Chapter 10

W eeks have passed since I became Darian Delacroix’s imprisoned wife in his ivory tower of wretchedness. I haven’t seen much of him since. He has made himself scarce, always locked in his office or attending meetings, and my feeble attempts at pissing him off seem to go mostly ignored, though I’m not blind to the unfortunate staff that has to clean up after me.

Today, I’m bored.

Bored of having nothing to do.

Bored of being ignored.

I’ve searched every crook and cranny in the house for clues about what happened to my dad. The only place left to search is Darian’s office.

I’m on my way there, when I do a double take outside the kitchen.

I backtrack, a smile creeping onto my lips. “Mrs. Jones?”

She’s wiping down the large island, but at the sound of my voice, she looks up. “Cecilia!” Seeming to catch herself, she lowers her voice. “You can’t be seen talking to me in public.”

I enter the room. “It’s so good to see you. The last time?—”

“We polished glasses at the cottage before Mr. Delacroix called you into his office.” She tuts, resuming her wiping. “You got yourself into a right mess.”

It feels so good to see a familiar face in this gilded cage. Throwing myself at her, I squeeze her so tight that she almost wheezes.

She pats me awkwardly. “There. There.”

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

“Miss… We really can’t be seen together.”

I release her, my cheeks hurting from smiling. “Darian is out for the day.”

“Darian?” She shakes her head with disapproval. “You’re on a first-name basis now?”

“Never mind that. How are the others?”

A shadow dims her smile. “Many were lost on Reckoning night. Too many.” She shakes her head again, scooping breadcrumbs into her palm and discarding them in the trashcan. “It never gets easier.”

I wish I knew what to say to make it better.

“Keith was a good man,” she continues, staring down at the trash, lost in memories. “Good integrity. Fought a losing battle.”

“He was a great man,” I agree.

“You shouldn’t have entered the lair.” She avoids my gaze on her way to the sink. “It was a suicide mission.”

“He knew what he was getting into.”

She whirls around. “That doesn’t make it right. He was driven by hatred and a misplaced desire for revenge. More death isn’t the answer to pain. It won’t bring his loved ones back.” Tears cling to her lashes as her jaw tightens. “And it won’t bring yours back either.”

A lump has formed in my throat. I swallow it down. “I know…”

Mrs. Jones brushes down her black maid’s skirt and then wipes the counter while I worry my lip. She’s right. It was my idea to invade the nest. I suggested it, so their deaths are on me.

It’s easy to be excited in the moment and feel like there’s a purpose behind the mission. We thought we would go out in flames. That our sacrifice would somehow make a difference.

It didn’t.

I quickly wipe my tears. “Have you heard from Lauren?”

Mrs. Jones’s shoulders stiffen, and she falters, but only momentarily.

Heart stuttering, I march up to her. “You have. Please tell me that she’s okay?”

“I must not be seen with you.” She hurries to wash the dishcloth and then hangs it over the tap, but I block her way when she tries to move past me.

“How is she? I deserve to know.”

Her gaze hardens. “How dare you? Don’t speak to me about deserving.”

“I just want to know if she’s okay. That’s all.” I’m nearly pleading.

She looks to the side, wiping her wet cheeks, sniffling. “She’s alive, thanks to you.”

A smile blooms on my lips, but she holds up a palm.

“Sometimes death is a kinder mercy.”

“I’m confused,” I reply when she walks away. “Are you saying I should’ve let her die?”

She turns in the doorway, regret written on her face. “I’m saying you shouldn’t have involved yourself with this world. Your mother got you out. She protected you and your legacy, so the best thing you can do is keep your head down. Don’t look for answers to questions you don’t want the answer to.”

This time when she leaves, I slouch, defeated, against the counter.

There’s no sign of Mrs. Jones when I exit the kitchen. In fact, there’s no sign of anyone.

I try to look innocent as I hurry to Darian’s office. Nothing to see here. I’m just going for a stroll.

