Bad Little Bride

I wake to a far more refreshing aroma than the one I fell asleep to—fresh ground espresso beans. I’m surprised when I sit up to find a note on the pillow beside me, a black rose stabbed through the golden paper. I slip it free and read it over, but the only thing on it is his name in a calligraphy so pristine it could pass as being printed.

My head hits the pillow once more and I draw the rose up to my nose, surprised by the scent. There is no hint of sweet softness of a flower. No, it smells of amber and clove, of leather, and metallic, like a fresh cut rather than freshly cut from the vine. As if it were dipped in his very dominance.

I inhale again, my eyes closing, quite the image filling the darkness I’m now sated in.

Him hovering above me, his knuckle brushing my thigh as he viciously stroked himself to his finale.

I can’t believe he wiped his cum all over me.

It may have been the most irritating and intoxicating moment of my life.

On one hand, I wanted to slap the shit out of him for demeaning what he did by saying he was marking me like a dog…but on the other, I wanted his fingers to slide between my lips and “force me” to swallow.

I don’t dare think about what happened after, the way he ruined me right there on the stairs for any of his men to see. Not that they’re that stupid.

The chilled window against my back, his burning body buried in my front.

My thighs rub together in the silk sheets, overdosing on his scent. As I press it further to my nose, lifting the stem higher, something slips from the center, a coolness sliding over my neck as it falls behind me.

I jerk upright, scooting down until I spot something shiny. Picking it up, I pull it closer to my face.

It’s a small cluster of diamonds in the shape of a book, with a small thread hanging from the end, a miniature note dangling from it.

To remind you of our scene together, it reads.

Warmth washes over me, the adorable play on the word scene not missed on me, and I chastise myself for how giddy it makes me, swiftly jumping from the bed, fully prepared to forget all about the thoughtful gesture…only to spot a second black rose lying across the top of the espresso machine. The exact spot he knew I’d go first.

Because he knows you.

I shake the thought.

My feet move quicker than I’d like to admit, and I swiftly snatch it up, a little more aggressively this time, smelling it to see if it’s full of his scent as well. It is.

I shift my weight from one foot to the other, not wanting to assume, and hating the tiny thrill the thought brings me.

I turn it upside down.

Sure enough, a second charm falls into my palm, and while it really shouldn’t, a smile breaks across my lips as I get a good look. Like the other, it’s made of a bunch of tiny diamonds, these ones molded into the shape of the Hummer.

To remind you of the way you drive me wild, the tag reads.

I bite the inside of my lip, staring down at what I dare to call thoughtful gifts.

Knowing Enzo, they could be his way of reminding me of his threat.

Little does he know, the idea of someone watching him and I together does quite the opposite to me. I think I might enjoy something like that.

But also knowing Enzo, which I’m not sure I could claim I do, he would probably get my shirt halfway off and then freak out and pull that trigger early.

Something tells me he wouldn’t be okay with someone seeing what he keeps saying belongs to him.

Or it could be his way to placate me—give me seemingly meaningful gifts so I forget all about his caveman bullshit, burning my birth control after just one day of use.

Fisting the charm, I look out the window, replaying the end of our night.

Why am I not more bothered by his stunt?

Why do I sort of want to laugh at how outraged the thought of me taking birth control made him, and when did I start to consider his little outbursts adorable?

God, he would laugh if he knew I used that word in any relation to him.

Maybe I’ll call him that at some point today.

A throat clears behind me, and I spin with a sigh, already knowing who it will be.

Grandma dips her chin.

“Let me guess. He wants me at breakfast in ten minutes?”

“Mr. Fikile isn’t home. He was called away but asked that I arrange for you to have company for a mid-morning brunch.”

My brows jump and I smile. “Can I call⁠—”

“The calls have already been made. Get yourself ready and be in the garden in one hour.”

She turns and walks away.

Rolling my eyes, I decide I’ll listen, if only to see who she’s invited.

Color me fucking shocked when the only person sitting at the dinette table is Bastian Bishop.

“Boston.” He dips his chin.

“Bastian.” I raise a brow. “Where’s my sister?”

“At The Enterprise,” he says simply, and jerks his head to the left.

