he gets up, gathering his things rapidly, then heads to the exit. “Call me whenever you need.”

The second the door shuts behind him, I narrow my eyes on Damon. “Did you have to intimidate him? He already came out in the middle of the night!”

“He’s on retainer. I assure you, he’s paid more than well enough to come out.”

Okay, well, that’s probably true, but still. “He seemed terrified of you.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong to this doctor if that’s what you’re worried about,” Damon replies absentmindedly as he types away at his phone.

“This doctor?”

Damon’s eyes flick up to mine before returning to his phone. “The last one disappeared after information leaked to the public.”

“You are freaking crazy,” I gasp.

“You’re just figuring that out?”

“You’re dangerous.” Even as I say the words, they don’t taste right.

Damon tucks his phone back into his pocket, closes the distance between us, and gently grazes his thumb along my cheekbone. “Not to you.”

“What if I, I don’t know…piss you off or something?”

His lip twitches. “I honestly don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Oh yeah? Not even if I hit on one of your brothers?” Why am I doing this? But I know why—some sick part of me likes pushing him as far as I can. Likes the security in somehow knowing he won’t snap. Not with me.

His eyes narrow into black slits. “I’ll miss them.”

A laugh bubbles up in my chest. “You are crazy.”

He leans in, touching his forehead to mine. “When it comes to you, I’m so much more than crazy.”

He’s so close each of his breaths fan over my lips, and his sweet scent of cigars and cologne fills my nose. It’s like he’s pulled the invisible rope tying us together taut, drawing every ounce of my attention. I can’t stop myself from tipping my chin up and grazing my mouth against his.

He groans low in his chest, deepening the kiss, stealing all remaining thought.

There’s a soft knock on the door, breaking the moment.

“What?” Damon shouts, voice daring whoever interrupted us to enter.

The door opens and Bash walks in, holding a white paper bag with a familiar logo on it. “I have your food, asshat. Do you have any idea what I had to do to get this? You owe me one hundred K.”

“Just give me the food.” Damon’s different around his brothers; the hard edge he wears around anyone else is completely missing. Instead, there’s almost a lightness to him.

“Keep your grubby hands off. I did this for my sister, not you.” Bash gives me a bright smile that looks entirely too mischievous.

I take the bag from him, careful not to disrupt the IV. Bash’s gaze catches on the line, and he turns a cold stare on his older brother.

“What the fuck were you thinking, bringing her there?”

“I was thinking she deserved to have the choice,” Damon replies easily.

I take a bite of the clubhouse, the delicious taste of mayo and crispy bacon filling my mouth. I swallow before saying, “He asked. I can tell you, I’ve been through worse.”

Both men’s eyes flash to me, brows pulled together. Bash looks like a younger carbon copy.

A muscle ticks in Damon’s jaw, and it’s several seconds before he says anything. “We killed that bastard way too fast.”

Put plainly like that, my throat grows dry. “We killed him.”

Damon steps closer, a look of concern pinching his face. “We did.”

I search inside myself for any regret and come up empty. “I…I don’t feel bad.”

Damon kisses the top of my head. “Good.”

“I’m going to leave you two lovebirds alone. Take better care of my sister, asshat.”

The brothers continue talking, but their voices are fuzzy as my brain twists and turns the words lovebirds around. And the way Damon didn’t contradict them.

“Put me down!” I screech for the fifth time since Damon lifted me out of the car and cradled me to his chest, carrying me up the stairs.

“We’re almost there, Nymph.” His chuckle reverberates through my side, and I give up, letting him carry me to our bedroom.

I sigh when he lays me down on the soft mattress. “I had no idea I could miss my bed this much.”

“Not a night owl?” he asks, but it’s clear from his tone he already knows the answer. He seems to know way more about me than he should.

I go to pull the blanket up, but Damon stops me. He holds out a worn navy T-shirt.

“Arms up.”

I sigh and lift my arms, too tired to form a reply. Once I’m safely tucked into bed, he chucks his shirt and pants, then climbs in beside me, pulling me into his side. His chest rises and falls with each breath, and the steady sound of his heartbeat starts to lull me into sleep.

“When I was sixteen, a rival family thought they could take over for mine and tried to wipe us all out.” Damon’s voice is barely a whisper, and I draw circles on his chest to show I’m listening.

“They killed my father in front of me, but they took my brothers.” His voice is raw, and my heart aches for him.

He spins my wedding ring around my finger, and it takes several moments before he continues. “That’s when I killed my first man, and my tenth, and my twentieth. That’s when I learned that I needed to be something dark in order to keep my family safe. To keep you safe.”

His entire body stiffens.

“I understand if, after tonight, you may not want to be around me, but I will not let you go,” he says, voice pitch-black.

I glance up at him. The pink light from the sunrise tints his skin. I suddenly realize I don’t want him to, and that one-year timeline ticks in the back of my brain.

“My darkness matches your darkness. If you’re broken, then I am too,” I say.

The breath leaves his lungs, and he tugs me closer, his arm a rigid band like he’s afraid I’ll shift away in my sleep.

We stay there, me tracing the intricate lines of his tattoos and him playing with my hair, until his hand stills and his breathing evens out.

The growing light from the window highlights his features. He looks almost boyish in his sleep. Like the weight of the world has been lifted off him.

“Stop staring and go to sleep.” His arms tighten, and he tucks my head below his chin, almost immediately letting out a small snore.

I’m in the arms of one of the most feared men, and all I can think of is how freaking adorable he is.