Unfortunately, there’s no way to avoid the security cameras, which are everywhere, like watchful, beady eyes.

A Pawn walks past, and I pretend to inspect a vase on a console table outside Darian’s office. Such intricate detailing but also ugly as hell.

As soon as the nameless Pawn turns the corner, I place the vase down and dash inside Darian’s office. The door shuts with a soft click like a gunshot in the quiet house, and I wince, waiting for footsteps to thunder down the hall, though nothing happens. No one comes to find me snooping on my husband.

I scan the large, monstrous mahogany desk and wingback chair, which occupy most of the space. Behind it, rows of bookshelves span the back wall. I’ve been in here before, watching Darian kill a man like it was nothing, callous and without an ounce of emotion—a true monster—but I was too shocked back then to take in the décor. Now, I miss nothing, but I still can’t look at the chair across from the desk without feeling queasy.

When I sliced Keith’s throat, it was instinct and mercy. I had no other choice, or he would’ve suffered a much worse fate. Darian didn’t have to kill that man. He could have granted him an extension instead of putting a bullet between his brows.

I rush over to his spotless desk, which gleams in the morning sun, and root through the drawers, finding nothing but bills and paperwork. Useless stuff I have no need for. I discover no information that can be used against Darian.

Slamming it shut with a defeated sigh, I blow a strand of hair away from my lips. He must have sensitive information somewhere hidden. There’s no chance he spends all his time in this fancy office without also storing his secrets within reach.

I turn my attention to his shiny laptop and try to suss out the password. What would I use if I was a stuck-up asshole with zero personality?

Iamamassived1ck

Nope, not that one.

asshatismymiddlename

Smalld1ckenergy

Well, that one isn’t true. I’ve seen his cock, and it’s huge. Great… Now I’m thinking about his elephant trunk of a dick.

I close his laptop and drum my coffin nails on the desk. I need access to the files on his computer somehow. Maybe I can seduce him and pretend to kiss his neck while he signs in. That could work, but I’m not sure my poker face is that impressive. Not when he makes me want to gouge out his eyeballs with a spoon every time he shows his smug face in my vicinity.My smile alone would look like I’d bitten a slice of a lemon.

I spin around and scan the bookshelves. Nothing looks out of place, but I do notice something unusual. All the spines are perfectly aligned—all except for one. I step closer, tilting my head. The book protrudes—not by much, but enough to stand out, so I pull it out and open it up. The inside is hollow, much to my surprise.

Photographs tumble out. Lots of them. I gasp as pictures of me and the other rebel members flutter to the floor.

Crouching down, I pick one up of me when I first met with Keith and Carlo. We thought we’d been discreet when we met at a local café.

We thought wrong.

Regretful understanding dawns on me as I look through the other photos. Darian has kept a close eye on the Antichrist, mapping our movements. He also seems to have taken a special interest in me. There are more photographs of me than of the other rebels. I pick up one and use it to fan my face as I scan the rest of the room. Darian must have known who I was the moment he saw me on the security camera. Maybe that was why he returned to his office with Sinclair. He wanted a closer look.

I remember how his gaze burned into me while I cleaned the glasses. He knew he’d let the enemy into the secret society’s stronghold, so why didn’t he have me killed? Why go through all of this?

After collecting the photographs, I put them back where they belong to hide my tracks. It’s important to be careful. If Darian notices something is amiss, I’ll be in a heap of trouble.

As I return the book to the shelf, a file wedged between the spines catches my attention, so I pull it out, the pages worn and curled at the edges. A photograph is attached to the top, held in place by a paper clip.

A photograph of my dad.

My heart falls to my stomach, but I don’t have time to read because voices drift closer outside.

“Shit…” I drop down and scurry under the desk.

My father’s photograph must have slipped from the file because it lies on the floor, so I crawl back out to retrieve it, but on my way back, I knock my head on the hard surface. “Damn it,” I curse, rubbing the sore spot.

