Chapter 6

M iss van der Meer is staring down at the still-bleeding corpse on the ground. The knife in her hand clatters to the floor, and she takes yet another step back. I was insanely curious to see if she had the guts, but I knew deep down that she did. Call it an inkling. A woman like her needs a backbone to claw her way back into our world. And here she is, making her daddy proud.

“Impressive,” I drawl, glancing over my shoulder. “You barely flinched.”

Her eyes snap up. “Shut up,” she snarls. “You sick bastard.”

“Take him away,” I order the Disciples, then return my attention to Carlo. Unlike his stoic leader, the man is shaking in his boots. Pathetic. He would be as useless to the Exodus as a wet rag, but tradition requires offerings. “What’s it going to be?”

He watches Keith’s corpse get dragged out of the room, leaving a mess behind for the cleaners to sort out. They know the drill—remove the blood stains from the wooden flooring or get fired. I arch a brow when he looks at me again.

“I’ll join,” he says, trembling.

“Tsk. Tsk.” I clasp my hands behind my back and stroll casually over to Cecilia. “Not so fast. How familiar are you with our traditions?”

Carlo looks around the room for help, confused.

“You’ve done a poor job of preparing him, Miss van der Meer,” I whisper in her ear on my way past, and then I slowly walk back over to Carlo. “You have to prove yourself worthy.”

“Worthy?” Hope flares in his eyes.

I almost roll mine. If he thinks I’ll ever allow someone as weak as him into our ranks, he’s sorely mistaken. He’d barely be suitable as a Pawn. Not when he’s already proved himself to be a traitor.

“Munro and Legrand!” I bark.

Two of the Pawns step forward, obedient to a fault, and bow, speaking in unison. “Yes, Elder.”

“Fight Mr. Moretti to the death.”

Behind me, Cecilia draws in a sharp breath. A smile plays on my lips, but it disappears just as fast when I focus back on Carlo. “You want to live? Prove it.”

His guard unfastens his restraints while Carlo blubbers nonsense to my non-existent humanity. The guy still hasn’t caught on. While I consider the Exodus beneath me, I still don’t feel a shred of empathy for his cause. Or anyone else’s. The Reckoning is nothing more than an inconvenient event that I must endure for a greater cause, such as unlimited money, power, and revenge.

Cecilia is behind me now, digging her nails into my arm. “Please, stop this.” I shrug her off, but she’s undeterred. “You can stop this, Delacroix.”

I peel her off me, repulsed by the crack in her fa?ade. “Pull yourself together, miss. I detest weakness.”

“You’re a monster,” she hisses behind me, and I whirl on my heel, close enough for our chests to touch with our next inhales.

“You brought them here,” I remind her. “You knew your friends would die tonight, and you gladly sacrificed them for your agenda.”

“But not like this.”

I flit my gaze between her eyes and her tempting mouth. “Ah! You wanted to go out in a blaze. Kill as many Exodus members as you could.” She looks away. “Would that have been a dignified death?” When she remains mute, I finger a lock of her hair. “There are no dignified deaths. At least this way, your friend has a fighting chance.”

Her gaze clashes with mine, fire on ice. “Against two of them?”

“I never claimed to play fair.” Smirking, I release her lock of hair and slide my hand into my pocket. “Now, let’s enjoy the show.”

If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. No woman has looked at me with such hatred before. Cecilia’s eyes positively burn. “I’ll kill you,” she snarls. “So help me, God, I will deliver your death one day soon.”

“Let’s keep the pillow talk for the bedroom.” I leave her to fume as I take my place by Sinclair.

He hands me my warthog mask, and I slide it on. “Quite a show you’re putting on for Miss van der Meer’s benefit. I’m intrigued and a little alarmed. What’s your plan, Darian?”

I lift a shoulder, eyes on Cecilia. “I’ve decided Miss van der Meer’s last breath won’t suffice. She’s an annoying itch that demands scratching. I’ll hide her in plain sight. No one has to know she’s here.”

Sinclair chuckles, sliding his phone from his pocket. “What’s the Bugatti’s horsepower?”

Ignoring his bad humor, I flick invisible lint off my suit jacket. “I want revenge against her father. I want everything she has to offer. Her family’s money, her family’s legacy, and her heart and soul. I won’t rest until she’s broken beyond repair. I want to crush her little beating heart in my palm.”

