20. Georgia Gayle

TWENTY

Georgia.

I haven't heard that name in almost a year, but my husband just used it.

Husband. Right. For weeks now, I've been telling myself that our marriage is a sham. A fucking joke.

Whatever it is, there's no denying that we just consummated it.

That's a nice way of saying that Damien Libellula just fucked my brains out—and I wanted him to. I was into it all the way, and even know that I'm walking away on wobbly legs, I can't deny that.

He killed a man for touching me. Didn't even hesitate. Swiped his stiletto across Ricky's throat, blood dribbling down his throat, and instead of being the cold Damien I've gotten used to, I got to see the fiery side of him before he lost the last of his control.

But that Damien is back now, and I can hear it in the way he says my old name.

"Georgia—"

"Savannah," I say firmly, turning to face him. "Please. Georgia is dead."

"Because I killed her. And that's why you're so determined to kill me." He crouches low, grabbing the stiletto from the tile. "But you couldn't. Could you?"

I hold out my palm. "So I missed," I say, bluffing like hell. "They say third time's the charm. Pass it over, Damien. Let's see if I miss again."

Damn it. With a daring look on his gorgeous face, he calls my bluff. Placing the hilt against my palm again, he backs up, spreading his arms wide. "Do it."

"No." I drop the stiletto back to the floor.

"Because Georgia Gayle isn't a murderer, is she?"

My empty hands flex, and I almost regret dropping that knife after all. With fire in my eyes, I glare at him. "You don't know anything about her."

About me.

"Is that so? Okay. I didn't expect to have this conversation right after I finally got the chance to fuck my beautiful wife, but if you want to do this now? I can't think of a better time."

I can. Never. "Stop this."

"You started this, my dear. Remember that. Your name is Georgia Ann Gayle. Adorable, by the way, and I finally understand the inspiration behind Savannah. I'll call you Savannah if that's what you want, but if you decide to go back to Georgia?—"

I'm already shaking my head.

"Very well. You're twenty-nine. Your birthday is next month, and if you want to forgo a dinner like this because… well… obviously… I understand. It can just be you and me?—"

Is he fucking serious? "Damien."

He continues as if I hadn't said his name. "You were born in Springfield, just like I expected. Your accent was cute, Savannah, but it slipped far too frequently."

I open my mouth.

"You were in prison," he says next, and my teeth click shut. "A four-year stint at Madison, and suddenly your comment about someone slipping into your bed at night is crystal clear. It wasn't an ex-boyfriend you were talking about, was it?"

Somehow Damien has all the fucking receipts about my life, spouting them off as if there's a book on Georgia Gayle and he read it cover to cover. He's looking at me like he expects me to provide him some footnotes, but he might regret that one.

I shrug. "I had a store once. Healthy Habits by Georgia. Your gang got me mixed up with their counterfeiting, and I got hit with a four-year sentence. My first cellie wasn't bad, but then they stuck me with Portia. She's kinda like you, Damien. She was in prison for white collar crime… embezzlement which was so fucking funny because she had all the money in the world before she fleeced her employer… and she thought her name and her money and her power meant she could rule the prison."

And she did, too, which makes it so much worse.

He swallows a little, losing some of his cockiness. "And she was the one who…"

From the man who had me sucking his cock the same night we officially met, it's almost funny that he can't say the words. "Put it this way, if you don't like pussy when you go in, you learn to deal. You learn to look out for yourself."

Damien kicks aside the stiletto, moving toward me before I can even think to get out of his path. His hands land on my upper arms, tugging me toward him. "That's my job now. You hear me, Savannah? Lo faccio. I do that now."

His fingers dig into my skin. Not because he wants to hurt me, but because he doesn't want me to push back, to fight against him, to escape.

But I don't. I can't.

I collapse into him, letting him hold my weight at this moment as easily as he did when he had me hoisted and pinned against the wall.

His hands move, cradling my elbows. "Savannah? Are you alright?"

No.

Burying my face into his shoulder, unable to look at him as I make my confession, I murmur, "Fuck it. Alright? You know the truth now. You know everything. You win."

