Bad Little Bride

“Fiancée swapping prick.”

I down what’s left in my glass, set it on the edge of the tub, and sink to my neck in the steamy water. If only the heat could melt the anger and, yeah, the nagging little bitch whispering I told you so over and over from my mind the way it’s threatening to melt the makeup from my face.

Of course, the man who shall not be named would pop back onto the grid after months of no contact the moment my father reached out to him with a better offer than the one I had made.

Marry me and gain access to my family’s underground empire, that was going to be my proposal.

Literally, considering I was offering him my hand, but all I had a chance to say was “marry me” before he took a single step closer and agreed, effectively cutting off the remainder of the fifteen-minute pitch I’d prepared, because yes. My life had become nothing but a business transaction.

The man crowded me after those two weighted words, hiding me from the view of his security detail, and instantly making me regret having snuck away from mine. He cocked his head and stared at me for ten silent seconds, those dark eyes as daunting as his massive frame.

“You wanna be mine?” he’d said when he finally spoke, his voice no more than a rumbly whisper. “Now you are.”

That was it.

Seven words to seal our fate, then he turned around and walked away.

No negotiation. No confirmation. Not what I would even call a conversation.

I didn’t have to mention a marriage to me would end the feud between my father’s operation and his own, and an alliance would form. We didn’t discuss how, and I wasn’t given the opportunity to affirm the second part would take time plus trust, but it didn’t matter.

He knew.

The ins and outs would come as the contract was finalized, and with a single signature he would get what every powerful man from here to the coastline was after without success.

The Revenaw name behind his own…assuming he stopped trying to bury it, of course.

He needed no other information, but then again, why would he?

It was no secret to us or any of the crime families that the Fikile name wanted to wash ours off the streets so they could rise from our ruin, and legitimately take over a section of the criminal organization we were a part of, rather than fight for the claim of the territory my father says he has no right to but took up residence in.

My offer saved him time, money, and the lives of his men. With one signature and a contractual “I do,” he would be indefinitely tied to the most influential names in the underground crime world.

I offered him this in the shape of myself and he agreed.

And then my father did one better.

He put gold on the table, and everyone knows only a fool would pass on gold for silver.

So, again, of fucking course he shows up now.

But where the fuck was he when the date he demanded I return from my “visit home” passed and I still didn’t return to his prison? I surpassed the little deadline by weeks now, and my supposed fiancé hasn’t attempted to contact me once. Not even when my father told him I changed my mind, and no longer wanted to be his bride, breaking what was supposed to be a life-binding contract.

But why would he? It’s not like he came to me and asked for the marriage of convenience. I sought him out. I set up the meeting, ditched my guards, and met him alone on Alcatraz Island, hoping he didn’t feed me to the sharks right then and there.

Obviously, that didn’t happen, but now I can’t help but think it would have been a less humiliating way to end this, for me anyway.

Irritation prickles at my skin so I run my palms along my arms, wishing the lavender petals would do their job and calm my nerves.

I’d bet the asshole was betting on this happening, maybe even planned for it.

What other purpose would the clause in our marriage contract hold?

It wasn’t a safety net to “ensure his investment”—I should have run at the word choice alone.

If Boston Revenaw is unable to fulfill her duties, her twin sister must take her place.

Every marriage of convenience has an added little twist from each party, a pretty little threat of sorts, in attempt to keep both in line. I nearly scoffed at his. Why? Because it was a laughable idea.

Or so I thought.

Never in a million fucking years did I expect my dad to offer up his diamond daughter in place of his damaged one…but he did.

He called the man I was to marry and told him he could have my sister instead. The prize Revenaw.

So yeah. Him showing up the minute my father offered him a trade-up makes perfect sense.

My stomach twists a little at the thought.

Even a man who has never met Rocklin chose her over me.

I swallow past the thought and remind myself I don’t care.

That I’m better off.

That Enzo Fikile is a dangerous, dark man I never should have put myself in the same place as, let alone promise myself to. And that is the only reason I ran when I found out he was on his way to Greyson.

Fuck him.

I don’t want to see him.

I don’t want to see him with her…

I blink, clenching my teeth to force my mind to act right.

This is nothing new and, in reality, should be the furthest thing from a shock. Rayo Revenaw, while a good dad as far as good goes in our world, is a calculating man. If the empire he built is threatened, he will act. He will do any and everything in his power to eliminate it…or die trying.

Well, the joke is on him.

Or maybe on both of them.

