CHAPTER 22
Luna
Great.
“Just great, Luna,” I say to myself as I get off the couch and stretch.
It’s been two whole days and I’m already a catastrophic failure.
Crazy dog lady cover? Blown.
Sweet seductress? Rejected.
I do feel somewhat triumphant that Mr. Unbreakable didn’t come back to bed last night. He may have gone six months in the wild with no electricity and no sex, but he was also out there with no temptation. It’s easy to settle for your right hand when that’s all you’ve got.
Here in the real world, he has to see me and share a bedroom with me.
I didn’t go out on the balcony last night but hell, I wanted to. I heard the sounds. Was it really an orgy? With what women? Did they all sample our merchandise? Cocaine? Ecstasy? Something else? Did Quinn have some? Did sweet little Sheila?
Wait.
No wonder he didn’t come to his bed.
He probably went to her bed!
If not Sheila’s, maybe that of some other girl.
“Ugh!” I grunt my clothes on as my last little bit of hope dies out.
It’s not just me, here, he has other options. That’s a problem I’m going to have to address. He’ll come to me eventually, if he’s a man starved, surely.
“Like trying to seduce me with your sweet, virgin pussy.”
Chills break out all over my skin as I remember his gravely voice.
Yeah, he will break eventually.
But…
“But your face is much too beautiful to be split in two.”
Do I even want him to break?
He’s insane!
Still, it’s either cozy up to the monster now and break out of here, or live in the monster’s lair for ever.
So. Step one, starve him.
I nod to myself about this plan that’s forming and pick a white sports bra, white leggings and the same floppy sweater from last night. It’s also white. Virginal white. Is it too obvious? Yes. But I think Quinn secretly likes my games even if, annoyingly, he always quickly figures them out.
I make my way downstairs, eager to get to the kitchen. I have to actually eat if I’m going to survive here and breakfast is my favorite meal. I can smell the bacon already.
Damn, I love bac—oh.
Quinn is at the head of the table. His eyes are glued to me where I’ve paused, as are everyone else’s. Seems like the whole clan is eating together right now. I recover somewhat quickly, putting on a smile and breezing over to my husband.
“Good morning, baby,” I say in a breathy tone as I sit in his lap again. I wrap my arms around his neck and freeze, realizing I should probably kiss him. He raises a brow at me, amused, of freaking course.
Since he just waged war with that stupid eyebrow, I strategically shift my ass and tilt so that my sweater falls off both shoulders.
I lean in, making sure my nipples reach his chest and then plant one on him.
Hard. He twitches in his seat and as I withdraw and I take the opportunity to bite his bottom lip.
Also hard. A growly sound works up his throat as I pull away and stand. “I’m starving, be right back!”
As I walk away I can feel his eyes on my ass.
But my smirk fades when I pass through the kitchen and I hear him yell behind me, “Sheila!”
Damn it.
So what, he’s turned on by me and then he scratches the itch with her? Absolutely not.
I have somehow got to get her fired.
Today.
·····
“Did you like the dirty scramble?” Sheila asks soon after. I ate breakfast alone after my little show. Now here she is, his mode of relief, cheeks as rosy and freshly fucked and as adorable as ever.
“What?” I cough back.
“Breakfast today, did you like it?”
“Oh, yeah, I did,” I say. I did like the eggs but when I came back into the dining hall to eat them, most of the men had cleared out, Quinn included. No doubt he was off in some closet with this blue-eyed beauty—an amazing actress, I must admit—now leading me down the hall.
“Oh good! I prefer the simple scramble just egg and cheese but the dirty version with meat and veggies is a crowd favorite. Anyway, Quinn said you wanted to do this for the men, a sign of respect and all that. Like how he hand feeds his papa every night. I admire you both, I think it’s amazing, almost…
Biblical.” she rambles as we pass her post-it-note station.
“You’re short on red staff,” I say, because I can’t help myself.
“What’s that?”
“Red post-its are high priority, right? But you don’t have red tasks on the calendar enough. Or not enough staff to each red shift. Some of the red could go to yellow if you added it more often.”