Holding tightly to my elbows, he moves back, forcing me to look up at him. "What are you saying?"

"You're right. Okay? I couldn't… I couldn't kill you. When you were just the head of the Libellula Family, it was all I wanted. I plotted, right? I planned. The whole time I was in prison, I wanted you dead. I got out? I followed you. I stalked you. I visualized what it would be like to take you out and know that the rest of your gang would be finished. You stole four years from me. I would steal you from them. But then?—

"Then I made you my wife," he says.

Right. "And you weren't just the head of the Libellula Family anymore. You're Damien. You're Gen's older brother. You're Vin's big cousin. You let Orion shed on your expensive pants. You pay so Liz can run her free clinic."

Damien scoffs. "You're making me sound like a good guy."

I snort. "Oh, no. You're definitely a bad guy. I mean, you just killed a guy for grabbing me."

His expression goes dark. "I killed him because you're mine. And he scared you, my wife. I couldn't let him do that."

Because he still is the head of the Family, and betrayal means death. It doesn't matter that only a few people in that room knew I was Damien's wife. Technically, he wasn't doing anything that countless other Dragonflies haven't done. I was a woman at a mafia function without the mark that said I belonged to one of them. Fair game, right?

Not to Damien.

And since I'm dark and twisted enough now to see the romance in such brutal possessiveness, I'm still incredibly turned on that he killed Ricky for the crime of touching me.

"See? You're a bad guy, but that doesn't make you a villain. Not to me."

Releasing my left arm, he uses his free hand to tip my chin back. "I'm glad to hear that. Seeing as how I am also your husband."

"No," I say softly. "You're Savannah's husband. And now you know… Savannah doesn't exist. Not really."

The night I married Damien, I considered that my ace in the hole. No matter what, our marriage couldn't be legal because the woman he married just didn't exist. But now… I can't deny the twinge of disappointment that our marriage really is fake. Somehow, I've grown to like being his wife, but now that I know he knows the truth, how can I be?

Simple.

His other hand moves. Suddenly, he's gripping me by the jaw, angling my face up so that he can kiss me deeply.

When he breaks for a breath, he presses his forehead to mine. "You are Savannah. And that means you're mine."

"But why," I whisper back. "Why the hell did you marry me?"

"Because I wanted a wife, but out of all the women I've ever known, I've never felt the desire to tie myself to one until you." He caresses the edge of my jaw with his thumb. "You were beautiful. Feisty. I caught you spying on me almost immediately, but I'm sure there were times I didn't. Do you know how rare that is? Even for someone to try? And then you stabbed me… even with my knife in my side, I was already imagining you as my wife. So that's what I did."

And all that's well and good, but you know what I didn't hear him say? That he loves me.

That's just further proof that I really have lost my fucking mind. Because why would I care if he loves me or not?

I won't kill him. That's as much as I can offer him. I won't cheat on him, either. I'll be the loyal wife he wants… but that's all.

I need to change the subject. I need something else to focus on that's not how he's touching me as if I'm precious, as if I mean something to him. Considering how thoroughly he just fucked me, it's like he's trying to give me some aftercare.

And that makes me realize something I didn't notice before.

"Shit."

"Hmm?"

Planting my hands against his chest, I give him a small shove. I don't put enough oomph in it to really move him on my own. Luckily, he takes pity on me and lets me go.

Right away, I reach under my skirt, dipping my pointer finger inside of my tender pussy. It's way wetter than it should be, and I glare over at Damien.

"You nutted in me," I accuse.

"Yes. What? Did you think I would pull out? You let me give you my cock, cara mia. There was only one place I was going to finish and that's inside of you."

I should've expected that. After all, he enjoyed himself finishing in my mouth during that fateful BJ. Why wouldn't he give me a creampie?

Oh, that's right. Because this marriage is already so dysfunctional, why shouldn't we throw a fucking kid into it?

"Are you serious? You weren't wearing a condom!"

Duh. With how fast everything was happening, protection was the last thing on my mind, too, but now that I'm coming down from the high of banging my gorgeous husband… "Shit. I need Plan B."

"Don't be ridiculous."