“Easy there, tiger.” Tapping on his phone, Sinclair whistles. “It says here it has 1497 horsepower. Impressive.”

My eyes roll. Of course, he isn’t listening. The guy has a one-track mind. I jerk my chin to one of the guards, silently telling him to ensure my little thrill seeker doesn’t try to step in to rescue Carlo. He’s on his own.

While Carlo and the Pawns begin the mindless ritual of circling one another, I check my Rolex. The Elders beside me exchange money, betting on the winners.

I couldn’t give a shit about the death match in front of us. Not when my latest obsession is watching the scene unfold with tears in her eyes that won’t fall. She’s too proud. I wish to see a tear kiss her cheek, but she blinks them back before they spill over.

That’s when I vow to do everything in my power to make Cecilia van der Meer cry. Few things in life are priceless and precious. Cecilia’s pain is right at the top of valuables.

A commotion explodes. The two Pawns attack Carlo in unison, kicking his ribs and kneeing him in the face. It’s an unfair fight. Carlo stands no chance against trained Pawns—the brawn of the Exodus. But Cecilia needs to be taught a lesson. I have grand plans for her, and they all require her submission.

Lauren openly sobs, but not my Cecilia. No, she’s still watching, like she’s here but also far away, and I yearn to reach deep into her psyche and pull her back.

I glance at the fighting men. Pawn one is stomping on Carlo’s leg, and the other is digging his fingers into his eyes, blinding him. It’s a bit much, to be honest, but whatever amuses the masses. Tonight is all about entertainment.

Sinclair glances at his expensive watch.

“Somewhere better to be?” I ask.

“Warm pussy, Delacroix. You should try it.”

I peer at Cecilia again. She lifts her gaze and levels me with a look so dark and intense that my dick thickens. Her fury is palpable, like a sweet aroma in the air. Oh, I’d pay good money to cut this charade short and ram my dick down her throat. I bet she feels amazing when she’s clawing at my thighs to catch a breath.

“Keep lying to yourself,” Sinclair says, with another one of his signature chuckles. “You’re hard for the heiress. Careful there, my friend, or Miss van der Meer will break you instead.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m unbreakable.”

The Pawns are now stomping on Carlo’s head. He’s already dead, but they won’t stop until I give them the signal.

“Don’t be cocky. They claimed the Titanic was unsinkable, and look how that turned out.”

When I lift a hand, the Pawns instantly step back, covered in blood and brain matter. With another dismissive flick of my hand, Carlo’s broken corpse is removed from the premises. I cast an appalled glance at the smeared blood streaks. This place better reek of bleach when I return tomorrow. Maybe I’ll ask them to fumigate the place while they’re at it.

Cecilia stands taller when I eat up the distance between us with determined strides. Defiant to the end. A royal queen without a crown. I haven’t known her for long, but her strength has already impressed me. While her friend Lauren sniffles and cries, Cecilia cuts me into pieces with a dismissive glare. I decide there and then that I love seeing her look at me like I’m the monster beneath her bed. I’ll soon be the monster in her bed.

“And so, there were two,” I say.

She follows me with her eyes as I walk past her to Lauren. The poor girl is quivering, terrified.

When I pause behind her and pat her hair, she begins to cry all over again. Why is she even here? Has she no backbone at all? I doubt she would’ve had it in her to pull the trigger on the members here tonight.

I smirk at Cecilia over her head. “She’s pretty.”

“Leave her alone,” she bites out, showing her cards, her hands trembling at her sides. I continue patting Lauren’s hair, ignoring the annoying scent of hairspray and cheap perfume. Cecilia cared about the others, but Lauren is her weak spot, and it thrills me to see her so tense.

“How about a trade.”

“A trade?”

I hum, playing with the curly strands, my focus on the task. “A life for a life.”

Cecilia inches closer, curious. “I’m listening.”

Of course, you are. I suppress my smile. “Marry me tonight, and I’ll let your precious friend live.”

She draws to a halt. Her face pales.

“Your life for hers.” I fist Lauren’s hair and pull hard, making her cry out. “Give your life to me, and your friend gets to see another sunrise.”

Cecilia bounces her eyes between Lauren and me, unsure. I see the moment determination sets her jaw, and she nods once like it’s a done deal. “I’ll marry you.”

“Excellent,” I drawl like a villain, then curl my finger at Father Faulkner to join us. “You heard the lady. Marry us.”