Enzo might be on his way to the Greyson Manor to attempt to collect his new, shinier trophy of a bride, but it won’t be that easy. Not with the tattooed psycho Bastian who—shocker—is obsessed with my sister, in the picture. He’s killed in her name already, so when Enzo tries to take her like the cattle my father promised to trade her as, he’ll have a hell of a fight on his hands.

I hope whatever Rocklin’s man has planned for him hurts.

Maybe he’ll even get his dick chopped off.

Sighing, I close my eyes.

The scent of chamomile and lilac wafts over me, and finally the smallest bit of tension escapes.

I have no idea what’s happening at Greyson Manor, my home away from home. The second my father took off to drag my sister back into town, I ran.

Sure, I only made it to the underground garage before running right into an asshole, but he ended up being an unsuspecting ally, and helped me hide here, at some random spa at the edge of town. Little did he know I have no intention of “staying the fuck put” as I was told.

Bastian and my sister got back last night, and the man I was supposed to marry is on his way to attempt to take her.

While they’re occupied, battling it out for the better Revenaw, I’ll be on my way to Belize.

I may not be the ultimate protégé my twin is, but I’m not as useless as my father has made me out to be.

If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s being on my own.

“Fuck you, Enzo Fikile.”

“Don’t worry, princess, you will.”

I nearly choke at the intruding voice, my body flying upright, eyes wide as panic licks down my spine, attention instantly locking on the man standing at the edge of the tub.

Dark eyes framed by long, thick lashes stare into mine, making me gasp.

I open my mouth to say what, I don’t know, but the slow shake of his head has the words balling up in my throat, shriveling and suffocating me on the spot.

Enzo bends until he’s crouched before me, our gazes now even with one another.

His narrows, jaw clenched tight as he stares at me with unreadable eyes and runs a finger over his lower lip as if in contemplation.

Without a sound to give them away, a second person reveals themselves when a black bandana appears before my face.

“N—” I try to shout, but I’m gagged before I can. Panic surges and I jolt, watching as Enzo pushes to his feet in no particular hurry. He watches, almost as if annoyed he’s here in the first place, as I’m yanked to mine by the person behind me.

Tension cords its way through my every limb as I wait for Enzo’s gaze to hit my bare body and reveal his aversion, but his eyes never so much as leave mine as a robe is slipped over my shoulders, my arms shoved in. It’s tied tight around my waist and then my hands are tied, too.

Enzo steps forward then, towering over me and forcing my head to tip up just to keep my gaze on his. Something dark flickers across his features, making him appear even more devilish, and then his chest is against mine.

His hand rises to my face, and I flinch. A frown flashes over his brows in an instant, but that hand keeps coming, only slower this time. Just before his palm reaches my cheek, he spins his wrist, his knuckle pushing a wet strand of hair from my face.

With one quick swoop and no warning, I’m tossed over his shoulder, carried from the space and into the main hall.

I kick and try to scream, using all my energy to flail around, hoping I fall from his arms, but his grip is unrelenting.

Each door we pass, a new guard falls in line behind us like a fucking marching band putting on a show, and it doesn’t stop until we’re at the end of the hall, no less than two dozen men silently trailing, nothing but their eyes visible above the bandanas—the infamous Fikile face masks.

None meet my eye and not for my lack of trying, so when we get into the lobby, I breathe a sigh of relief. This place, it isn’t an establishment run by those in our world. Someone will see and demand action, but my hope is killed as we move through the space and the corners of the room come into view.

They have the entirety of the staff gathered up like a flock of sheep, each one hovering on their hands and knees, but instead of the black bandanas revealing only their eyes like the guards, or stuffed in their mouths like mine, theirs are being used to steal their sight.

Great, there won’t be a single witness to my kidnapping.

I must lose some fight in me then, as Enzo’s chest shakes with a gruff laugh.

Asshole.

The massive double doors are yanked open, and we step outside, the sun beaming and bright.

That’s when I hear the deep, obnoxious laughter of another, and a rather pathetic growl works its way up my throat.

Enzo sets me on my bare feet, but I no sooner wince at the burning gravel my skin is met with than I’m hoisted right back up again. He shuffles, and this time when I’m lowered to the ground, my feet slide into a pair of shoes that swallow them whole.

A quick glance down reveals the man is now standing there in a six-figure suit with nothing but socks on his feet. I ignore the gesture completely and whip around, threatening to cut the dick of the traitor who laughed with my eyes.

Hayze might be the best friend of my sister’s new man, but he’ll become the dead best friend if I have my way. He said he’d help me hide until the tornado that was sure to be the arrival of Enzo on the Greyson grounds passed, not lead me right into the eye of it.