Me? "Okay. Next time wear a goddamn condom."

His upper lip curls. At first, I think it's because I basically just reassured him that that wasn't a one-time thing, but it's more than that, and I find out when he tells me bluntly, "No. If there's one thing I'll insist on, it's that nothing will ever come between us."

Damien is a smart man. Why doesn't he understand why I'm suddenly freaking out?

"Yes, but I'm not on any birth control!"

He has to know that. I mean, he already proved that—somehow—he knows everything about me. Add that to how he had his men bring over my clothes, then he went to get Orion himself… oh, yeah. He knows I'm not on birth control.

And when he flippantly waves his hand, telling me, "It's fine, I had a vasectomy," I know why that tiny little tidbit doesn't bother him.

But the bomb Damien just dropped?

"What? You… you did? When?"

"Five years ago? Maybe six. I can't recall."

Okay. I feel a teeny bit better that it wasn't since he married me, but… "Why?"

"It was a precaution after the first woman tried to claim her child was mine. I was careful. She wasn't my wife, and I insisted on two forms of birth control at all times: condoms for me, and pills for her. I wasn't surprised when the paternity test said her child wasn't mine, but I learned my lesson. I got snipped so no one else tried to take advantage of me or my Family."

"Yeah. Sure. that makes sense."

Right?

Damien tilts his head as his gaze runs over me. A small smile tugs on his lips. "Disappointed?"

Am I?

"What? No. I was… I was just worried about STIs from all your previous partners," I lie.

He knows it, too. "There aren't as many as you think. As for diseases, I'm all clear. Though, if you ask me, I think it might just be the ‘previous partners' part that's really got you pouting all of a sudden. What's that matter, Savannah? Jealous?"

I sniff, patting my dress again. "I'm not even going to dignify that with a response."

"Be careful, ragna mia," he says teasingly. "You're acting like you believe you are my wife."

I'm not. It's worse than that.

I'm panicking.

Okay. I fucked him. I kissed him. I admitted that I'll never be able to kill him… but the way my heart sank when I thought about Damien never having children with me?

I'm not jealous about his previous lovers. Sure, I was curious when I thought Genevieve might have been one, but anyone else? That's not my business. So long as my husband doesn't fuck around on me while he believes we're married, I'm not jealous.

But the vasectomy? The pregnancy scare? The fact that, despite being a man who lives and dies by his last name, he had surgery so that he wouldn't have kids?

In a million years, I never thought that would bother me—but it does, and before I could examine that too closely, I blurt out, "Are you ever going to tell me what that means? Not ‘spider', ‘cause you told me that. But of all the things you could call me, why that?"

"You haven't figured it out yet?"

If I had, I wouldn't have asked. "No."

His icy blue eyes warm over. "Because the dragonfly has very few predators. But its biggest threat? Is a spider."

Oh.

I can't think of anything to say to that, and while I stand there, quiet, Damien takes my hand, placing it in the crook of his folded arm. "Let's go back to the party."

What? My hair's a mess, my dress is crumpled, and I bet every single person in that room knows exactly what happened after Damien marched me out of it.

"I don't know?—"

"If you're worried that you'll have to face Ricky's body, don't be. I'm sure Vin would've taken care of that while we were… mm… distracted."

Is it bad that the dead Dragonfly didn't even cross my mind? "That's not it," I begin.

"Well, I'm sure it's not you being embarrassed about your husband's attraction to you. Because you shouldn't be. No matter what this… unconventional relationship of ours looks like, never doubt that there isn't anything I won't do… any man I want slaughter… just to have you smile at me. To know that pussy belongs to me and only me? I'd risk my life and more, and now my entire Family knows it."

Damien pats my hand, smirking slightly at my continuously stunned reaction. "Your secrets are mine as much as your body is. If I can't have your heart, I'll at least earn your loyalty. And that starts tonight by showing you that you, Savannah Libellula, mean as much to me as Genevieve and Vincent do. And it's about time I make that clear."

I swallow roughly. Savannah Libellula… it's got a nice ring to it. "To the rest of your gang?"

His smirk widens. "To you, wife. My wife."

Oh.