He scrambles forward. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

I never take my eyes off my future bride, who’s about to sell her soul to the devil. Why does a spark of excitement shoot through me, and why am I gripped by a sense of possessiveness when I imagine calling this woman mine? I refuse to explore it, but she’ll belong to me minutes from now.

Father Faulkner fumbles with the Bible he brought, his pores dripping sweat. He’s a disappointing sight to behold.

“Anytime today,” I bark, and he jumps several feet into the air. Pages rustle. He mutters something incoherently under his breath. Sinclair smothers a laugh with a cough.

I’m seconds away from putting a bullet in his head, when he finally reads from the book.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the presence of family and friends, to join together Darian Delacroix and Cecilia van der Meer in holy matrimony…”

I tune out the rest of his speech.

“What the fuck are you staring at?” Cecilia hisses, barely tolerating my presence.

“My beautiful bride, of course. At least pretend you’re happy.”

She snorts, revolted. “In your wildest dreams, asshole. If it weren’t for my friend, you’d be the last man on earth I’d want to marry.”

“I know,” I reply, unbothered by the vitriol spewing from her sinful lips. “Why do you think I kept her alive? I knew you’d sacrifice yourself.” I can’t quite hold my smirk back.

The priest clears his throat, looking at us pointedly.

“Sorry. I got distracted. My bride is bewitchingly beautiful.”

Cecilia kicks my shin.

Smothering a laugh, I reach for her hand. “I, Darian Delacroix, take thee, Cecilia van der Meer, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward.”

“Now it’s your turn,” the priest tells her, waiting expectantly.

Cecilia takes one look at Lauren and then she stands tall and sacrifices herself. “I, Cecilia van der Meer, take thee, Darian Delacroix, to be my wedded husband…” The rest of her speech becomes background noise.

The moment Father Faulkner declares us husband and wife, I trail my lips to her ear and whisper darkly, “And so the devil took a wife. Welcome to Hell, Mrs. Delacroix.” I seal it with a firm kiss.

She clutches my suit jacket in a bid to push me away, but her hands simply rest against my chest as though she can’t quite summon the strength to fight me. I break the kiss, slip my hand into my pocket, and toss Sinclair my car key. He catches it one-handed.

“The Bugatti is all yours,” I say.

His rich laughter bounces off the walls.

Now to the part where I piss off my new wife…

“Mr. Visage,” I call out.

The Elder steps forward, glittering eyes staring expectantly at Lauren from behind his goat mask.

“Take your Pawn away.”

He goes to grab Lauren, and my wife stiffens beside me. “You said a life for a life. You promised not to hurt her,” she says, beating my chest like a wild animal when Lauren is being dragged, kicking and screaming, out of the room.

I wrestle her into submission, digging my fingers into her arms and bruising her creamy skin. “Not a hair will be harmed on her head. You have my word.”

She tries to peer around me at the door as Lauren’s screams echo down the hallway. Such a dramatic addition to the Exodus. “But he?—”

“She belongs to Mr. Visage now.”

Cecilia’s eyes clash with mine, wide and terrified. She really does feel a sense of responsibility for her friend, so why did she bring her here tonight? It could only lead to death. Cecilia knew it. At least, this outcome is a step up from rotting inside a pig’s stomach.

“Belongs to Mr. Visage? What do you mean?”

“She’s his Pawn. He paid a hefty price for her. Don’t worry, he won’t kill her.”

She jerks free from my grip and steps back. “Do tell, husband. What does Mr. Visage want with her?”

“She will serve his needs the way he sees fit.”

“She will what?” she shrieks.

I roll my eyes at her theatrics. The others file out of the room, leaving me alone with my seething wife. “She’s a Pawn now. The lowest rank in the Exodus. She’s Mr. Visage’s property, so providing that she behaves, she’ll go unharmed.”

“And if she doesn’t behave?”

I don’t bother with a response as I walk to the bar. She’s a clever woman; she can read between the lines. It will be in her friend’s best interest to scrub Mr. Visage’s pristine floors, suck his cock between morning meetings, and say, ‘Yes, sir,’ to all of his demeaning demands. But at least she’s alive and in one piece.

“How could you do this? Money had already exchanged hands before they entered this room. You planned this.”

