Chapter 10
TEN
Simone
Ronan drags me to the car, his grip on my wrist bruising and unrelenting. I stumble in my heels, trying to keep up as he practically throws me into the backseat of the Escalade. The door slams shut so hard the entire vehicle shakes.
Killian, who accompanied him to Axis, remains conspicuously on the sidewalk, talking on the phone to who I can only assume are more of Ronan’s crew.
I know exactly why he would be—the guy I was dancing with is about to find out what happens when you touch an Irish mobster’s wife.
“What are you doing?!” I yell. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
Ronan strides to the driver’s side and gets in without another word.
We’re speeding off a second later. The city blurs past us in a riot of bright colors—neon signs, blinking streetlights, blinding headlights—all of it disorienting as Ronan weaves through traffic like a man possessed.
His jaw is clenched so tight, his masseter muscle bounces. His hand grips the steering wheel with white-knuckled rage as if he’s trying to strangle it.
The same fury burns in his emerald eyes, his gaze fixed on the road.
Dread sinks into my stomach.
Shit. Maybe I’ve pushed him too far.
Chantal and I had gotten dressed up in our tightest, most revealing dresses and gone out clubbing in the Lower East Side.
We hit up Axis and Pulse, sipping on cocktails, dancing, laughing.
It was mostly innocent fun—a way to blow off steam so I could feel like myself again instead of some caged bird in the Callahan household.
I wasn’t even planning on staying out that late. I just wanted to go out for a couple hours and get my lick back.
Then those two guys approached and asked us to dance. We’d said yes, figuring one quick dance couldn’t hurt.
A secret part of me was petty and vindictive enough to enjoy the thought I was getting back at Ronan. I rolled my hips and gyrated against the stranger, moving to the heavy bass, letting his hands rest on my waist.
It was never going to go any further than that. I wouldn’t have let it.
But if Ronan could stay out and do whatever he wanted, why wasn’t I allowed to too?
My defiance was cut short when he showed up out of nowhere. He was a storm crashing down on us.
Suddenly I looked up and found myself caught up in the category-five hurricane that was Ronan Callahan.
The possessive way he looked at me made my heart stop. It made me freeze up on the spot as he strode over and punched the guy I was dancing with in front of dozens of people. He probably would’ve beat the shit out of the guy himself had there not been so many witnesses.
So instead he dragged me out of the club.
Now, sitting in the backseat of the Escalade, I’m aware of what’s going to happen next. We’re about to have a blowout as soon as we get home.
We arrive at Callahan House, the tires screeching as he pulls into the driveway so fast I’m thrown against the seatbelt.
He’s out of the car the instant we park, rounding to my side and yanking the door open.
His hand clamps around my arm like a vice, and he storms into the house, dragging me with him.
“Ronan, let go of me!”
He doesn’t answer, refusing to even look at me.
We rush up the stairs, practically flying up the first flight and then the second and third. I’d fall if he didn’t have his ironclad grip on my arm. He keeps me upright as I stumble in my heels and try to keep pace.
As soon as we’re inside our bedroom, I wrench myself free, staggering back several steps. My chest heaves as I glare at him.
He slams the door shut behind us, the loud thud like a crack of thunder. Then he locks it, demonstrating we’re stuck together in this room.
One way or another, we’ll be forced to confront what’s happened.
The tension between us is as powerful as any explosive. Some intense electric force that sharpens the air in the room. It crackles like a live wire, signaling how volatile this moment is.
The room feels too small. The space is suffocating as my breathing deepens and I stand opposite my husband as if he’s my worst enemy.
And he is—Ronan Callahan is everything I detest and more. He’s everything I’ve never wanted in a husband, yet I’m trapped in a lifelong marriage to him.
He strides over slowly, each step measured and predatory. His green eyes are blazing, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
When he stops in front of me, he’s so close I catch the musky, masculine notes of his cologne.
“Get one thing straight,” he says, his tone like steel.
“You listen to me. You obey me at all times. I’m your husband, and I call the shots.
” He leans closer, holding my gaze captive in intense, unblinking fashion.
“I didn’t fucking give you permission to go anywhere—damn sure not to some fucking club grinding on some asshole—which means you were supposed to have your ass at home. ”
I laugh in his face before I can even think about whether it’s a smart thing to do. The sound’s sharp and bitter and comes with a rebellious smirk that curls my lips.
