Fifteen
Her Destiny
Sin
Istared at Pierre, the head baker at the bakery, and I had to keep myself in check.
He had a perfect fucking full head of hair, and a neatly groomed mustache that I wanted to curl up the ends into handlebars.
He’d be my bitch I’d ride and a fucking handsome one I was’t attracted to. For a sissy baker.
As soon as we wandered into his damn store, I hated Pierre. I wanted to leave immediately after he opened his mouth with a fluent accent any woman would love. I instantly became jealous.
Why?
Because the fucker knew how to bake and wine and dine. Pierre oozed confidence I wanted to squash with my bare hands and make him bleed insecurity. Saint felt the same. I could see the distaste in his blue eyes.
Pierre couldn’t have our girl. Liv wore our ring. Our commitment was forever.
Liv was drenched for us, and she dug dicks on motorbikes who chased her through the woods with masks on. Not some sissy pastry asshole named Pierre who probably had his cock tucked between his legs. He could take his damn insufferable name back to where he came from.
Pierre smiled. “Champagne, anyone?”
A gold tooth flashed from behind his neat grin while he held up a clear alcoholic beverage bottle. I wanted to hit Pierre. To punch his fucking lights out and get our girl away from him.
Breathe. Do this for Liv as the shrink insisted. Be chill. This would only bring us closer. Just pick a goddamn cake and be done with this French prick who called himself Pierre.
“Why don’t you take your champagne and shove it up your—” I stopped talking when Liv squeezed my arm.
“Yes, please.” Liv giggled nervously and clenched her teeth together. “We’d love champagne. Wouldn’t we, Sin?”
Liv pinched her fingernails into my skin.
Aw, fucking sweet. Foreplay. I’d play along. Pierre would watch.
“Sure.” I smiled.
“Okay. Why don’t you all take a seat?” Pierre sat three flutes on the table.
Everything was too fucking fancy for my taste. Elegant. White, gold, and glossy. It was so goddamn bright that the sight gave me a headache.
Liv let go of me. I pressed the tips of my fingers into the right side of my temple and tossed my leather jacket over the back of the chair. Might as well get comfy before I have to deal with this bullshit.
Trust me. I wanted to be here for Liv and experience this with her, but not with this dickhead. Why does our girl have to be so fucking hot?
Pierre’s profession was to create delicious, savory cakes for us to decide on for our wedding. He was aware of this, but as soon as Liv leaned over to take a seat, he ogled her tits. He couldn’t keep his goddamn eyes in check.
One wrong move, Pierre. If he put a single fucking hand on Liv, he’d be sorry—no, he wouldn’t be. He’d be dead.
Pierre poured the champagne while he made eye contact with Liv. She moved nervously in her seat and flashed me a warning. Don’t.
Why not, sweetheart? Because I’d create a fucking scene with his blood splashed all over the goddamn trashy tablecloth. Or how about his eyes? I wanted to pluck his eyeballs out of his skull and leave them as a gift for his employees in one of his fucking cakes.
“Thank you, Pierre.” Liv touched the bottle to get him to stop. “But I think I’ll take a glass of milk.”
“Milk?” Pierre questioned with his eyebrows narrowed together. “Are you sure?”
I slammed my hand down on the table, causing Liv to jump, and I realized my mistake. I wanted this to be an enjoyable experience, not a shitty one. Christ. I was a dick. But so was this Pierre, who looked at me as if he were scared.
Good. That’s how I wanted him—fucking petrified.
“Just do as Liv wants. Okay?” I shooed Pierre with my hand and put emphasis on a word. “Hurry along. Go fetch our bride some milk.”
“I’ll get someone else to fetch her a glass,” Pierre insisted as he shot me a smile which I knew deep down in my bones was fake as fuck and he only put on a goddamn show. “Because I have my babies to show you.”
His babies? What the fuck? This asshole was full of himself.
I felt as if I were in some circus when Pierre clapped his hands and the lights dimmed. It was like some sort of goddamn musical act as music came on and spotlights lit up tables as the cakes were wheeled in. Fuck. My head spun. I couldn’t wait for this elaborate display to end.
“Oh, wow…” Liv sighed in awe.
Women. Figures. Pierre probably got laid because of the shit he pulled out of his ass.
I wonder how many weddings he has destroyed? Well, he wasn’t going to fuck with mine.
I pulled Liv’s chair closer, right until she brushed my side.
She parted her lips with a surprised gasp and smiled with delight.
Her eyes were incredibly radiant and twinkled with the dancing light.
She was so damn gorgeous, and we were lucky sons of bitches to have fate choose us to be by her side for the rest of our lives.
“You enjoying this shit?” I asked Liv in her ear.
Liv touched my cheek. “Only with you both here.”
Liv reached out for Saint’s hand across the table, and he accepted it. He gave her a squeeze, and she smiled at him. I could hear his heart skip a beat. He was as devoted to her as I was, completely taken by her and head over heels for all eternity.
Suddenly, the music cut and the fucking cake concert stopped. All the pastries were present, and an employee delivered Liv her glass of milk. Pierre stood there appearing way too fucking pleased, and he made a move toward our table.
Saint put his arm out. “I think we’ve seen enough.”
“Let me get your forks out and—” Saint tsked at Pierre and cut him off.
“Nope.” Saint shook his head. “We’ll handle the task. You’re dismissed.”
“What?” Pierre squinted and took a step in our direction. “But I’m—”
“Done here. You heard my friend. Beat it,” I interrupted with a stern glare.
I expected a confrontation. I had gone and blown this cake tasting to smithereens. We were going to get kicked out of this dickhead’s bakery.
Pierre flared his nostrils at me like a damn bull, ready to strike, and I puffed out my chest. The heat was on as testosterone swirled in the room until Pierre took a step back.
He disengaged more until he left the room in a hissy fit with his arms flailing out in front of him, heaving demands at his staff and cursing some horse shit in French.
See? Pierre was a sissy.
Liv let go of us and stood up. The legs of her chair scraped along the floor. Aw, shit, we were in trouble.