Chapter 12

Mia

I can do this, sure. It’s not like this is my first dumb choice in life. I haven’t said anything to Ares since he came back to the room after dinner. The man had already dug into my heart later that night when he opened up to me, and it felt like I had an insight into a treasure no one had ever seen. Men from this world are always closed off, rough around the edges, just like him. Watching him let his guard down just for me felt like intimacy at its peak. I always thought attraction to the other gender would always be held in the confound of physical appeal, but Ares’s mind is, well, as hot as his Viking looks. There’s nothing comparable to a closed-off person opening up to you. It’s special, precious, and you’d have to be stupid not to cherish it when it comes.

That’s why I need to leave now.

Because this man is setting his roots into my core and I don’t know how to process this. I don’t know how to accept his words, his touch, his care. I never had to receive this in my family. It was always about portraying the perfect little girl for my father, being thin and pretty for my mother, and trying not to go totally insane each time they wanted me to stay put.

Living with them was like wearing a mask on my face each day of my life. It never matched my personality, with the need to be someone who runs wildly under the rain, laughs loudly, and takes up space in any room they enter. Everywhere else, I felt bold, but not with them. Never with them. They always knew where to hit to make it hurt, and with time, I just let them do it. As long as Kiara was happy, that was all that mattered to me.

Home was never safe for me to be who I wanted to be.

It was like betraying who I really was. Who I really am.

Each time I tried to push their boundaries, to tell them to fuck off, they would belittle me, humiliate me, remove the food from my plate, and let me go to sleep with an empty belly or a couple almonds if I apologized.

I felt dirty there. Sad. Vulnerable.

Inferior .

And I hated it. So, so much.

Something had always been missing from my life, the want to feel alive, as if I had spent an entire life with chains around me.

I didn’t want to have to endure a loveless marriage beside a man who would expect me to change for him. What would be the point of waking up every day to try to fit some mold just to realize you’ll always be a disappointment for everyone?

My parents wanted a perfect daughter, quiet, discreet. I was wild, speaking before thinking, jumping out of the window when I was tired of their rules and curfews. They wanted a bright girl to shove it in front of other people's faces. I had failed miserably three years in a row in different majors until finishing my degree at twenty-three.

They had tried to marry me at eighteen, twice. I ran away each time.

They knew their only leverage was Kiara.

They just knew where to push to really, really hurt me.

I couldn’t go back. It wasn’t home, it had never been.

But where was home now?

As I take the rest of the cash from my red tote bag, I sigh and look one last time at my husband. He’s sleeping, his arm behind his head as I watch one last time the ink dancing on his abs, regret and sadness painted in my mind.

Was he my home now?

You know he is, Mia. You’re running away.

You’re deflecting.

Clothed with my purple velvety loungewear set, I fold the cash in my pocket and tiptoe my way out of the room, knowing deep down that something is off.

You’re making a mistake.

There is no sound in the hallway, no light but the one of the moon shining through the massive windows. I make my way to the entry, putting on my white and golden sneakers and then checking my phone battery one last time. I just need to find a taxi or a bus station, and go somewhere.Anywhere where I can have a fresh start. Perhaps if my father believed I was dead, he would drop the whole Kiara forced marriage threat now that he had lost his bargaining power? Can’t argue with a dead person, right? I’d find my way back to Kiara, let her know I was okay. And maybe, maybe convince her to join me wherever I go.

There is no plan. Whatever I’m doing is bad, poorly prepared, rushed, and messy. Just like me. But I don’t know any better.

All I know is that I need the air to whip my face.

I need the branches to snatch my skin.

I need to feel alive.

And I need it now.

Ares

I thought I’d be mad, or disappointed at least, but none of these thoughts came to my mind as I heard my wife leave our bed in the middle of the night.

Hurt. That’s what it was. To know that she felt the need to do this, to leave me without even facing me, to take nothing but the clothes on her back. Not only was it a testament to her courage but also to the fact that Mia didn’t need all this crap. That she wasn’t like the one that lived here before her. I already knew it, but seeing it, watching her ready to give up any sense of comfort just to get out of here, just to get out of a life with me…

Fuck. It hurt like a knife shoved in my heart.