A second person joins us, stepping from the row of rose bushes, and this one’s a stranger to me.

She has long dark hair so black it’s nearly blue, and eyes the color of icicles. She looks nothing like the girls in my world, what with her cutoff, jean booty shorts and T-shirt that says Karma is only a bitch if you are tied in the middle to show her stomach. If she’s not from my world, that can only mean she comes from his. Or the one he left behind when he took over as head of my family name.

“Boston Revenaw.” He tips his chin toward the girl in question. “Meet Raven Carver.”

“Never heard the name.”

“Because that’s not her fucking name.”

My head yanks over my shoulder to find a dark-haired guy around my age walking in, his glare pointed at Bastian.

The girl’s laughter catches my attention and I face forward once more, suddenly glad I thought to slip one of my knives into my sleeve—the only reason I’m wearing a long sleeve this time of year. I’m outnumbered by strangers and a man I don’t know enough to trust, even when his position demands I do.

I look to Bastian for an explanation.

He rolls his eyes, leaning back in his seat like a lazy sloth. “Boston Revenaw, soon-to-be Fikile, meet Raven Brayshaw.” He looks up at the green-eyed, godlike guy. “Better?”

“Be better when I get her away from you,” the man snaps back.

Bastian scoffs, but it seems to be in good nature, considering the Bastian I’m used to would cut him for his attitude alone.

Speaking of attitude, this girl has resting bitch face. The attractive version, of course.

She smirks and I glare from her to Bastian. “Why are you here?”

“Raven has something she wants to ask you.”

My gaze moves to hers and holds.

She waits for me to ask her what she wants, but she came here. I’m not going to make it easy on her. She wants to talk? I’ll wait for her to.

Not that it takes more than a thirty-second stare-off for her to begin.

“You have a friend I’m curious about.”

“I have no friends.” I mimic Enzo’s words from last night.

She smiles, dropping into the seat and throwing her combat boots—because it’s totally normal to wear tactical gear with jean shorts and be able to look good in it—up onto who I’m assuming is her man’s lap. “His name is Philip Mitchell.”

My eyes narrow. Odd timing, considering what happened last night. For the time being, I play along. “What is it you want to know about him?”

“Everything.”

I eye her closely, wondering what her angle is.

Are they looking to dip their toes in the drug runner world?

Are they drug runners themselves?

Do they want this information to come from me so that they can try and blackmail my dad with it later, paint me as a traitor of some sort so they can transport across my father’s, or, well, Bastian’s territories?

She has to know her asking me to offer up information about a member of my world is as direct as an insult can get. It tells me she sees me as weak or naive. Neither of which are correct.

I could simply tell them he’s a man with many friends, and a father with even more…my father being one of them, though that’s an intentional choice not one built on actual friendship, as most relationships are in this world. He may not have given the Mitchells what I’ve only learned Philip wanted, me at his side, but that’s not cause to share facts with strangers. It’s not enough for me to share with anyone. “What makes you think I would tell you anything?”

What makes Bastian think I have more information than he himself could share?

“Because we promise not to tell your fiancé.”

Maybe that shouldn’t piss me off, but it does. Who is she to assume I’m poison ivy in a field full of flowers?

I level her with a firm expression. “Whomever you’re getting your information from, and I really hope it’s not the man who owes Enzo his loyalty—” I cut a sharp glare toward Bastian. “—I have nothing to hide from my fiancé, in relation to a man as irrelevant as Philip Mitchell is to me, or any other. So, if that’s your sell, you’ll find no buyers here. The fact that you’re willing to come into his home, and make such a promise, only further confirms you’re not to be trusted.”

“Trust is earned.” The green-eyed guy leans across the table with a frown. “You don’t have ours. We don’t have yours. Changes nothing. Tell us what we want to know.”

“Watch yourself, Maddoc.” It’s Bastian who speaks before I can, slowly moving to stand, and the guy is just as fast, the two in a sudden face-off.

I chance a glance at the girl, who grins up at the pair, chewing a piece of gum without a care.

“Get your ass kicked, Bishop.” Maddoc gets angrier. “We can’t sit on this, and you know it.”

