Chapter 5

Ares

Those damn leggings.

I tried to tell her to change, but fuck if she’ll ever listen to me. It was hard enough to focus with her in the same room as me, but with her tight top and that sticky leopard thingy, I almost broke my back teeth from how hard I was clenching my jaw.

Fake marriage or not, my wife is a knockout. A knockout who won’t listen to me, but still. This woman doesn’t seem to care about rules and saying it’s pissing me off would be an understatement. I’m used to giving orders and getting results. Folks don’t argue with me unless they have a fucking death wish.

I haven’t told her yet that I’ve found a place for her to work near the club and I already got a crew redecorating it for her. Maybe it’s too soon, I don't know. The idea of Nero hiding in the shadows, ready to take her away, doesn’t sit well with me. Our marriage isn’t like any real one, but I still vowed to physically protect her, and I will.

I sigh, lying in our bed after eating in a deadly silence together tonight. I could tell she was studying me, as if she was trying to find the weaknesses in my skin.

She didn't eat much, either. I mean, more than the last time I saw her eat, which was on our wedding day. According to what Maria reported to me, Mia always leaves her plate full with everything cut into small bites, as if she was trying to fool someone into thinking she had eaten.

I'd drop it if it was anyone else, but I kinda wanna know why she’s got this thing with food. Mia’s fit as hell, so I wonder why she's obsessing over this. I don't like unanswered questions. Perhaps I should test her out tomorrow night at dinner, ask my cook Larry to make only one meal for all of us, and see how she’d react.

Or perhaps I shouldn't, but she did call me a jerk.

Might as well hold on to it.

Always been known in business for my ways of twisting people's minds and breaking them open the way I need them to. That's all I've ever been taught.

Kill or be killed.

Chase or be hunted.

Just because I accepted this deal out of… curiosity and to secure my line doesn’t mean that she’ll get special treatment. Being married to Mia is no different to me. I’ll treat her the same way I do with anyone I need to crack open. I’d been too soft on my last relationship. People have different faces when you push them in their corners. Mia’s must have a hidden facette too. A part of her that’s looking to manipulate me, fool me into thinking she’s keen on me.

I won’t make the mistake a second time.

I’ll crack her open soon and get my answers before involving myself too much.

I’ll follow my dad’s advice and this time, it will work. My old man did his best on his own before he left this earth for his rightful place in hell. Because there's no way folks like us get a warm seat in heaven after all the shit we've seen and done. He raised my sister and I on his own after our mom dozed off one night when I was seven and Vanessa was nine. Wouldn't say he was the best father but he did try, and for this, I'd say I got luckier than most men I know of. He was the prez of the Raven Sons, and just like him, I became the heir of the Chapter right after he taught me everything he knew about our way of life. He had three rules, and breaking the first was the only warning I knew I was ever gonna get, so I knew better than to break the others.

Business before women.

Loyalty to the brotherhood.

Fight to your last breath.

Broke the first one four years ago, held onto the second one like a damn religion, and chased the last one like a drug when each fight night was around the corner, the bell of the ring never too far, holding me accountable as the president of my club.

Consistent, organized, and always planning. Always thinking ahead. ‘Cause that's how we grew so fucking fast since I got the reigns. I always had a step ahead like a chess master, killing anyone on my way to expand, submit, and grow our brotherhood.

I had this hunger in me. This need to live so fucking much and to feel so fucking deep because I knew death was always there, glancing at me with a friendly grin, holding me company each second of my existence.

There’s no point romanticizing our way of life. It’s dark, bloody and violent.

Which brings me to why I got Mia in here today. It didn't take fucking long after the package she sent me months ago with her provocative notes and red panties to understand that she wasn't like the rest of the chicks I'd been with.

Mia’s got this fire in her I never found in any other women I’ve crossed paths with. I saw it right away when I drove to Chicago and watched her outside her bedroom window, trying on dresses one night.

I had planned to watch her, then come back to Knoxville and trade a city against O’brian’s life. He didn’t have a choice then. I could have taken his life’s work, and yet, I chose her. Because watching her from the garden, hidden in the shadows of the night, had made my heart twitch in a way I thought it would never do again.