The door opens the second I’m hidden. “We have our best snipers stationed as a precaution. Everything is assured to go according to plan,” says a gruff voice I haven’t heard before.

I press a palm over my mouth to keep quiet, and my pulse gallops as sweat trickles between my breasts.

“I expect full discretion.” Darian’s smooth timbre rolls over me like a forbidden kiss, making me shiver.

Fuck him for making me feel this way. Even now, beneath his desk, annoyance flares inside me.

“You have my word.”

Shoes clap on the floor. Darian is closer now, placing something on the desk. I inch back as far as the confined space will allow.

“Your word means little in this world,” Darian says as he rounds the desk and removes his phone from his pocket. Next up is his gun from the back of his pants, which he tosses onto the desk.

It’s a show of power— I don’t fear you.

“In case you think to cross me or fail to fulfill your end of the deal...” He moves back enough for me to see him remove a USB stick from his pocket and wiggle it in the air. “I have insurance.” With a practiced flick of his wrist, he throws the USB to the man. “Word of advice. Watch it alone.”

“What have you done?”

“I have insured my property.”

Silence settles in the room, thick and heavy.

“As long as you keep your end of the deal, no one gets hurt,” Darian says, undoing his cufflinks. “You see, I know you’ve met up in secret with Mr. Studdard.” He disappears around the desk, and I exhale in relief. That was too close.

Ice cubes clink together. Darian pours himself a glass of whiskey by the sounds of it.

“His housekeeper found him hanging from the rafters this morning. Mr. Studdard, I mean.” Darian sounds conversational. Almost friendly. “Shame what happened to him. He had a lot to live for. Did you know”—his shoes sound on the floor—“he murdered his family before hanging himself? Stabbed the kids to death and then drowned his wife. Gruesome, if you ask me.”

“You’re a sick bastard.”

“I’m a businessman,” Darian counters.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”

“You will. You already have. Go home and watch what’s on the USB.”

More silence. Spine-chilling, suffocating silence. Seconds pass while I imagine the stranger glaring at Darian, who smirks like a movie villain. In my short time here, I’ve learned how ruthless my new husband truly is.

The door slams shut, and Darian chuckles as the ice in his drink clinks together.

I can picture him swirling the glass.

“You can come out now.”

Every muscle in my body goes rigid, and for a precious few seconds, I clutch the file to my chest, hoping he’ll go away. Of course, he doesn’t. He knows where I’m hiding.

I pop my head up. “What was on the USB?”

Humor sparkles in Darian’s frosty eyes as he watches me over the rim. “It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

I climb out, brushing my hair out of my eyes and straightening my clothes, pretending my dignity isn’t still hiding under the desk.

I’ve given up on it now.

“What have you got there, darling wife?” Darian downs the last of his whiskey, puts the tumbler down on the nearest surface, and levels his breath-stealing and clit tingling attention on me. My knees almost buckle, but I stay upright by some holy miracle.

Maybe I should start praying for protection against deadly men like Darian. Even better—perhaps smoke pours from his skin, like a barbeque, if I throw holy water on him. I’d love to see him hiss in pain before he is exorcised back to Hell.

“What’s in your hand?” he asks again.

I hide the file behind my back. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He walks closer, unhurried, so I step back, my spine colliding with the bookcase. Darian closes the distance between us, grabs hold of the shelves beside my head, and leans in close.

Why does he have to smell so nice? And why do my insides melt when he looks at me with such heat in his darkening eyes? He’s a cold-hearted murderer. A monster.

“Trying to figure out my password was a bad move.” His whiskey breath fans my lips. “I get notified if someone tries to gain access.”

Damn it. I didn’t think. I could have just as well walked into a bank, shot at the roof with a loaded gun, and told everyone to get on the floor. The moment I tried to unlock his laptop, I triggered his alarm.

In a swift move, he snatches the folder and wiggles it in front of my face with a disapproving tut. “You shouldn’t be snooping around in my office.”

