Chapter 15

fifteen

DARE

Rose gives me the cold shoulder on the limo ride to the church. She shoots me an annoyed look when she realizes where the driver is taking us. St. Patrick’s Church is where her parents got married, and much like ours, that marriage was forced. Though, Rose’s parents likely didn’t have murder hanging between them.

Still, an arranged marriage is an arranged marriage, regardless of whether there’s extortion involved.

Did I pick this church to fuck with her head?

Yes.

Did I pick it because my own parents were married here?

Also yes.

My leg bounces as the tall spires that flank either side of the grand bronze door come into view. My parents probably wouldn’t approve, but I can’t think about that too hard. What’s done is done .

The limo driver parks and, as instructed, stays in his seat. I don’t want him touching Rose or peering under her short dress while helping her stand. I’m the only one who gets to know she’s bare beneath the silky fabric of her wedding dress.

Getting out of the limo, I stick my hand in my pocket and brush my finger over the cool metal of my parents’ rings that all but weigh me down. They were passed down to me after my parents died, intended for when I took a wife.

Marriage was off the table once I realized anyone I cared about was in danger. The Beast of NYC isn’t allowed to have family or lovers. Joseph Miller made sure of that.

Risking an innocent woman’s life was never worth it.

But the woman in my car is different.

My attention drifts back to Rose. Even the mere outline of her is rippling with frustration, but it doesn’t detract from her elegant curves or pretty face. I can’t lose myself in her beauty, though. She’s as much of a shark as her father, and I’d be a fool to underestimate her. I round the back of the vehicle and open the door. Rose practically growls at me as she slaps her palm into mine, so I can help her stand. My gaze dips and, sure enough, the dress is so short, I can see her pussy.

Possessiveness curls through me, a strange emotion I haven’t quite figured out, but for some fucked-up reason, I want Rose all to myself. To destroy, to ravage, to fuck.

Her nails bite into the back of my hand.

She’s vicious for a princess, but I’d expect nothing less of Joseph’s daughter. If any woman can handle being my wife, it’s her.

The bruise on her arm catches my attention, reminding me she’s not untouchable. Her dad, the fucking asshole, set Eric loose on her, knowing full well his reputation. That mark on her skin is a reminder that she’s fragile, and I hate it for more than one reason. Clenching my jaw, I force myself to look away and all but pull Rose toward the church. The looming spires of the building are like white claws against the night’s sky, and the subtle breeze scatters the leaves that have started to gather on the stairs, fall making itself known.

Rose stubbornly tugs on my hand. I glare at her. With a huff, she relents and struts alongside me.

The dress is so tight, it rides up her thick thighs. My cock throbs. Ever since she sat in my lap, her full ass rubbing all over me, I’ve been hard. She’s a fucking tease. And I hate to admit it, but this is the most I’ve ever wanted someone.

Maybe it’s the idea of taking something from Joseph that fuels the desire, but when Rose and I are trading jabs, pushing one another, her father is the furthest thing from my mind.

All I want is to see the woman who thinks she’s better than me writhing beneath me, moaning my name, taking my cock, begging for me to make her come. From the way her pussy drenched my fingers the other night, I bet she’s thinking the same thing.

And I know it pisses her off, and that only makes my smile widen. I like her anger as much as I like the way her body moves under my control.

“Do you have to look so smug?” she growls.

I didn’t know I was grinning, but as I glance at her, I realize my cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling. “Do you have to look so angry?”

She curls a lip. “Yes. ”

“And why are you so mad?” I ask as I open the heavy bronze door and hold it for her.

“You’re kidding, right?” She strides past me and whirls around, heels clacking to a stop on the marble floor. The dim lighting illuminates her face, a soft yellow kiss on those perfect cheekbones. We forgot the veil in the car, but there’s no way I’m going back to get it after I had to drag her up the steps. Besides, my future wife is fucking beautiful, just as she is.

She waits for me to join her before hissing, “You. That’s why I’m mad.”

I shake my head. “I’m not the only reason you’re pissed.”

Pursing her lips, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t pretend like you know me.” Ah. So, the princess isn’t ready to face the truth of what her daddy did. That, or she’s choosing to bury those emotions.

I consider pushing her buttons, but the priest shifts near the pulpit and nervously wrings his hands. Rose’s annoyance forgotten, I bypass her and stride up to him, taking great pleasure in the way the man cowers. “Father.”

He swallows. “Dare.” And despite his fear, the priest can’t help himself. “You haven’t even gone through the full process. I can’t bless the marriage. This is a disgrace to the Catholic religion.”

I scoff. “As is stealing money from the church, so why don’t you save your blessings and do what you’ve been told?”

His face reddens. Father here has taken close to a half-million dollars from the church. His mistake was using Vista Bank—the same private bank the church uses, that also happens to be mine—to stow away his money. When it was brought to my attention, I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to use the information to my benefit, but I’ve learned over the years that knowing people’s secrets comes in handy.

Speaking of.

Rose stomps as she comes to a stop beside me. The air around her practically shimmers with her irritation. Knowing she’s mad at me gives me a twisted sort of pleasure. Rose, the infamous unfeeling ice princess, reacts so viscerally to me. The father takes her in, his eyes lingering on the short cut of her dress. A possessive rage tears through me.

“Eyes up,” I snap.

Tearing his eyes away from Rose’s body, the man blanches and fidgets with his sleeves. “We need witnesses.”