She was in nothing more but her black lace underwear, red silky hair falling on her soft shoulders, trying on dresses, dropping them on the floor, then trying some more with fucking dubious green boas and red hats. I saw a woman playing, spinning in front of the mirror, smiling, pouting, and making the most freaking adorable poses like she was in a magazine. I thought at that moment she was too young for me. Twenty-five tops, with her round face and plump lips, but then, after an hour of digging through her closet for the most extravagant shit I ever saw, she sat on her bed. Facing the window, not knowing that I was there, a few feet away, my jaw clenched at the sight that still haunts me every night since.

She sat in her black underwear, which would make any man lose their mind, her fit body so fucking toned, with creamy skin, making me want to dig my teeth in it just to see it blush from my bites. She sighed and looked at the emptiness, her gaze drifting into a place I knew wasn’t there in front of her. She just drifted away aimlessly until her brows narrowed and her gorgeous hazelnut eyes filled with tears.

If you looked too quickly, you wouldn’t have seen the sadness painted on her face, but I did. I saw one single tear fall down her cheek until it remained on her delicate jawline. One I wished I could have erased with the back of my inked hand. I stayed there, watching her, my chest tightening and my feet fidgeting like my body was trying so goddamn hard to tell me to break in and hold her against me. Against a stranger who she didn’t know would soon become her husband.

Perhaps she was already my wife then.

Perhaps watching her break was enough for me to claim her as my own.

After a few minutes, she shook her head, her fiery curls bouncing on her shoulders like a damn goddess. She wiped the tears away, exhaled, and placated a fake smile on her face as if nothing had happened.

Then she took all of the dresses and the stuff she had gotten out, shoved them into her closet without taking the time to fold them like I always did with mine, and put on a short orange neon nightgown, leaving so little for my dark imagination, and snuck under her covers before shutting down the lights.

I thought about many things that night. I thought about leaving the shadows and breaking into her room to touch her delicate face just to see the contrast of my roughness against her sweet soft skin.

I thought about waking her and seeing how she’d react, if she knew how to defend herself and how to fight like any mafia princess should.

I thought about leaving her a note, telling her someone had been there, watching her.

My mind was scattered that night when it usually is so fucking clear that it took me off guard. Just got mesmerized by the sight of her, not just her beauty and the way her feminine curves were on fucking display like I had been giving my own private showtime.

Nah, she got me when she cried and put herself together like a fucking queen and this, damn it, this took my breath away.

So when the sun rose and I knew I had to get back to Knoxville, I stepped away from my shadows with the image of her empty gaze haunting me. I knew this look all too well because I had carried the same for so many shitty years. And for some reason, watching her broke me open that night and built me back into a new fucking person.

No one ever had that effect on me.

Not my father, not my men, no one.

She had managed to sneak into my mind like nobody had ever done before.

So I thought, fuck it, let’s do this. I shoved away the want to expand and looked at my future wife one last time. I needed retribution from O’brian anyway, might as well take what I wanted.

And it turns out, she was exactly what I wanted.

You’re securing your line , I told myself. Maybe I needed an excuse to rationalize this decision because if I’d looked too much into it, I’d see that it had no logic behind it. She had ignited a fire in me, a curiosity I needed to fulfill, even if we would never become anything resembling a real marriage.

I just needed her closer.

So I came back to Knoxville, agreed to the deal and made new arrangements for her in my home based on what I had seen from that night. Bought her new clothes and shoes thinking she would like it. I knew I wanted her to feel good here.

But I never thought she'd be like this.

Able to shake me to my core with her razor wit and breathtaking beauty. Her anger boiling so beautifully under her skin, I wanted to cut it and watch it bleed all over me, covering my ink with her fire.

My dark and twisted heart was running too hard and too fucking fast toward her, and that’s why I had to slow down. Stay away from her; stay at the club as much as possible.

Out of sight…

I had waited two months to come here and watch her fall asleep. I didn’t have to go to the club that much. That’s the thing in our business, whatever I do, my enemies will still be there when the sun rises. But with Nero around, my chest aches from being away from home that much.

Which is why I’m here tonight, my arms crossed under my head, layed on our bed while Mia’s finishing her bedtime routine like we’re some kind of normal couple.

