Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
VALERIE
WELL. SHIT.
I did not have "put a hit out on Valerie" on my bingo card. Did I expect my father to be pissed? Yes. Did I expect him to hunt me down and attempt to drag me back to Minneapolis so I could marry the man he believes will get him where he wants to go? Also yes.
But to pay money to make me dead? I didn't see that coming.
When the shock of it wears off, I'll likely throw up, but currently, the strange man leisurely walking around Fynn’s home is taking up all the panic space my brain has.
"A hit?" Fynn’s arm flexes where it's wrapped around my waist, pinning my front to his back. "On my wife?"
I peek around Fynn's broad body to catch sight of the man as he nods. "That's right."
Fynn scoffs, the sound filled with disbelief. "I'm not sure who's apartment you meant to find your way into, but I can assure you, it’s not this one." Fynn backs up, still sounding shockingly composed as he uses his free arm to motion to the door. "So I'll let you get on your way to continue breaking and entering at will."
The man doesn't budge outside of tucking one hand into the pocket of his well-tailored, light-colored suit. Fynn stills in front of me at the motion, body going tight, as if he's ready to move at the smallest provocation.
But the man only leans to one side, his attention moving to me. "Your name is Valerie Berdard, right?"
I sigh, closing my eyes because I probably should have seen this coming. "Yes." I hold tighter to the back of Fynn's jacket, even though I know he can't protect me from this. Not really. "Does that mean you're here to kill me?"
The possibility makes me sad. I'm sure eventually it will make me mad—given I have the opportunity to survive that long—but right now it just hurts. I know my family is terrible. Awful, wretched examples of human beings. But I didn't think they were eat their young bad. That's what I get for attempting to see the best in everyone, I guess.
But again, the man shakes his head. "No. I don't kill women."
I let out a slow breath, sagging a little in relief.
But Fynn doesn't relax at all. If anything he grows more tense. "Then why are you here?"
The man turns to look out over the water again. "I came for the view." He turns back to face us. "But I stayed to warn you. I figured you didn't want your wife to die on her wedding day."
Fynn’s jaw rocks from side to side as he stares the man down. "Who would do something like this?"
The man's brows lift as his gaze meets mine. "Do you want to tell him, or should I?"
For the first time Fynn's gaze leaves the man, swinging around to come my way. "What is he talking about, Valerie?"
I swallow hard. I don't want to tell him this. Somehow, in my perfect little plan, I never had to. Everything just worked out. My father would show up when he wasn't around, I could explain that I’m already married and it's too late, and everyone would go on their merry little ways.
Because I might be a tiny bit delusional. I certainly was when I thought marrying a man of my father's choosing would be anything besides what it actually was. Somehow, even after a lifetime of being surrounded by terrible people, I became an eternal optimist.
Also known as an idiot.
I rub my lips together, continuing to stall as Fynn turns to fully face me. "Who put the hit out on you, Val?"
"Well," I glance at where the man is standing, before turning back to Fynn, "it was either my father," my words stall out again and I have to force myself to continue, "or the man he tried to force me to marry."
Fynn stares at me in the darkness and I stare back, wilting a little more with each passing second.
"Well, it seems like you two have a lot to talk about, so I'm going to let myself out." The man crosses the room, pausing beside Fynn to flick out a business card. "Call me if you need any help with your little predicament." Then he's gone, silently slipping out of the door and leaving us staring at each other in the dark.
After more silent seconds than I care to count, Fynn finally speaks. "Why would your father put a hit out on you?" His words are careful and measured. Almost like he can't believe he's actually saying them.
"I..." No. Not I . None of this is my fault and I’m tired of being made to think it is. "My father..." I stop again because I hate talking about him. Hate thinking about him. Wish he didn't exist.
"Your father..." Fynn urges me on.
"My father is involved in some less than legal activities." The explanation sounds better than I expected it to, so I keep going. "And he was hoping that I would marry someone he did business with."
It's a pretty dumbed down explanation, but I'm a little proud of how benign I managed to make my situation sound. Right up until Fynn laughs.
"It almost sounds like you're saying your father is in the Mafia and you were supposed to be in an arranged marriage."
That sounds less great, but likely more accurate. When I don't respond—because what am I going to say—Fynn’s laughter dies and his expression sobers.
"Val. Tell me your father's not in the Mafia and you were not supposed to be in an arranged marriage."
I press my lips together because I can't tell him that. It would be an untruth. Also known as a lie. And while I technically haven’t lied to Fynn yet, I am probably guilty by omission, and I don't want to make things worse, so I stay silent.
" Val ." His tone is sharper now as he leans closer. "Tell me your father is not in the Mafia, that you were not supposed to be in an arranged marriage, and that this bullshit about there being a hit on you isn't right."
I swallow hard, knowing I have to say something. "I can't tell you that."
He makes a strangled sound and rakes one hand through his hair, turning to pace away from me. "What the fuck, Val?" He turns back, pacing my way. "You didn't think this was relevant information to tell me?"
My lower lip wobbles a little and I hope he can't see it. "I didn't think it would matter." It's the truth, willfully oblivious or not.
"You didn't think it would matter?" Fynn laughs, the sound disbelieving. "How could you believe it wouldn't matter? You should know how the Mafia is. They don't let things go."
My chin tucks a little as I process his statement. "How do you know that?"
Fynn goes silent and we stare at each other in the shadows.
My eyes widen as a possibility hits me. "Are you—"
"Absolutely not." He cuts me off, then pauses. "But I may have some connections who are."