“What do you know about my father?” I bare my teeth. “Did you hurt him?”

He turns artic in a matter of seconds, and shutters come down over his eyes. He tosses the folder on the desk, and I try to snatch it, but he grabs me by the throat and slams me back against the bookshelf.

“Jeez,” I wheeze. “You run from hot to cold in seconds. I’m getting whiplash.”

“Don’t speak about your father in my vicinity.”

“Did you hurt him?” I press, eyes narrowed at his strong reaction. “Was it you that killed him?”

“Let me remind you that you haven’t seen your father in years. You were a na?ve little girl when he disappeared. What do you know of your father’s character? What kind of a man he truly was?” Darian pushes away and turns his back on me.

I swallow hard. “And what kind of a man are you, Darian Delacroix?”

When he stays silent, I itch to hurt him in some way, but instead, I ask, “What about that man, Mr. Studdard? You killed his family.”

Darian spins around. “I did no such thing. He killed his own family when he was faced with the music of his sins. His double life was about to be exposed—his reputation dragged through the mud. Mrs. Studdard would have left him and took the kids with her. He couldn’t face it, so he killed his family.” Darian is close now, and I struggle to breathe in his proximity. “I may be cruel, Mrs. Delacroix, but don’t for a second think that I would ever lay a hand on an innocent child or woman.”

“Why did you let that man think you were behind the murders.”

Delacroix fingers a strand of my hair. “To keep him in his lane. He’s a snake who wouldn’t hesitate to sink a knife into my back if he had the chance.”

“So you’re a bad man with morals?”

“Is it such a strange concept?” he asks, tucking my hair behind my ear and tracing the swell of my bottom lip with his thumb.

“Yes…”

“Have I ever told you that you have the most delectable lips? Made to be sucked on.”

My thighs clench as I ignore his comment meant to distract me.

“What is it about you and bookshelves? This is the second time you have me cornered against one.”

He sucks my lip between his teeth, invading and conquering me with his scent and taste. I’m nearly melting. “Literature and sex go hand in hand,” he whispers, grabbing hold of my hips and pressing his growing erection against my stomach, “like whiskey and ginger.”

“I prefer Coke,” I say too breathily.

“Is that so?” he asks, snaking my skirt above my waist.

Cool air licks at my exposed legs in stark contrast to the heat of his hands, his fingers trailing over my skin, starting at my belly button. He circles it, then lets his fingertips trace lower in a featherlight, teasing touch.

By the time he slips a digit inside my panty line, I’m panting, my skin erupting in goosebumps.

I’m burning up.

He pulls the elastic away from my skin and lets it snap back into place. “I should punish you for breaking into my office.”

“I didn’t break in,” I reply. “The door was unlocked.”

I’ve never regretted wearing underwear as much as I do when he trails a finger over my damp slit. How can a flimsy piece of lace fabric create such a barrier?

“You thought you’d let yourself in.” He leaves me quivering, two seconds away from hyperventilating, with my skirt bunched around my waist. “Thirsty?” he asks, making his way to the minibar.

He’s such a strange man, and I’m still too aroused to make sense of his words. Tingling all over, my pussy feels empty.

He pours us two tumblers, carries them over, and hands me mine. I greedily accept it, needing something to burn away my embarrassment.

I gulp it down like soda, and Darian raises a brow but stays silent.

When I place the empty tumbler on the shelf behind me, it dawns on me that Darian has yet to take a sip of his.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask.

“You really are quite a wildcat, aren’t you?” He counters as he turns to put his drink on the desk, slow and unhurried. The next thing I know, he picks me up by the waist, puts me down beside the tumbler on the desk, and guides me to lie back with his fingers splayed over my sternum. “Sharp claws, a loud hiss, and an even louder purr.” He retrieves something from the desk, and I push onto my elbows to get a better look, but he shoots me a warning glare, so I obediently lie back down with a thundering pulse, wondering why I’m so willing to let him play with me like a marionette doll.