Two months spent coming in here when she was already asleep.

Two months of picking her up at night when she escaped into the guest bedroom.

Two months of waking up to her body curled against mine as if her body couldn’t stay away from me, even when she was out.

The sound of the door opening breaks me out of my thoughts as I watch Mia getting out of our shared bathroom, head to the side, drying her red hair with a towel while I watch the smallest purple silky shorts and top float over her.

She’s not making this any easier.

“Why are you here tonight?” she asks blankly.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I answer like a jerk ‘cause she has every right to wonder why I’m acting differently, but I hate when I have to explain myself to anyone. She sighs, “Whatever,” before dropping the wet towel on the back of the chair next to our bed.

My hand twitches.

“Can’t you just put it back on the drying rack?” My voice sounds harsher than it should. She doesn’t even answer me. I fucking hate a mess. Can’t she be just more thoughtful? A growl roars from my chest before I stand and quickly grab the wet towel and lay it properly in the bathroom.

Everything at its right place. As it should be.

“You’re a psycho.” She chuckles, her book open in her hands as I watch her tucked under our sheets.

Psycho?

Why am I letting this woman walk all over me?

Men would die for calling me that.

“I take it as a compliment,” I grunt, sliding next to her. “You’re messy, Mia. I fucking hate messes, so don’t do this ever again. Things need to stay in order here.”

The way I said it sounded like I hated her too.

Shit.

But I needed to get my point across, and I’m not used to coddling people.

“Is that all?” Her voice drips with sarcasm.

I sit up straight in the bed, towering over her, her body just inches away from my side. She doesn’t move, nor seems impressed by my attempts to provoke her, her brow gaze dancing on my bare chest.

“This is my home, Mia. You’ll follow my rules, and the first one is that I loathe clutter and chaos.” I notice her hand shaking slightly before getting back to normal.

Good, I made my point.

Lying back next to her, I check my phone for the latest update on the club. One text from Vox about the East Coast that I answer quickly before laying on my back, staring at the ceiling to avoid the temptation of glancing at her.

Her and her red curls I wish I could run my fingers through.

Her and her smart mouth that keeps on surprising me.

Her and her fucking annoying way of breathing when I’m trying to fucking focus on falling asleep.

Mia

“I loathe clutter and chaos.” His words, not mine.

I’ve been told my entire life that I was a mess. Not messy, not disorganized.

A mess.

As if I was the embodiment of chaos wherever I went. The messy one. That’s what my parents used to call me. It’s not something I do with intention, it’s more of a mindless behavior I’m trying to correct after years of being pointed at.

I struggle to keep a tidy place.

Eating has become a war with myself.

And relationships, well, this has been looking more like a roller coaster than anything else.

Because when you tend to speak before you think, especially in our world, men tend to run for the hills and never come back. I wish I could be the mysterious, quiet girl with a shy smile and blushing cheeks, but I’m not. Quite the opposite, actually. And it turns out sarcasm, wits, and boldness aren’t really appealing to most people. Hence why, I surround myself with carefree friendships and one - night stands with people who’ll never need to know who I am at my core. They just see a hot twenty-three-year-old with a bright smile, confidence, and the desire to share a good time. And that’s it.

Surface level, superficial, empty, quick.

Minimizing the potential messes I could do if they took time to know me.

Last chaos I created?

Easy to remember, six months ago, when a man of my father tried to pinch my ass and I landed a punch right into his nose. Kiara would have blushed, my mother would have ignored it. But my guts told me to strike back, so I did. Then I had to face the delicious consequence of my actions which was facing my father, who of course didn’t believe me, and having to apologize to the freaking guy.

Lovely, right?

I swallow hard, trying to compose myself and stay as far away as Ares as possible, which is hard given that his size is averaging a large viking.

He hates mess. He hates me.

Breathe .

He just said it.

Inhale. Exhale.

And the anger pulsing through his words got to me even as I was trying to seem above it. It’s hard enough to have him here tonight in bed with me, making me wonder why the hell he decided to change things up and come back early after two months of almost dead-bit absence. But I also have to take his remarks and try to let them roll over me even when this is triggering to me.