“Permission?” I sneer, standing my ground. “I’m not some puppy, Callahan! I’m not a fucking dog! I don’t ask for permission, and I sure as hell don’t listen to commands!”
His jaw tightens, the same muscle jumping in his cheek. Warning signs he’s furious with me.
But I still don’t back down. I don’t budge an inch.
I jab a finger at his chest and continue. “I do whatever the fuck I want to do! Just like you. And tonight, that consisted of going out for drinks and dancing with my friend! You don’t own me!”
“The hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing my wrist and holding it between us. “You’re my wife. You wear my ring. You live in my house. You sleep in my bed.”
“Because you and your crime family forced me to!” I yank my hand back, but he refuses to let go. “I didn’t choose any of this! I didn’t choose you!”
“And you think I chose you?” he snaps back, his voice rising to match mine. “You think I wanted to be shackled to some spoiled princess who can’t follow simple fucking rules?”
“What rules?” I spit the words like poison. “You mean like the one where I sit at home like a good little housewife while you disappear for hours? While you do whatever the hell you want, coming home at midnight—or not at all? Fuck your rules!”
“So you’re going to be a hard ass. Is that it?”
“If standing up for myself makes me a hard ass… then yes. I’m a hard ass. What are you going to do about it?”
He stares at me a moment, then cracks a grin that’s lopsided and attractive in the most frustrating way. He adds a thick chuckle as his hand comes up and he scrubs his jaw.
It’s like I’ve told a joke I’m unaware of. I’ve said something funny without realizing it.
“Alright, princess,” he says seconds later. “Apparently you need to be taught a lesson. Consider school to be in session.”
“What? What the hell are you—RONAN!” I scream out.
Ronan’s scooped me up, easily lifting me off my feet like the night in the study. I yelp, my hands flying to his broad, rock-hard shoulders for balance.
“Put me down!” I squirm and thrash in his hold.
But it’s no difference to Ronan. I might as well not be struggling at all with how calmly he carries me to the bed.
He’s transcended his fury. His features are set in an unreadable expression. His aura has shifted to quiet determination, like his mind is made up.
He drops me onto the mattress with a suddenness that makes me bounce.
I’ve barely processed what he’s done before I’m being flipped. I’m being rolled over onto my stomach and my arms are being folded behind my back.
“RONAN!” I scream in a panic.
Once again, I’m ignored. His large, powerful hand is clamped down on both of my wrists. He pins me like this until I feel something else sliding over my skin. Something smooth and cool that wraps around my wrists then twists into a knot.
“Ronan!” I squeal again, wiggling my body like a fish on dry land. “W-what are you doing? Ro-Ronan?!”
“You need to learn a valuable lesson, princess,” he says matter-of-factly. “And if I’m the one who has to teach you? My pleasure.”
A cool shiver works its way down my spine as I realize he’s bound my wrists with his tie.
…because he doesn’t want me to have use of them. Because I’m about to be taught a lesson, which obviously means…
“Let’s talk about this!” I cry out, panic filling me up. “Let’s… let’s… figure this out!”
“The time for talking is over. It’s now time for you to learn your place, princess. As my wife.”
My jaw drops open as I almost throw a rebuttal back at him. Almost mouth off like I’ve been. I only stop myself when I realize it’d probably make the situation worse.
He holds me down on my stomach with my arms bound behind my back, and his hands slide down my body like he’s conducting a search for contraband. He ends up on the hem of my clingy dress. The dress that barely covers my ass.
It seems to anger him that it does. That it’s so revealing.
As his large palms glide over my round ass, his breathing deepens. Memories of me on the dance floor must be flooding his head.
He shoves the dress up ’til my bare ass is on display in the thong I’m wearing.
That seems to infuriate him more. He lets out a grunt as he palms my cheeks and then roughly tugs the stretchy fabric off.
“You thought it was a good idea to put this dress on. This thong on. To go out to some fucking club where you were dancing with some bastard. Well guess what, princess? You thought wrong.”
“I… I was never going to do anything!” I blurt out in desperation, my heart pounding faster. “I just wanted to show you…”
“What? That you could go out and find some motherfucker to feel you up? You’re my wife, Simone. No other man gets to fucking touch you but me.”
This time… I can’t help it. My smart mouth has me lobbing an insult right back at him.
“But you get to be with other women?” I snap. “Is that right? You get to do whatever the hell you want while I’m stuck at home?”
Smack!