I wanted her to stay. I wanted her to see that there was a place for her here. That I wasn’t just a jerk trying to piss her off. That I could, damn, that I could take care of her and make sure she’d be fulfilled. I’m rough around the edges, I fucking know that, but Mia made me see that I could be something else. That I didn’t have to always act with a guarded fortress around me.

That not everybody was always here for the kill.

That she saw me and that I saw her.

I didn’t even have the time to tell her about her new workspace. I even called her sister last week to show her and make sure Mia would like it when it was done.

Just as I heard the door of the house shut, I pulled out the covers, took a black sweatshirt, and pulled it on. I already had on sweatpants because I had seen the way she was gawking at me when I wore them at night and I wanted her to keep on doing that every single night.

I was an asshole to her when we got married, I admit it. I just wanted to marry her and satiate my curiosity since the day I saw her from the window. I didn’t care then about us becoming more. Threatening her not to escape was mostly because I had a picture in my head of her in my home, and I always stuck to the plan. But after her panic attack, something changed. And now the thought of never seeing her again feels like the floor is disappearing under me. Now, I don’t want her to leave, not because I’m keeping her, but because I want her to want to be kept.

Taking the stairs two-by-two, I put on my black sneakers and rush out of the door.

Where did you go, princess?

I look on the right, and footsteps are printed in the pebbles, betraying her path. There’s only woods around us and I know this is out of her comfort zone. Luckily for me, it isn’t. Despite the darkness and the unknown of the forest, she still chose to run into it.

Brave girl.

There’s a few acres around the property, because I like privacy and watching my enemies slowly walk toward their death when some find a way in. But there’s one way out other than the main gates. Deep into the forest, there's a tree tall enough to go past the wall surrounding the property. If she climbs it, she can jump out of it and fall on the other side. From there, it’s roads and roads until the city. But yeah, out of desperation, she could do it. If I learned anything from living with Mia, it’s not to underestimate her. A sound breaks me out of my thoughts as I hear a small curse from the forest.

Mia.

Quick footsteps fill the night as I listen carefully to her direction. She’s running. Fast. And she’s going toward the tree at the end of the property. I’m not even sure she knows about it but still, she’s heading in the right direction to escape.

Fuck.

I start running, entering deeper into the woods and noticing a small silhouette. She’s already far, but it won’t be a problem to catch her. Hunting people is my favorite sport, yet tonight, I wished I never had to do it.

Back then, I would have given the world for a chance at hunting my little Mia, chasing her in a cat-and-mouse game, hearing the fear in her breathing as I caught her and brought her back home with a grin on my face. Victorious with a prize under my arm.

Only this time, I’m not hunting for the kill. I’m chasing for the hope of her staying because I don’t want to keep her if she doesn’t want me to. It would be too, fuck, too painful. To stare at her angelic face every morning, knowing she’d wish nothing more but to get away from me. I fasten my pace, the wind roaring around me as the branches take pieces of fabric and my shoes are covered in mud.

That’s it, I’m almost there. I can see her. She’s running like she knows someone’s behind her. She’s running like that’s the only chance she’ll ever get.

God, Mia.

She’s running for her life, and the sight of it breaks me open.

Let her go.

Look at her.

She doesn’t want you.

She’s running away from you.

You’re alone.

You’ll always be.

I should be a good man and let her go, but I’m not a good man. I’m the President of an MC club. I hunt and torture people. I deal drugs and weapons across the country. I own strip clubs, businesses, and people. I’m not a good man. Never have been. Never will be.

So I run faster until I can smell her cinnamon scent. She’s breathing loudly, hearing me behind her. She glances at me quickly, tears filling her hazelnut eyes as she tries and fails to run faster.

Until my last breath, this image will remain imprinted in my mind. The sight of my terrified, desperate, crying wife. And I swear to myself to do anything I can to never see those emotions on her face ever again.

