Sinful Vows (Mayet Justice #19)

Chapter 1

MINKA

“Ipromise to love you always. To protect you always. To be your strength when you need it, and your gentle embrace when you’re weary.

” Emotion makes Aubree’s voice shaky. It makes her smile tremble and her eyes glitter.

But she holds Tim’s hands in front of a hundred or so wedding guests, in a dress more beautiful than the one she already destroyed, and she stares into his handsome green eyes.

Almost the same green as Archer’s.

“I promise to be your shelter when life is chaotic. Your confidante, your secret keeper, your most trusted adviser.” She pauses with fiery cheeks and peeks my way. “I’ll probably tell Minka, though.”

On cue, her audience—the extensive family she was born into, friends, cops, an entire building’s worth of doctors, and a smattering of mafiosos attempting to blend in—chuckle.

“But I’ll only tell her the juicy stuff. Not the truly private stuff.”

Pursing his lips, Tim follows his bride’s gaze and looks me up and down like I’m the reason he’s already exhausted. “Mmhm.”

“You’re sweating.” Archer slides his pinky finger around mine, our hands partially hidden amongst the elaborate silks and fabric of my gown, while his chest warms my back. “And shaking.”

“Everyone’s looking at us.” I speak with unmoving lips, dropping my gaze if only to hide the color warming my face. “I don’t like that everyone is staring.”

“Pretty sure they’re looking at Aubree and Tim.”

Our conversation is basically silent, our stances unmoving. It’s Aubree’s day, after all. Not ours.

“You look fantastic, by the way.” Archer’s other hand, the one hidden behind my back, splays across my ass. Not at all church-appropriate. “This gown makes your tits look amazing, Minnnka.”

“Shh.” I inch forward to escape his touch. “Don’t say tits in church.”

“I like how it cinches you in at the waist, but makes your hips flare wide.” He takes a half-step forward, plastering his chest to my back once more. “Kinda wanna take you out the back and disrespect you a little.”

“Archer.” I twist his finger backwards. “Stop. Talking.”

“I don’t wanna stop talking.” He tilts his head closer, the tip of his nose brushing the shell of my ear. “I wanna make you wet with my words. See how much I can get away with before anyone notices you’re hot and bothered.”

“I will hurt you,” I growl.

I promise to be your lighthouse in a storm… or something like that. To remain faithful. To yada yada yada.

Aubree and Tim are technically already married, so it’s hardly necessary for me to pay attention to the details this second time around.

Archer only chuckles, whisper-quiet, and pecks the side of my neck. “You wanna fuck inside a church, Mayet? Wait for all these people to clear out so I can have you on the pulpit. Eat you in the chancel. Make you scream in confession.”

“You’re being exceptionally disrespectful right now.

” I release his hand—I’m not hurting him anyway—and reaffirm my grip on my bouquet of dahlias and ranunculuses.

I cast my gaze back out to the rapt crowd, seven eager Emeri siblings, Emeri parents, doctors overly enthused to see me outside of a white lab coat, cops—just a few—an FBI agent—does he realize how many criminals sit so near him?

—and a little girl beaming brighter than all the rest combined.

“This is God’s house, Archer, and you risk him smiting you down. ”

“God likes sex.” He massages the globe of my ass, teasing and—horrifyingly—turning the anxiety weighing heavily in my belly into something else entirely. Damn him, he makes me kind of want to fuck on the pulpit. “God likes it when married folks bang. It’s in the bible.”

“You’re trying to distract me from watchful eyes.”

He nips at my earlobe. “Mmhm.”

“But you choose obnoxiousness instead of… literally anything else.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulls me back with a gentle hand on my hip, crushing me against his rock-hard cock. “Working with what I’ve got. Sorry, I can’t break out my clown makeup and balloon animals.”

I promise to remain true to you. To adore you. To nurse you when you’re unwell, and not to murder your brothers when they talk through our wedding vows.

I snap my lips closed and shoot a look Aubree’s way.

