Chapter 17 #2
Darryl’s smile is smarmy. “Think about it. But since you’re not interested in the show, why don’t you go on downstairs? I’m sure one of my wives will entertain you if you tell ‘em I sent you their way. Not Chloe, though. I have plans for that one tonight.”
Poor Chloe. I have no idea what those plans are, but considering the way Darryl is back to ogling me… I’m thinking poor Xandra right about now.
Especially when he waits for Maverick to reluctantly leave before he ducks his head out of the room, grabs something from the small side table in the hallway, then comes back in.
Darryl holds up a box. It’s wooden, about six inches long, four inches wide, and four inches deep.
“Congratulations on your nuptials, you two. Now come on over to ol’ Darryl. I’ve got a gift for you.” He jerks his chin. “Hold out your hands.”
“Why do you want—”
Darryl lets out a sound that could’ve been a laugh, but that reminds me more of a wild animal’s growl. “It’s just your hand, boy,” he interrupts Chase. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna bite it off or nothin’.”
That thought hadn’t crossed my mind before. You can be sure as hell it does now.
Remembering Maverick’s warning, I start to do what Darryl says, but Chase stops me. Releasing me, he brushes his fingers along the side of my hand, gesturing for me to put it back down.
“Here,” he says, holding out his own once I do. “Whatever you have for us, you can give it to me. I’ll take it for Alexandra.”
“Ah, look at that. The outsider’s a real gentleman. I like that. But your new wife had the right idea. Give me both of them.”
Wife.
Wife.
Wiiiiiffe.
Oh, fuck no.
How did I not remember that? So preoccupied by the idea that he “won” me, I forgot how East Jersey regards a man and the woman he’s responsible for. He’s my husband, I’m his wife, and I’m surprised my knees don’t buckle beneath me.
Marry Chase?
Marry my twin’s longterm love?
Even if it’s a jailhouse wedding… I can’t.
I can’t.
The steely look in Darryl’s mud brown eyes says: yes, you can.
I gulp, slowly lifting my hand up again.
Maybe I want to get this over with so that I can get out of this room, find my clothes and my pack, and figure out a way to escape; maybe I just want to show Chase that he doesn’t really own me, that I’m not about to let him tell me what to do; or maybe I don’t want to give Darryl a reason to punch me again… regardless, I put my hand up.
“Good girl,” Darryl says approvingly. “Now, close your eyes. Don’t peek. I get real pissed off when the newlyweds peek.”
I swallow my moan at the word “newlyweds” even as I screw my eyes shut.
I hear Darryl rustling in his box, followed by the sound of something metal clinking together; it reminds me of a fork and a knife scraping against each other.
When the noise stops, Darryl grabs my hand and places something cool and heavy around my wrist. A soft oh!
escapes from Chase before a pair of creaks and clicks and Darryl’s satisfied chuckle.
“You can open your eyes again.”
“What the—” I start, while Chase breathes out one word, “Handcuffs.”
He’s right.
We’ve been handcuffed together.
I jerk my hand. It holds. The weight of it is enough that I’m sure they’re real. These aren’t a pair of chintzy handcuffs you get from a store. Oh, no. These are honest-to-God handcuffs that had to belong to one of the prison guards or something.
“What?” I breathe out. “Why?”
“Just a little precaution, Miss Alexandra. Here in East Jersey, our weddings are simple. He bought you at the auction and that makes you his wife. But it don’t count until the wedding night.
Once you consummate your union, we’ll find you two a place to set up house.
Until you do that, I’m keeping you together so that no one thinks you’re up for grabs. You should thank me.”
Thank him.
Thank him?
I open my mouth. Darryl tilts his head. I remember the stars I saw, the pain that bloomed in my face this morning. It’s numbed since then, though if I probe my cheek, it stings, and the last thing I want to do is let him hit me again.
I shut my trap.
Chase jingles his wrist. The metal clangs. His forehead furrows. “Consummate… you mean—”
“That you need to claim this woman as yours before you can keep her? That you won’t get to protect her as your wife until I know you’re able to fuck her and take care of her like a man? That’s exactly what I mean.”
He can’t mean that. I can’t do that.
Chase takes a step closer to me as though he can sense I’m seconds away from losing it.
“How will you know?” he asks. “We tell you after we’re done, and then you take these cuffs off?”
And then we can leave?
We can fake it. I’m sure I can make that bed squeak, moan loud enough that the whole house thinks I’m being dicked down, then stomach being called Chase’s wife until we can get the hell out of Dodge. Isn’t that what Maverick said? Men can leave, and they get to control their wives’ destiny.
I can—
Darryl’s bushy mustache dances as his lips quirk upward in the most perverted smile I’ve ever seen.
“Well, I can’t just take your word for it, can I?”
That smile makes my queasy stomach drop down to the soles of my feet. Now that I have Rory’s jacket back on, though, it’s my suit of armor, and despite what Maverick has said, I haven’t completely lost my backbone. “What does that mean?”
“That I’m going to have the pleasure of watching you, of course.”