My thoughts grind to a halt when I spot the scissors in his hand. “What are you doing?”

It’s a stupid question. I know exactly what he’s doing—cutting my skirt down the middle. The fabric parts like the Red Sea for Moses as the scissors glide over my stomach and between my breasts. He carefully guides the fabric away before leaning over me to take my left nipple into his mouth, drawing it into a hard bud and eliciting a moan as I arch my back.

His hot tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, and he bites it between his teeth and looks up at me from beneath his dark lashes. It hurts in a good way, and I’m on edge, both anxious and aroused.

As the abused bud slips from between his wet lips, he trails the scissors back down and nudges my panties aside to expose my glistening cunt.

“Perfection,” he whispers, burying the flat ends of the scissor blades between my lips and spreading them until my clit peeks out in between. He could snip my clit right off if he wanted to, injure me beyond repair, but I know he won’t. His lust-filled eyes drink me up like the finest whiskey.

Speaking of whiskey. Darian keeps me spread open with the scissors as he reaches for the tumbler beside my head. “Do you know why sweet vermouth is one of my favorites to mix with whiskey?”

“I thought you liked ginger the best?” My sensitive nipples ache with anticipation.

With a hum, he dips the glass and pours whiskey over my nipples. “Ginger is nice, too, but sweet vermouth reminds me of you.”

Cool whiskey pools in my belly button next.

“Why me?”

He takes a sip, his throat rolling with the movement, and then he pours whiskey straight onto my pussy and sucks it clean. I’m whimpering, almost bucking into his dirty mouth, but I don’t dare move with the scissors spreading my pussy lips like the curtain on a stage.

“Vermouth, like you, is very complex.” This time, he pours a generous amount of whiskey, and I feel it pour between my ass cheeks, cold and wet. “And delicate, with notes of vanilla, orange, and clove.”

“Aah,” I moan as he slurps it up and sucks on my clit. The sensation of the scissors and the threat of pain excites me more.

Darian sucks on my pussy lips, then drags the flat end of his tongue through my slit, lapping at my slick desire. “Can you see now why sweet vermouth goes so well with whiskey, Mrs. Delacroix?”

He peppers kisses across my stomach and then laps at the whiskey pooling in my belly button. It’s sinfully hot. His lips continue upward, latching onto my aching nipples. First, my left and then my right while he nibbles and licks and sucks. I’m so sensitive that I nearly come from nipple stimulation alone.

“Answer the question, wife.”

“Ye-es.”

He chuckles, straightening up, his mouth glistening with whiskey and me. As he guides me to sit, he reaches behind me and hands me the folder. “Read.”

Unsure, I look down at the folder in my hands. Is he serious? I’m naked, and at the mercy of my ruthless husband, yet now he waits for me to read about my father. “You said you don’t want me to speak about him.”

“I changed my mind.” He removes his shirt, distracting me with his rippling muscles.

The urge to map them with my tongue pools between my thighs like lava, my pussy clenching and throbbing, but before I can lean in, he unbuckles his belt and tips his chin toward the file. “Read.”

Uncertain if this is such a good idea, I open it. Darian downs the last of the whiskey and throws the tumbler behind him without a care in the world that it smashes to pieces on the floor.

I shouldn’t have broken in here. I’m in trouble. Darian looks at me like he wants to feast on my soul until every remnant has been consumed by his greedy, black heart.

I gasp when he grabs me by the waist and pulls me closer in a sudden move.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Mrs. Delacroix, and you’ll read about what a true monster your father was.”

“Darian,” I whisper, gulping.

He bunches my panties in his hand and rips them off in one clean slate. “That’s ‘husband’ to you, Mrs. Delacroix.”

The folder trembles in my hands as Darian unzips his pants to free his big cock. It’s long and thick and perfect, with angry, purple veins and a pearl of precum on the tip.