“Sorry, baby girl.” He grins, knowing damn well what I’m thinking. “Orders and all.”

“Call her baby girl one more time and I’ll send you back without your tongue.”

My head snaps toward Enzo, and he grips my arm, urging me into the back seat of a giant Hummer limo.

Who the hell still rolls around in a limo?

This time, when I meet Hayze’s gaze, it’s with a plea.

Don’t let this man take me.

The psycho only laughs harder.

“See you soon, sweetheart,” Hayze singsongs, then his eyes go wide as a low whistle whooshes past my ear.

“Oh shit.” Hayze drops to the ground with more grace than I would have given him credit for and will never, ever mention. He growls, rolling on the gravel and hopping up on one foot, his hand covered in blood when he removes it from his thigh.

Confused, I look over my shoulder, jarring back when I’m met with the cold, black steel of a silencer not three inches from my face. My eyes snap to Enzo’s, but the sharpness of his expression warns me not to question him. Hilarious, considering I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, mouth stuffed with a bandana and all.

Enzo slips inside the car, his free hand wrapping around my finger, and when I hesitate, deep brown eyes slice to mine once more, his chin lowering the slightest bit.

I should run. Right now.

As if reading my thoughts, Enzo lifts a dark brow, daring me to try and promising without words to give chase. Fucker would probably get off on that.

I climb into the stupid fucking car.

The ride is silent, and I try not to shrink into myself or look around the space, but I use my peripheral to take in what I can.

There are two guards sitting across from me, both male and both with bandanas slung over their noses, and Enzo is pressed firmly at my side. I’m pretty sure he’s glaring at the guards, but I don’t want to look to confirm, far too humiliated to even consider such a move.

My hair is probably a ratted, soapy mess, drying in that frizzy, awkward curly way it always does, and my face is a mess of melted makeup, half washed away from the water, the other half smeared by sweat.

I’m exposed and I hate it.

Never in my life have I gone out of the house, much less looked into the eyes of another, without all my armor to paint me the prima ballerina.

The daughter of the Don.

The perfect princess.

Well, as perfect as the second-rate twin can be, of course.

This is humiliating, but maybe that’s the point, to knock me down a few more pegs so I know where I belong. Below the rest of them.

But why am I here?

Where is my sister?

Did Bastian refuse to give her up?

Did Enzo settle for what was left, and agree to go back to the original deal my father agreed to?

Me on a silver platter?

I swear if he hurt her, I’ll kill him in his sleep.

Or maybe the only reason he came for me is on principle.

We had an agreement, and that agreement was broken. In our world, that’s betrayal and can’t go unpunished.

My thoughts loop with the same worries as we drive for what feels like hours, and who knows, maybe it has been. The sun is gone now, after all, and as we pull up in front of the Fikile estate, too many emotions to name fall over me…and then a sack does.

I scream around the gag, kicking and begging them to stop this. To let me go, to threaten them with my father’s wrath, but that thought has me steeling myself.

If Enzo is here, alive and unharmed, where is my dad?

Did he kill my family?

Take them like he took me?

Angry tears prick at my eyes, but I force them away. I can’t look weaker than I already do.

Once again, I’m lifted into what I’m assuming are Enzo’s arms; only this time, I’m carried bridal style. A knot forms and twists in my stomach at the irony of this, but I ignore it.

He walks for several minutes before the distinct ding of an elevator sounds, and silence fills the space. With each ticking second, Enzo’s hold on me seems to tighten.

It’s not long until we’re moving again, and then a door is thrown open with a harsh bang, the sack on my head clearly intended to keep me from figuring out where his massive fucking mansion he’s taking me is.

I’m set on my feet, the bag lifted off my head, and ties removed from my wrists. Before I know what I’m doing, before I can think better of it, my hand rises.

I slap the man clear across his handsome face.

Alarm slams into me and I jolt backward, hitting a small table as I wait for his wrath.

Enzo’s jaw tics and he reaches up, dabbing his thumb to the corner of his lips, pulling it back to reveal the small drop of blood there.

His eyes flash and I choke around the gag, holding my hands out to plead.

If I had a weapon I would use it, but I’m defenseless in this moment and his gun gleams from the holster near his hip.

He keeps coming until his chest is flush with mine, and my arms fall to my sides, palms flattening on the furniture behind me as a way to brace myself.

He leans in, and my body starts to shake with indecision, my eyes clenching closed as the heat of his cheek meets mine, sliding along my skin until his lips find my ear.

“Such a bad little bride,” he whispers.

And then he’s gone.