As if on cue, the front doors open, and in stride Remy and Frank. The dim light glows on them, casting halos around the vicious mercenaries, as if they were sent here by god himself. Remy’s short, dark hair is slicked back, the beard along the line of his jaw is freshly trimmed. His suit strains against his bulk. It was hard to find a suit last minute that fit biceps as big as his, but he cleaned up well enough. His father, Frank, is an older, grayer version of him, built just as sturdily, and despite the wrinkles covering his face, he still packs one hell of a punch.

I can count on one hand the number of people I trust, outside of my sisters. Since Mace and Crue were busy, Remy and Frank are the only other people I trust not to judge me for what I’m about to do. As mercenaries, they know the worst of the world, and this marriage is child’s play in comparison.

“I should’ve known Remy was here, but Frank?” Rose asks, scrunching her face. “Don’t tell me you ordered a cake.” If only she knew what Frank really did, she wouldn’t be shooting that irritated glance in his direction .

“Your witnesses,” I tell the priest.

Frowning, he glances at Rose but quickly looks away. “Dearly beloved,” he begins.

I turn and grab Rose’s hands, and she grudgingly faces me. A weaker man would be scared of the violent gleam in her eyes. My chest swells with pride. For a moment last night, I was worried Eric had broken her, but it seems her hate for me burns stronger than the trauma of what almost transpired. Somehow, hatred is like poetry when it’s shimmering in those hazel irises.

Holding her gaze, I wait until we say our vows to pull the rings out of my pocket. I hand my father’s to her. The lines on Rose’s forehead annoy me. Did she think I’d marry her without rings? How else would the world know she’s mine?

She can despise me all she wants, but she will wear a ring.

I gingerly take her left hand. Her fingers grasp mine tightly. Though she likely means to hurt me, the softness of her palm is barely a whisper against my skin. Her gaze bounces between our hands as I run my thumb over the back of hers.

What’s she thinking?

I hold her gaze and the other ring, waiting for my cue.

My parents loved each other. Maybe one of the few arranged marriages that almost seemed driven by fate. Their love was deep and full, strong. Part of me mourns for what I’ll never have, but the other stares Rose down. They say there’s a thin line between love and hate, and if I can’t have love, her hate will have to be enough.

Rose’s hand trembles as I slip my mom’s ring onto her finger. The ten-carat oval diamond sits alone on an eighteen-carat white-gold band that’s sandwiched between thin bands with smaller diamonds inset in the metal. Logic says I shouldn’t let this woman wear the ring, but logic also says this is the only woman I’ll ever marry.

Mom would want my wife to wear it.

Rose’s breath catches when it settles on her skin, a perfect fit. I scowl. She glances up at me and searches my face, probably wondering when I found the time to measure her finger.

The muscle in my jaw ticks.

Mom’s ring fitting her has to be a coincidence, because there’s no way Rose and I were meant to be.

The priest drones on. My heart hammers against my chest as I hold Rose’s hand and stare down at our rings. Once he’s done speaking, we’ll be tied together for life. I made sure the prenup would make the marriage hard to leave, but forever is a long time to be tied to someone who wishes I was dead.

But is that true?

The memory of how her body softened against mine as I slipped behind her, the way she let me guide the blade across Eric’s throat, or how she reached for me in her sleep, like I would keep the nightmares at bay...none of her actions align with her spiteful words.

One day, Rose will finally understand that everything she believes is a lie, and it was me who showed her the truth.

Rose’s eyes narrow when I lift my gaze to meet hers.

I hate you , she mouths.

A chuckle catches in my throat. I don’t know why I like this fire of hers, but I can’t deny that I do.

“You may kiss the bride,” the priest finally says.

Rose rolls her eyes, like the thought is unbearable, and turns to leave .

“Not so fast, wife .” I grab the back of her neck and spin her around, crushing her body to mine. Her eyes widen in surprise but then drop to my lips, desire burning in her hazel irises.

That’s right, princess. You’re mine.

Whether she realizes it or not, she leans toward me, wanting the kiss. That’s all the permission I need. I seal my lips over hers. Rose’s nails dig into the fabric of my tux. If we were naked, the hellcat would’ve drawn blood. Her lips stay firmly closed, like she doesn’t want to kiss me.

But I see the way she watches me.

Feel her lust.

Rose might hate me, but she wants me.

And fucking hell, I want her too.

I sweep my tongue along the line of her mouth, delighting in the slight softening of her body against mine. My fingers knead her neck, encouraging her to open for me, and I nip at her bottom lip. She gasps, her mouth parting.

That’s right, wife , let me in.

I glide my tongue over hers, caressing and coaxing until she moans and fully melts. Pride beats at my chest. Rose submits to me and, finally, she kisses me back. She tastes like venom and sugar. Sweet regret. Honey and hate. Kissing her is dangerous, but I can’t seem to stop myself. Now that she’s given me control, I want to take everything she’ll offer.

My dick twitches in my pants.

The priest clears his throat.

Fucking cockblock.

Her lips are as soft as clouds, and I want to revel in the warmth her lashing tongue inspires. With one heavy pulse, all the blood in my body rushes to my cock. Breaking the kiss is harder than it should be. Rose is addicting, and that’s a problem. As I pull back, her eyes search my face, trying to pick me apart with the same need that drives how I want to devour her. The way I would happily bend her over the pulpit and fuck her while the priest watches should tell me how much trouble I’ve gotten myself into.

But there’s no going back now.

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