Bastian only tips his head, his expression as blank as ever. “I brought you here, did I not? You’re going to respect that girl and if you can’t do that for real, you’re going to fucking fake it. Her man is not one you want on your bad side, and you keep this up, none of us will make it out of this house without injury.”

“Sit down, Big Man.” Raven faces me, not caring if he actually listens.

He doesn’t.

“Look.” She pins me with her creepy-ass crystal eyes. “Tell me everything that happened at the club last night, every single detail of your night, and I’ll tell you why I want to know.”

How does she even know about that?

Several seconds of silence pass between us, and a look of triumph flashes across her features as she lounges back in her chair.

That little show of arrogance makes this all the more satisfying.

How I love to prove people wrong.

Without another word, I turn around and walk away.

“What the fuck?” I hear her say and then the chair scrapes. “Bass, this is your territory. Handle her before I do.”

“No.” I spin. “This is not his territory. You’re on Fikile grounds, my grounds.”

“Your grounds?” She pops a black brow. “Five seconds ago, you said his home, so which is it, bad Barbie?”

“It’s go fuck yourself, punk princess.”

She smiles at that. “I could probably like you. Maybe.”

“Doubtful,” her dutiful man adds.

“I don’t care, and if you think I’d be easy for you to handle, I’d find a better source than the guy my sister got the drop on.”

She pulls a switchblade from her pocket, flicking it open and dragging her thumb across the point. “Wanna test that theory?”

My fingers curl into the sleeves of my blazer, both palms now holding the sharp points of the daggers hidden there. “Do you?”

Her eyes fall to my hands as if she knows, and she gives a small nod, pivoting back to where she started. “He doesn’t have to know we’re here, Boston.”

She doesn’t have to say who she means, everyone here is aware of who she’s talking about, but I can’t be the only one who knows better.

“You’re only here because someone decided to allow you to be and make no mistake, Brayshaw, that someone was not the man beside you.”

Her frown is instant, and she cuts Bastian an accusing glare, though her question is for me. “You knew we were coming?”

“No.” I stand tall. “But if you think the man whose zone you stepped into didn’t, you’re not as smart as you think you are.”

The two whip their heads toward Bastian, who quite lazily looks from me to them.

“You come from a world as twisted as this one.” He shrugs a single shoulder. “You really think you were walking into anything less than a tiger’s den?”

“Lion’s den.” They all look at me then. “There are no tigers here, only the king of the jungle and his pride. Remember that the next time you show up unwanted, making demands and inaccurate assumptions.” As I turn, I swear I catch a small smirk on the girl’s face, but I don’t care to look back and be sure. I step through the corridor, pausing beside a guard, who lowers his chin to his chest at my presence, almost as if it’s meant as a bow, and try something I haven’t yet.

“Remove them.” I make a request.

The moment the word leaves my lips the man’s head dips even lower, and three more appear. One flanking the man I spoke to, the other two silently sweeping out from the opposite side, as if their backs were pressed to that wall, waiting just in case.

Just in case I needed them?

They move behind me without a word, faces hidden behind their bandanas, as always, but I don’t bother looking back.

I smile and head for the terrace that overlooks the lake.

Maybe it’s dumb, but it’s the first time I feel like the queen of this castle, like I’m not just a fragment inside it, but a fixture of its very foundation. That feeling only further cements itself when Grandma appears with a smirk of her own, her palm facing upright, a rose gold cell phone sitting in the center of it.

It rings the moment my fingers wrap around it, and I answer the incoming call. As if he can see me with his own eyes, he speaks the second it touches my ear.

“You are everything I knew you’d be, Little Bride.” His husky tone wraps around me, squeezing my lungs. “The password is my name.”

He hangs up and I try really hard not to squeal, his words sending waves of satisfaction through me. I feel like I’m being petted or praised and okay, maybe that shouldn’t be so enticing, but what the fuck do I care. It is. It is and it makes me want to please him more.

Apparently, he feels the same, as the next thing Grandma hands me is a black Amex, right as a text pops up on the screen of my new cell phone, his number already programmed.

Now that’s one “order” I won’t argue with.

I turn to Grandma. “You’ll come with me, right?”

“I have a better question.” Grandma steps in close, whispering into my ear, “What is it that girl thinks she knows and suspects you don’t want your fiancé to find out?”