“Huh,” she stares at the board, processing what I just said.
This is how my brain has always worked. Papa made a route too long.
He put too many men on one shift or too few on a truck.
It’s like I can see puzzle pieces and how they fit.
“Wow, you’re right. I will talk to my mam and change this straight away,” she says, starting to smile.
“Anyway, back to Quinn’s orders,” she starts moving again and soon we’re at the back door.
“The worst of them are in here, since they can’t come inside like that,” she says, laughing and pushing the door open but stepping back for me to pass her.
“Can you imagine? It’d smell like the kennel in here! ”
I step forward and see…boots.
A fuck-load of black boots.
Covered in mud.
At least, I hope it’s mud?
This is clearly a “mud room?”
I turn to her, frowning and start to talk but she cuts me off. “There’s the hose and scrub brush on that far wall. Oh! And here, in your pretty set, you’ll want this!” She takes off her dark green kitchen apron embroidered with a small Q on the corner and hands it to me.
“Quinn told you about this?” I say, trying to get more information out of her before she leaves to sew some damn buttons or something. Hopefully some task in which I can find a flaw and get Quinn to kick her to the curb.
“Oh, was it supposed to be a surprise?” She asks, genuinely concerned. “Because he told everyone! Said you wanted to do this act of kindness for the boys right away this morning, before they all leave for their rounds.”
“Right, no, um, that’s okay,” I say. I look at the boots and then the apron in my hand, then back at her, but she’s gone.
Alright, Quinn. Well played. I guess I’m going to scrub some muddy boots.
·····
It’s not mud!
Mother of God Himself!
“What is this?” I say aloud to myself, for the millionth time. What the hell do these men step in? Dog shit. Mud. Blood. But also…eggs? Vomit? Pee?
I scrub and scrub, marveling at the amount of crap on the current boot in my hand, roughly the size of my torso. Actually, at this size, these have to be Quinn’s.
The thought makes me drop the slippery thing and—
No! No no no no no.
“No!” I shriek. “It’s on my face. It’s on my face!”
“It is,” I hear a deep voice chuckling behind me.
I turn to the door to see Quinn watching, arms crossed, face beaming. Until he spots the apron. He frowns at it. I lost the sweater about ten seconds into this disgusting task, now I’m sweating like I’ve had a full workout, hair up in a knot and the apron hardly covering the whole mess.
“I didn’t say she could give you an apron,” he grumbles.
“A lot of good it did me,” I huff. “There’s piss on my arms, vomit down one leg, something like dog food inside my shoe and now, I’m pretty sure there’s someone’s blood and shit, human shit on my face, Quinn!” He laughs again. I ask, “What is this, hazing?”
“Just a reminder,” he says plainly.
“Reminder?”
He stalks closer, “Yes, my virgin bride. I thought I explained it last night about your pointless scheming but then you walk down and parade in front of not just me but all of my men half naked? Sure, call this hazing. Plus, we all work together here. Didn’t Sheila—”
“Yeah, Sheila said some words and pointed to some post-its, in between sighing your name like a lovesick teen.”
“What?”
“Do you fuck her in our—I mean, ugh, does she come to your room? Because that ends now. Obviously, I don’t care, you can plow into whoever you want, but I don’t want it happening in the house. Or on the grounds. I don’t want to walk Marlon and end up having to bleach my eyeballs.”
“Fine,” he says. He still seems amused.
“Same for me. We’ll have to have our hookups in the city.”
“Sure,” he says, seemingly unaffected, but then he adds, “You fuck some guy in the city, I go back later and kill him. Works for me.”
“Very funny,” I scoff, turning on the water to rinse his big, stupid shoes.
“Do I look like a fucking comedian to you?” He says, still calm.
I glare at him, “You must be if you’re saying you think it’s fair for you to screw around as much as you like and I’m going to be celibate the rest of my life? Um, how about no.”
He shrugs a shoulder, “Who said this would be fair? I’m the don. You are the don’s wife. We are not equals here. Plus,” he turns to leave, “You can’t miss what you don’t know.”