I laugh. I don't know where it comes from. This isn't funny. At all. "So you're not in the Mafia. You're just Mafia adjacent?"
Fynn stares at me for a few more seconds. "When you put it that way—"
I lift my chin as the ground under my feet gets a little more solid. "Well, I'm Mafia adjacent too. That's why I left. I didn't want any part of it. I just want to live a normal life where people don't take hits out on each other when they're angry." I stomp my foot, because damn it, I’m pissed. "Where women aren't a fucking commodity to be used and traded like fucking livestock."
Fynn’s eyes move over me for a handful of heartbeats. "I suppose you came to the right place then, considering my Mafia connections in Sweet Side are all ladies."
I suck in a breath. "They are?"
"Mmhmm." Fynn's agreement is more of a hum than anything as his eyes drift away from me.
I shift on my feet, all my excitement about coming here and sleeping with Fynn before waking up together tomorrow crushed under the expensive loafer of the strange man who just pissed all over my parade. I was okay using Fynn knowing he could use me back, but I can’t put him in danger. I won’t.
"I should probably go." I turn to where my purse dropped to the floor as Fynn shoved my body behind his. "I'm really sorry about this." I blink, trying to work away the tears threatening the spring free. "We can file for an annulment and you can pretend like none of this happened."
Then I guess I'll start to drive again. Shove whatever I can grab in my inexpensive used car and take off, getting as far from Sweet Side as I can. I'm running out of cash, but I'll think of something. I have to. I’m not going back to Minneapolis and I sure as shit don't want to die.
I straighten, but don't make it another step, because Fynn’s hand hooks around my arm. "Absolutely not."
I spin to face him, surprised by his abrasive tone. "But—"
"You think I'm going to let you walk out of here knowing someone out there is coming to kill you?" He shakes his head in disbelief. "Do you really think I'm as fucking bad as they are?"
"It's not about that, Fynn." I gesture at him, flailing one hand up and down his tall frame. "You didn't ask for any of this. If I go now then you won't be involved. You can go back to your life and I'm sure someone else will come along who can help you with your reputation."
"Fuck my reputation." He sounds angry now. Pissed even. "You don't deserve this shit either. And you know it." He shakes his head, the hold on my arm tightening. "You made a deal, Valerie. You fix my problem and I make sure you don't have to go back to Minneapolis." He leans down, eyes meeting mine. "And that includes going back in a fucking box."
I appreciate everything he’s saying, I really do. But I genuinely like him. Enough that I don't want his life to be tainted by mine. I step close, eyes moving over the angry glare he’s still shooting my way. "This isn't what you signed up for. It wasn't fair of me to put you in this position." I push up on my toes, lifting the heels of my stilettos off the ground so I can press a kiss to his cheek. "For what it's worth, I was really looking forward to being your wife." I give him one last look, committing the lines of his handsome face to memory before turning away. My throat is tight and my eyes burn as I walk to the door.
It's almost funny. I walked away from the only life I'd ever known without shedding a single tear. Without looking back.
Except looking back is all I want to do. But I can't. Fynn is a good man regardless of what everyone in Sweet Side believes, and he will go on living his life. If I stay, I'm not so sure that will happen.
My hand’s on the door when his voice rings out behind me, sharp and loud.
"Wife."
I freeze, stunned at both the word choice and the way he said it. Slowly, I turn to face him. I can't help it. I can't stop myself from stealing one last look at him. Even if he's angry. Even if he hates me. Even if he's only stopping me to tell me that I can fuck all the way off for what I've done.
But while Fynn is most definitely angry, that’s not the only emotion dominating his dark gaze as he moves toward me. One hand loosens the tie at his neck before yanking it free. He closes in on me as he unbuttons his jacket, fighting it down his arms. "You have ten seconds to get your arse in my bed before I spank it so hard you won't be able to sit down tomorrow."
I gape at him, shocked and aroused at his threat. "But— "
Fynn flips the buttons of his shirt free, the scowl on his face strong. "I'm not kidding, Valerie. You aren't leaving this apartment. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Likely not the next day either." He leans down, bringing us nearly nose to nose as he shucks his shirt. "And if you don't get moving, you likely won't leave my bed either."
My eyes lock on his hands as they drop to his belt. He whips it free, continuing to stare at my face as he folds it in half. "You're pushing me, Val. And I'm already at the end of my fucking rope tonight." His folded belt swings my way, catching the side of my ass cheek in a swat that’s just hard enough to get my attention.
And also to get my feet moving.
I hustle down the hall, movements automatic. When I reach his bedroom I stop, stalled out by uncertainty.
But Fynn is right behind me, working the fly of his pants open. He shoves one finger at the mattress. "Bed."
I must not move fast enough for him, because before I can react, he grabs me by the waist, hefts me up and practically tosses me onto the duvet. I land with a squeak and a bounce. His expression is menacing as he shoves down his pants and prowls toward me. I scoot backwards, not because I'm afraid, but because I don't really know what's about to happen. "What are you going to do?"
I liked the way he offered up directions yesterday, and I desperately want them now. I've always been a people pleaser, and when I know what is expected of me I can prepare. Be sure that I do what I should.
And hopefully earn more of the complimentary words he showered me with yesterday .
Fynn crawls onto the mattress as I keep edging away. "First, I'm going to fuck you hard and fast so we both feel a little better."
My back bumps the headboard, and I swallow hard because I've run out of room and out of time. "And then?"
He grabs my ankle, hauling me toward him until my head hits the pillows. "And then, I'm going to fuck you slow and sweet so you learn how beneficial it is to be my wife."