“Read,” he demands once more, spreading me wide by my knees.

“I don’t want to read about my father now…” I try to deny him.

“There’s no time like the present, Mrs. Delacroix.” Grabbing the base of his cock, he rubs the engorged head through my slit. “Read.”

“What about protection?” My body suddenly tenses as I worry my lip. “I’m not on birth control.”

“I know you’re not.” His dark eyes lock with mine, and he presses forward, stretching me with the tip. I gasp at the sting, but welcome it all the same. With the folder trembling in my death grip, I do nothing to stop him.

“You’re going to take my cum like a good wife, Mrs. Delacroix. Understood? You’re mine now, and I’m going to fuck you.”

“Fuck me—” The words cut off when he rams his cock inside me, and I yelp, sucking in a sharp breath. “You’re too big,” I whimper.

He shushes me, releasing one of my legs to clamp his hand over my mouth. “Your tight cunt was tailor-made for me. Feel how it grips me. You’re taking my cock so well, Cecilia.”

Darian waits for me to adjust, shushing me every time I make a pained sound, his fingers twitching on my cheeks. The burn soon dulls, and he removes his hand from my mouth to help me open the file, then orders me to read.

I try to get the words past my lips, but it’s easier said than done. Darian pulls out to the tip, his dick smeared with my creamy arousal, and then he rams back inside. He fucks me like that—slow, deep, hard.

The words blur on the page, and that’s when I realize I’m crying. The folder contains my father’s crimes. The families he tore apart. The destruction he left in his wake. All of his shady deals.

“Ah, that one,” Darian says as he pulls out and flips me onto my front. “Particularly nasty.” With a hand in my hair, he fills me up with his dick and removes a sheet from the file beside me.

He slams a photograph in front of me of a naked woman, beaten and bruised, with countless stab wounds. “Your father snatched her off the street and raped her for days.”

“No…” My voice shakes. I don’t want to believe it. “You’re lying to me.”

“Oh, wife,” Darian says, patting my head like a dog while rocking his cock deep inside me. “So na?ve and innocent in a world of hungry wolves.”

I choke out a cry when he fists my hair and slams my cheek against the photograph.

He takes me hard and fast to the soundtrack of slapping skin. “Let’s fuck some of that innocence out of you, Mrs. Delacroix.”

Tears stream down my cheeks, and my pussy tightens around Darian’s massive cock.

A wave of pleasure builds between my legs, and I hold onto the edge of the desk for support, letting out soft moans and whimpers.

It can’t be true. The photograph… No, I refuse to believe it.

“That’s it, Cecilia. Come on my cock. Show me how much you like it.”

“Darian, please…” I moan.

“Please, what?”

“More.”

He chuckles, fisting my hair so tightly that my scalp prickles. “I’m going to come so hard inside your tight little cunt, Mrs. Delacroix. Think you can take all my cum?”

“Yes, yes!” My own climax washes over me as I quiver in his hold.

“Fuck…” He grunts, slamming into me one final time, and bites down hard on my shoulder, pulsing his release.

I’ve barely caught my breath when he shifts me over onto my back and stares down at my pussy.

His cum leaks from my gaping hole, thick and milky white, as I look around for wipes, but Darian drops to his knees without hesitation and licks me clean. It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, his tongue swirling over my opening.

Looking up at me, he dips his tongue inside, and when he stands up and grabs my jaw, I part my lips with a gasp.

He invades my mouth with his tongue, smeared with cum—mine and his. The kiss is filthy in the best way possible, and I cling to him as he tastes every inch of my mouth.

Darian grunts as our teeth clash, but then he pulls away, panting hard. “I should punish you for breaking in here.”

“This wasn’t a punishment?” I smile.

It’s strange how I don’t hate him, not even a little, and when he kisses me again, I wrap my hands around his neck and my legs around his waist. “Fuck me again, husband .”

He growls into the kiss and then proceeds to fuck me against every surface in his office.