“Gotcha,” I grunt as I catch her ribs, her bones heaving under my palms, pulling her back to my chest. I expect her to fight me, to move her little body to try to escape and detangle herself from my hold, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t fight it. And I don’t know if this doesn’t anger me even more. Mia’s a fighter. She should be trying to get away. She should be fighting me. I want her to.

“Fight,” I order her, breathing into her ear, my heart pounding so hard in my chest, she must feel it in her back. She doesn’t respond, so I tighten my hold and rasp louder, “Fight me, Mia. Goddamn it. Fuckin’ fight me!”

She gasps, then pushes my hands, one of her legs kicking my knee. She moves nervously, with an urgency that’s breaking my dark heart as if there was one in my chest. Her breathing quickens, roars of frustration coming out of her as she realizes I’m still holding her.

“Let me go!” she shouts, tears echoing in her voice. “Why did you have to come for me?” Desperation coats her sweet voice. “Why do you want to keep me?” Her arms fall next to her body, stopping the fight. As if she didn’t have it in her to do this anymore as if she couldn’t find the energy for it. I turn her to face me in a rough movement, grabbing her waist and the side of her face.

“I told you, you wouldn’t make it past the gates,” I grunt.

She nods, tears filling her beautiful eyes.

“But I was wrong, Mia. You can still make it if you want to.” I swallow hard at the truth I’m revealing to her. If she wants to go, she can. It’s up to her. I won’t try to stop her. I just need…I just need to hold her one last time.

Her brown pools widen as the words slip from my lips before I can keep them in.

“Why did you go? Why can’t you stay here?” I mutter, surprising myself by the sadness in my voice. “Am I such a fucking waste of a man that you can’t stand being my wife?”

She doesn’t care about you.

She left you as soon as she could.

She’s not trustworthy.

She hates you.

Her gaze searches for something in my eyes, her hand coming to rest mindlessly on my chest as she fists the black fabric.

“It’s…it’s complicated.” Her voice breaks beautifully.

“Nah, just talk to me, Mia. Just fucking talk to me,” I plead with her, not even giving a fuck if I’m debasing myself ‘cause she’s my wife. She can see me, all of me.

“You want to know why I had to marry you?” Her lips tremble. “My father blackmailed me into it. Threatened to marry Kiara to the head of an Italian mafia. The guy is seventy, terminal cancer, and he wants an heir before dying.” She shakes her head. “Kiara is seventeen.” Her jaw clenches at the disgusting tale she’s telling me.

What a fucking asshole.

Mia and her sister have been raised in this twisted world. They know how things work here and what’s expected from them. Arranged marriages benefiting both parties aren’t unusual, but if it happens, you gotta do it in a way the girl isn’t so fucking miserable she’ll want to put a bullet in her head as soon as she gets her husband’s name.

I had changed things in my home for Mia when I decided to take her as my wife. I made sure my staff was there for her. I gave her enough money to buy the fucking town without hesitation. I studied her, built her a place to work, and sent money to her sister so she would come more often to see Mia. I have been determined to give her a good life, and that’s what any husband should be. Whether your wife can stand your face or not.

But this, fuck, this is twisted and nasty.

Because we all know what it takes to make an heir, especially when death is knocking at the guy’s door. I’d bet he’d want to make sure his line is secured. Poor fucking Kiara. The kid would most likely be held in a basement with barely enough food and taken out only to fulfill her duty. Heard that’s how they do it there. The mobster way.

Well, fuck that.

“I’m gonna take care of that,” I promise her.

“Don’t, Ares, it’s over. I’ve saved her by marrying you.” Her eyes go full panic mode as her hand grabs my shoulders. “My father won’t forgive me for telling you his schemes. You cannot talk to him about this.”

“Mia.”

“Ares, really, it’s complicated—” She shakes her head.

“Mia, breathe, baby.” My tone falls lower, and my palms cup her sweet face. She doesn’t snap back at me for calling her that, and I take it as a fucking win.

“Now, are you gonna tell me why you ran off in the woods tonight?” I brush her skin softly.

“I just told you, it’s—” She furrows her brows.

“Bullshit, that was why you married me, not why you left our bed in the middle of the night.” I want the raw version of Mia, not the sleek facade she carries around for other folks.