When people point out my messy behavior or my way of eating, it makes everything dizzy in my head. As if the air wasn’t going fully into my brain anymore. It always goes the same way: first, my fingers tingle, my chest heaves, and then white noise plugs my ears until I struggle to actually hear. Then, the last step is usually the one I despise the most. I fall on my knees and try to breathe, thinking I’m dying because of whatever triggered me, and I have to hold my throat in my hands, crying my heart out until it passes.

It always passes.

But that doesn’t mean it’s not hard.

Kiara saw me a few times like that on the floor of our bathroom. I almost always manage to get away from wherever I am to hide and have my freaking panic attack in peace. I’m not ready for Ares to see me like that any time soon, and I hope I'll keep this secret forever. No one likes to be seen as weak, especially when you have to stand up for yourself when you happen to be married to the embodiment of danger.

“You okay?” His rough voice echoes. “Where did you go?” His tone is almost worried as I drift off without noticing.

Damn it, I’ll be more discreet next time I wander in my head.

I shake my head as if it could bring me back quickly to reality.

“It’s nothing.” My voice falters a bit before looking back at my book.

Everything you touch turns to crap.

Look what you’ve done.

Shut your mouth, or I’ll have to clean up your messes after you.

The words of my mother come back, hitting me relentlessly like a wave to a shore. You got this. You’re doing this for Kiara. Keeping my gaze on my book, I sigh, wanting to seem unimpressed by him, but at the time, fighting the urge in me to beg him to stay here and not let me alone.

Pathetic, I know.

“You know what I think is funny?” I glance at him as I change the subject.

“What?” He lifts his brow.

“You keep acting like I’m pissing you off, but I think we both know you’re not the kind of guy who would be forced into anything. So cut the crap a second, honey, will ya?” I force my voice to sound as sultry as possible, catching him off guard with my boldness wrapped up in temptation. That’s what I do when I feel like someone could see what’s behind my mask. I bite them, pushing them away as my defense mechanism.

Kiara is safe as long as I'm staying here, and yet, there’s an impossible desire in me to run away into the woods of this property and disappear under the ground for no one to find me.

Running from responsibilities, from discomfort, from the promise of a life without love. And maybe I will, maybe one day I won’t be able to fight this urge and I will run away. That day, I hope I’ll be smart enough to find my sister on time and convince her to run away from this life with me too.

His body shifts until his head is resting under his palm on the side, facing me, his musk scent pleasing me more than it should. I hate that he's not wearing a T-shirt, his huge muscles on display like a martial arts fighter, and those goddamn jet-black sweatpants that should be illegal.

“You’re something else, ya know, honey ?” A wicked grin spreads on his face.

Please, don’t tell me my handsome—Tom Hardy clone—viking of a husband has a thing for sass because if he does, I’m gonna be in trouble with a capital T.

I try to swallow my smile but he makes me want to laugh for some reason.

“You look good tonight, wife.” His tone is rough, like gravel. The air feels suddenly heavier. I clear my throat, but it does nothing to him except confirm that his words did have an impact on me. My fake husband is hotter than any man I’ve ever seen.

Do I like him? No.

Do I find him attractive ? Well, that’s a whole different story.

I’m only a human laid next to the god of war himself, ink running all over his chest like a map leading to the sweetest of rewards.

“Not your wife, Ares,” I fire back.

“The fuck you just say to me, princess?” A grunt roars in his chest as if he was ready to get up and fight.

Why do I like the fact that he’s a fighter so much?

I teased him about it on our wedding day but honestly, watching him fight is at the top of my list of things to do before I die. Imagining this huge man striking another dude with blood and sweat and…

Stop this, Mia.

He’s an asshole, and you must think about pushing him away rather than picturing his muscles moving when he’s in a cage. Get yourself together, for God's sake.

“You said ‘wife’. Well, I’m not your ‘wife’, Ares. Our marriage has been arranged like a business deal. There’s nothing remotely romantic about us, so you shouldn’t call me that,” I bite back, struggling to conceal the pure joy I get from getting under his skin.

Don’t start, Mia. You know he’s the kind of man who enjoys a challenge, and you just gave him one.