“Busted,” Archer snickers, ever-so-quietly. But does he stop? No. “When I started this, it was just a distraction because I knew you were freaking out. But now I kinda wanna fuck. I got myself worked up a little, and in a minute or two, they’ll be announced as husband and wife.”

Again.

“Then they’ll walk back down the aisle, and you’ll follow, and everyone will see I’m rocking a hard cock.”

“Sounds like a you problem, Detective.” I stare across the top of the crowd and count colors in the stained glass.

Bolts in the door. Planks of wood lining the wall.

Literally anything except my husband behind me, and my colleagues in front.

“You see Steve all the way at the back?” I lock eyes with the old man, his nasal cannula sitting askew, and with long, unkempt brows that have always reminded me of an aging English sheepdog.

He’s sleepy already, drooping in his chair.

But he musters his strength for my sake and curls his lips into a smile.

“Think of him. Your dick will turn soft again.”

Archer chuckles, his grip growing tighter on my hip. “You’re trying to gross me out, but your ass is still on my cock and your perfume is in my nose. You could play a video of Steve and Mary fucking, and I’d still be good to go.”

Wrinkling my nose, I lean forward and twist around. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s the Malone in me.” He shrugs. “Wanna fuck?”

“I can hear every single word you two are saying, you know that?” Felix’s eyes remain locked on Christabelle’s while she sits in the front row, but his lips quirk into a taunting smirk. “I heard the bit about fucking on the pulpit, and screaming in confession.”

Frustrated, I burn Archer with one of those ‘look what you did!’ glares.

“And I heard the bit about the old man in the back.” He brings his hand up, brushing it over his lips, like he thinks that’ll save him while Aubree and Tim work through the ‘do you take this woman’ spiel.

“Nice try, Mayet. But being a Malone means he could be sitting on the end of my bed and I’d still be able to fuck my wife on command. ”

“I didn’t ask for you to weigh in on our private conversation.” I jerk my elbow back and jam the sharp end into Felix’s stomach.

Shut the hell up.

While the Emeris remain blissfully focused on Aubree and Tim, Felix’s dozen security guards, all dressed in black, bristle with unease and twitching fingers.

Estefan Cordoza, the boss of all bosses, the freakin’ Godfather Marlon Brando style, stands in the very back row wearing a crisp white scarf in place of a tie or bow, an expensive black suit, and thinning hair combed to the side.

He watches us with an amused glint in his dancing eyes, his gaze flickering between the vows Aubree and Tim speak, and the grunt of pain Felix releases.

“I could have you killed for that, Mayet.” Felix rubs his stomach.

“You see those guns by the doors? The men whose literal only purpose is to keep me safe. More importantly—” He nudges his chin in Christabelle’s direction.

“You see my wife? She’s a viper. A savage draped in expensive diamonds and silky hair. ”

“I guess I was born without the fear the mafia gene you expect everyone to have.” I set my hand on Archer’s and nestle back against his chest, only to cough out in surprise when I find his dick is still hard. “Unbelievable.”

“Thirsty,” he breathes. “My brother could sit on the end of our bed, beside Steve, and I’d still want you.”

“Can I watch?” Cato folds closer. “I won’t touch, I swear.”

“There’s something wrong with you all, I swear to God.

” I toss Archer’s hand off and do that thing I swore I wouldn’t do.

I draw more eyes. Picking up the long fabric of my dress so I don’t stumble on it, I make a whole friggin’ production of striding away from the Malone men, passing Aubree and Tim on my way.

“I’m sorry.” I wave the priest away. “I won’t talk anymore, I promise.

” I stop on Aubree’s other side, release my dress, and straighten my back.

Then I exhale a deep breath and pretend the hundred sets of watchful eyes aren’t like ants crawling on my face.

Guests look me up and down. Some are mildly curious, some are entertained—Sophia, Ellie, Raquel—while others stare with a kind of hungry curiosity potent enough to make my stomach jump.

Archer backs up, pushing Cato to the front to hide his tenting pants, and I… I scratch my arm and wish I could go back to the weird Malone codependence and unhealthy sexual advances. Because standing with them is still better than standing here on my own.

You may now kiss your bride.