I laugh, loudly, “Virgin means I’ve only missed out on one specific thing. I’ve had plenty of experience with—”
“Too bad,” he pauses to cut me off but doesn’t turn around. “Those experiences are over.”
“Sure,” I sneer. At that, he turns, agitated. Ha! Win for me.
“I meant what I said. Don’t test me. Plus, you’re my wife now. No one will want to cross me to have you.”
“They won’t? Are you sure?” I pout, bat my lashes and slowly press a soapy hand to squeeze down the back of his boot, which not only looks suggestive but pushes up my cleavage, too.
His eyes flash to my chest for half a breath before he huffs, “Yes.”
I level his own words back at him again, “We’ll see.”
“Get up and go change out of that,” he snaps at me, reaching for his boots.
I sit up. “Oh no, you told the men I’d clean their boots, and that’s what I’m going to do.
“Luna,” he scolds, both of us hearing the crowd of men heading this way, presumably to get said footwear.
“Here you go, honey,” I smile, offering up his boots, now clean but still soaking wet. The sudsy water falls down my arms and drops all over my white clothes. Just as the men file in.
“Luna!” He warns again.
“Hey, boys, here you go! All clean,” I smile sweetly. The men file in but the ruckus dies down immediately.
Quinn moves his body to block their view from the doorway and commands, “Out! She’s not done yet. Come when you’re called.”
“Yes, boss!” They all say almost in unison before vanishing so fast it’s like I imagined them.
Something must flash across my face because Quinn grins.
“You see? I am Skulls Quinn, wife. No one within a thousand miles of here is going to experience you. Hurry up here and tell Sheila when you’re through here. No one comes in until you’re out.”
He gives me his back yet again and I demand, “No more shitty jobs, and I mean jobs with actual shit, Quinn.”
“No more outfits then,” he grunts out and leaves.
I should feel triumphant in a small way, at least, that he agreed not to have sex on the property.
That he was affected by my outfit and shows some sense of possession over me.
I get the feeling it’s less about me and my body and more about him and the title of his wife.
Still, those are levers that can be pulled.
But I don’t feel triumphant.
In part because I am covered in filth.
And because turn for turn, Quinn is there, unfazed, calling my bluff. My plans keep backfiring. I made up a character, he dug up my file. I donned the sweet persona, he laughed in my face.
Though he did reveal he lived alone in the wild for six months.
When, and much more importantly, why? That’s not normal for a made man.
Made men are not survivors in that sense.
More like survivors in that they kill everyone else and they’re the last man left standing. Armed and in a suit and tie, usually.
Today I learned that as confident as he is that his men won’t touch me, he also doesn’t want them sneaking any peeks at me either.
It’s not much but it’s something? I guess?
“Damn it!” I say, and not totally because I just dropped the last boot onto my own toe. Truthfully, I’m angry because I'm not used to failing. I’m not used to being seen so clearly. At least it’s not boring or predictable here. I haven't even missed the internet that much.
I actually think I’d be excited to have finally met my match with a man if I weren’t married to him. And if he wasn’t the leader of another family. And if he wasn’t a madman who cuts people in half.
“Ugh,” I grunt as I drop the last set of boots into the line I’ve made along one side of the large room.
I’m not giving up yet.
Of my three attempts, this all white, skin tight, skimpy workout ensemble seemed to affect him the most. Luckily when I like a set I buy it in multiple colors.
I smirk as I make my way back into the house.
First, I’ll go with the blush pink set. I rarely wear it because at a glance I look totally naked. If nothing else, the bold move will earn me another counter move, and I’ll learn a bit more about my dear husband. I’ll collect the lessons one by one until I can get some serious intel.
Then I’ll go home and use that intel to take my place.
We are not equals here.
“Hell no, we’re not equals,” I mutter quietly to myself as I try to find his precious Sheila.
“You’re a barbarian who rips people in half while you’re having a tantrum.
I am level-headed and patient and sneaky as fuck.
We’ll see who’s the don in the end, Quinn.
I pause to smile sweetly at yet another shorter, lankier version of my spouse before he turns out of sight. “We will fucking see.”