“Ares, I…” Her lower lip trembles and her hair sticks to her face from the sweat.

“Why Mia? I know I fucked up at dinner, and I’ve been trying to fix it ever since, but—”

“It’s not about that,” she whispers with the sound of thick tears echoing in her throat.

“Then what is it about?” She lifts her face to me, looking so fucking small all of a sudden, and what I see isn’t my witty, confident wife. What I see in the deep brown of her pupils is a little Mia. Terrified of something.

“I–I can’t say it out loud,” she murmurs, the wind surrounding us and the moonlight shining on her face like a damn piece of jewelry.

“Yeah, you can.” Cupping her cheek, I hope to give her enough courage to open up.

“You’ll make fun of me.”

“I won’t, I promise.” I lock my gaze into hers, wanting her to know it’s safe. I won’t make fun of her, even though it fucking pains me to hear her think I’d do such a thing. Fuck her parents for neglecting her and making her feel less for being vulnerable. Fuck them.

“I thought, I thought it'd be easier—” she begins.

And it takes everything in me not to step away from her as her words cut my soul with a thousand swords. So she does hate being my wife. Living here. With me. She hates it.

“I thought it’d be easier to hate you,” she says, taking my breath away as I exhale from the relief she just gave me.

She doesn’t hate me.

She fucking doesn’t.

“The house, the people, you.” She looks over my shoulder behind me. “It’s a lot.”

I can’t tell if she’s saying it in a positive way. What could possibly be too much for her? She owns every single atom of every room she enters. I frown, not getting where she’s going with it.

“Maria is nice to me. Larry is getting used to my food habits.” A slight smile tugs at the corner of her lips. “Your sister was inviting, and you, well, you turned out better than I thought.”

“And that's a bad thing?” Hope swells in my chest.

“No, yes… I don’t know.”

“Well, you tell me, princess. I’m not the one running away in the middle of the night.”

“I’m not used to…” a trembling exhale escapes her lips, “to people taking care of me.” She swallows hard as I stroke her back, my large hand warming up her cold body.

Why did it take me so long to find her? I could have married her years ago. I could have made everything better then. She wouldn’t have had to live this way. Why did no one see how she truly felt?

“You won’t ever have to worry ‘bout it here, Mia,” I say calmly, fighting the anger pulsing in my veins. “Whatever you need, I’ll give it to ya.” Holding her tight against me, I notice how she shivers. We need to get inside before she gets sick. The wind is strong, and she just ran for her life, so her adrenaline is slowing down. No wonder my girl’s overwhelmed.

“You’re just saying that because you need me to stay to get back at my father,” she murmurs, and I hear, despite the wind, her voice flinching as she says it.

“Nah, princess. That was before.” I shake my head, mesmerized by the sight of her.

“Before what?”

“Before this.” I stroke her cheek slowly, as delicately as my rough palms allow it, hoping she’ll get it. That this is the softest I’ll ever go for someone, that this is a part of me, no one else will ever get a glimpse of. My eyes lock onto hers as I lower myself for our foreheads to meet.

I’ve never done that. Women were always either terrified of me or throwing themselves at me in hopes of protection, favors, or a way out. It has always been about flesh, nothing more.

But right here, right now, it feels like a wave towering over us, threatening me with a four-letter word that could crash my black heart forever. The urge to kiss her takes over me until I'm no longer a man but pure want and desire for the woman I’m holding in my arms.

“Mia.” Our mouths are so close I can inhale the air she breathes out.

“I’m not right for you, Ares,” she whispers.

Why would she ever doubt that? Then again, I’m slowly learning that my wife isn’t what I thought she was. That under the red lipstick and bright, sexy clothes is a little Mia that has never been cared for.

Her words sink into me as I realize that she’s maybe right, but not in the sense she thinks. I’m not right for her either. I’m a borderline psychopath, criminal, jerk with little to no limits when it comes to protecting my cities and the few folks I care about. I’m known to be twisted, to have no moral compass when it comes to torture and dealing with my enemies. So she’s right. She’s too good for me. She’s the sun and the moon and all the fucking stars wrapped up in one single person, and I’m just a man, with a dark soul and a barely functioning heart. The old thing is so rusty, I can hear it creak from how long it wasn’t used.