“Make no mistake, Mia.” His hand removes my book and sets it gently on the covers between us. Then, he grabs my wrist and rests his thumb on the inside of my skin, where the heart pounds, as if he’s assessing my stress level. My heart skips a bit at the touch of his calloused palm on my silky skin. His ink runs on the back of his hand with a skull recognizable anywhere.

“You are my wife, Mia. Mine to watch, touch, and savor. Everyone knows it, and if, for some fucked up reason, anyone tries to take you away from me, you’ll see what wrath erupts when you try to take what’s mine.” His emerald eyes shoot into mine as if he could pierce my skull with one glare at me.

“So don’t talk to me about this shit ever again. Your name is Mia Elisabeth Malone now. You’re the wife of the Prez of the Raven Sons, and I'll make sure you never forget it.”

Stuck in the headlights, I freeze.

My parents always joked about getting rid of me.

No one ever tried so hard to keep me.

“But why?” My lower lip trembles and his grip tightens on me. “Why did you marry me?” He doesn’t answer me, his brows furrowed and his gaze searching into my chocolate eyes as if he could find answers in them. Time stops as his thumb strokes my skin gently, revealing goosebumps all over my arm. My lips part as I let his tender gesture wrap me in a fleeting moment of safeness.

There’s no one for you in this world, Mia.

Broken people are meant to stay this way.

You’ll be alone, forever and always.

I wish I could say his shitty attitude is still appalling to me, that I hate him for accepting my father’s deal, and that I’m repulsed by everything about him. But since I arrived, apart from his absence, he had made sure the house and his staff were here for me in any way I could need. It’s not about being a damsel in distress, crushing on the first guy being nice to me. I got my fair share of boyfriends before him, some of them quite funny and kind as well, so no, this is not new. But it would be dishonest to say that this isn’t different. Ares isn’t a typical thirty-two-year-old with a brain and a good face. He’s more. So much more. And I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t shake me.

Everything about him oozes power, control and violence. His hands are large and rough, his tall frame shaped like a fighter who just came out of the octagon after crushing his opponent's skull with his bare hands. His emerald eyes are strong and unforgiving, letting only a glimpse of humanity shine in it each time I come across his gaze. And his voice… his voice is like velvet and crushed concrete, making me want to let my head fall backward each time I hear it.

But that’s not what I prefer about him.

Nothing compares to the way his presence crowds my space each time I see him. The way he commands the room without a single word, how everyone else fades into the background when he's near. It's the way his mere existence pulls at something deep within me, something primal, something that scares and excites me in equal measure.

His aura is impossible to ignore, my body all too aware of his movement and looks. As if we were magnets, soulmates forced to be separated in another life and bound to be close to each other in this new reality without the privilege of claiming what’s ours.

“Don’t go in the guest bedroom tonight,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing slow circles in my forearm.

“I will, I don’t–I don’t want to stay here with you,” I mumble, my voice faltering with less confidence than I had before.

“You’re sure about that, princess?” A knowing smile draws at the corner of his lips.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” I explain quietly.

“I only have wrong ideas.” He chuckles darkly, making my mouth dry all of a sudden.

“Well, I don’t want you to…um…” My gaze is lost in his, while his dilated pupils drift to my parted lips.

“I’ll never take what’s not freely given, princess. Remember that,” he declares, his words echoing in me with force.

I nod, feeling so small suddenly, knowing that despite it all, trust isn’t something I should be afraid of.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

“Work and perhaps a call to my sister.”

“You need anything, fabrics, office stuff, you name it. Just ask Maria, she’ll get it for you.” I try to hide my surprise at his concerns.

“Actually, I'd love to have a place outside to showcase the clothes for my clients and hold meetings there, perhaps hire an intern,” I tell him, taking a confident tone.

He nods with a slight smile.

“What?” I arch my brow.

“Nothing, I’ll see what I can do,” he says, looking at his thumb on my wrist, a light pink color rose under it where he strokes my skin with his working man's hands. Sighing, he lets his hand fall and turns his back on me as if I had burnt him.

“Goodnight, princess,” he grunts in a low and soft tone.

I shift to my side, turning my back on him too, still processing our conversation.

“‘Night,” I whisper before closing my eyes.

Ares Malone, who are you?