“I’m not right for you either, and yet here we fucking are.”

“I don’t know, I—” her brown eyes are getting all watery, “with Kiara and the food thing, it’s…,” She shakes her head. Yeah, I see my girl is too fucking overwhelmed to talk right now. Too many things to think of and no one to help her process it.

“It’s, I mean, I’m a mess.” She chuckles, but there's nothing funny about the icy cold tone of her voice.

I was a shitty husband. This ends now.

“How ‘bout you just stay in my arms and try not to think of anything,” I suggest to her.

“As if it would help.” She sniffs. “You’re serious?” I look at her deadpan. “I’m still mad at you, you know.” Her pouty lips look all pink and full in the moonlight.

“I know,” I say without containing a slight grin.

“Just—just a minute,” her trembling voice complies as if she was trying to convince herself.

“Just a minute,” I assure her. Holding her in my arms, her cinnamon scent expands in the air until it becomes a part of my oxygen, of what I need to live.

If she needs a safe place, I’ll be her shelter.

If she needs guidance, I’ll be her compass.

If she needs support, I’ll be her anchor.

Anything she’ll need, I will provide.

I’m falling. Hard.

Maybe I already fell all the way when I watched her that day through her window. I won’t deny it. I'm falling hard for my wife, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make her fall for me too.

I’ve taken over cities, stared down enemies stronger than me, and risen from the ashes more times than I can count. But this time, I’m fighting for her, for us. And I won’t stop until she’s mine in every way. Whatever it takes, I’ll break down every wall she has until she knows she’s mine for good.

She’s the fight that’ll end all fights.

She’s worth every battle.

I’m all in, and I’m gonna make sure she is too. A minute passes, then a few more, and I remark how her body melts into mine like it’s meant to be. Like it belongs right here, in the closeness of my flesh, in the space I’ve carved out just for her.

We don’t say anything more. I lower myself to swipe her up in my arms and carry her back through the forest to our home. Her face rests on my chest as I carry her small body, her scent becoming a part of me, like ink imprinted on my skin.

Once we’re past the stairs, I bring her to our bathroom, the mug still covering our clothes. My Mia is exhausted, dark circles blooming under her eyes as I kneel before her to remove her sneakers, her hands resting on my shoulders to stay upright.

“We’re almost done,” I assure her.

“You don’t have to, it’s, it’s fine,” she claims, but her voice betrays her. I look up at her face, watching this breathtaking woman and wonder if she’ll stop me. Our eyes meet, and she nods, lifting a corner of her perfect lips. “Just for this time, big guy, but don’t get your hopes up.”

Damn, I missed her sassy mouth.

I grin back with a shrug. “I’ll take what I can get, princess.”

Her lips curl into a smile as she gently shakes her head, and I know that this face, this freaking face will be the end of me.

With steady hands, I help her get out of her clothes until she’s in nothing more but her blue underwear. In any other circumstances, I’d let the caveman in me act but here, with Mia, it’s all fucking different. I keep my gaze up, watching her beautiful red hair on her shoulders, hoping she’ll see that I’m not playing, that I’m not gawking at her like a lion but like a painter would look at a masterpiece.

Tonight’s about her trusting me to be a better man.

To be the husband she deserves.

So I shove my twisted thoughts away and take her hand until I pull her under the covers and tuck her in. Making sure she’s warm and safe in our home. It may take time before she fully admits it, but it is.

“Ares…” she mutters, her eyes closed as I press a rough kiss on her forehead before shutting off her bedside light.

“Yeah, princess?”

“You forgot something.” She yawns like a kitten. “You hate mess—” she murmurs.

I frown.

What is she saying?

“Hate…mess,” she whispers, then her hands fist the sheets, and she fidgets before her breathing lowers and becomes regular. I take a step back, observing her in our bed, the golden ring on her right hand glowing in the dark of the night. Whatever she was trying to say before falling asleep won’t stop me from keeping her.

I fell for my wife tonight.

And there’s no going back.