I pour a glass of malt whiskey and swig it like it’s soda. God knows I need a stiff drink. “You shouldn’t be so predictable, Mrs. Delacroix.”

She bares her teeth, making me snort a laugh into my drink. She’s such a feisty little thing.

I can’t wait to spread her legs again. Nothing is more thrilling than taming such a vicious creature.

Where are these thoughts coming from? I’ve never entertained the notion of pleasuring women before, never cared for their presence, but I have to admit that it’s a tempting idea to replace the fury on my wife’s face with post-orgasmic bliss. I bet she would be far more pliant if I shoved my tongue in her tight pussy.

“I should also mention before I forget…” I pour more whiskey into the tumbler, and Cecilia hikes a hand on her hip. “If something were to happen to me—should I die unexpectedly—Mr. Visage will see to it that your precious friend dies a slow, painful death. Consider yourself warned, wife. Don’t try anything stupid.”

“You think I’m going to accept this?” she spits. “That I’ll just roll over and take it? You can’t treat me like this.”

“You’re my wife. I can treat you however I see fit.” Downing the last of the whiskey, I shrug out of my suit jacket before undoing the cufflinks and rolling my sleeves up my arms. “Come here.”

She hesitates, watching me like a dangerous animal in tall bushland. She’s not wrong. “I think I’ll stay right here.”

I hum, drawing out the tension, while my wife tries not to fidget. I notice her watching the veins in my arms bulge, her nipples budding underneath the thin silk. It’s more exciting than it ought to be to have her undivided attention on me, which is why I need to find my equilibrium again. I can’t let this mystical creature waltz into my life and flip it upside down. Women don’t bring me to my knees. I won’t allow for such simple desires.

Pushing off the bar, I saunter to her and grab the back of her neck. She gasps in surprise as I propel her forward and slam her front against the desk. Pens go flying, and so does her dignity when I flip up her dress to expose the curve of her ass. I give it a firm smack, causing Cecilia to cry out and rock forward.

“If I tell you to do something, you do it. You’re my wife now, Mrs. Delacroix. You will obey me.” I dip my hand inside her panties and glide a finger through her slit. “You’re wet already. What turned you on this much? Seeing your friends die, or our verbal sparring?”

She hisses through her teeth but stays down. “I hate you!”

“I can certainly feel how much you hate your husband.” I sink two fingers inside her tight cunt and keep her down with my free hand around her neck. “Your pussy seems to disagree with the sentiment.” Her skin flushes when I pump my fingers. “Hear those wet sounds, Mrs. Delacroix? That’s your pussy’s love language.”

“You’re an asshole,” she grinds out, making me chuckle.

I slip my fingers out and smack her pussy. “Be good for your husband.”

“You should have married someone else if you wanted a compliant wife. I’m going to make your life a living hell?—”

Releasing her neck, I drop to my knees behind her and silence her tirade with my mouth on her sopping cunt, sucking on her pussy through the damp fabric of her lace panties. A strangled moan escapes her.

I’ve never cared for cunnilingus before. But as I slide her panties aside—greeted by her pink folds and dripping juices—there’s nothing I’ve ever wanted to taste more. I’m ravenous as I dive back in, spearing her with my tongue, gripping her hips.

“Oh, Christ,” she chokes out, rocking back against me and seeking more friction. “Darian…”

My name on my wife’s lips must be the most addictive sound I’ve ever heard. Sinclair’s voice warns me somewhere in the back of my mind that my ship is taking on water, but fuck if I care. I’m eating Cecilia’s pussy like a starved, rabid animal.

I lick, bite, and suck, growling against her. The apocalypse could happen, and I would be none the wiser. I wouldn’t even care.

Cecilia moans so loudly that I’m surprised security hasn’t rushed here to see what’s happening, but it’s Reckoning night. I could be tearing her limb from limb and no one would care.

“Yes, yes, Darian,” she whines, gripping the table’s edge. “More. Fuck…”

I’m bruising her hips with my tight grip and painting her with my marks. I can’t get enough. Cecilia begins to shake as I fuck her with my tongue—fuck her like it’s my cock tearing through her tight pussy.

I briefly wonder how many other men have had the pleasure of feasting on what’s mine. I make a mental note to have my PI look into it.

My wife won’t even know they all met an untimely death. I’ll have their records wiped, and it’ll be like they never existed.

Cecilia is trembling now, ramming her pussy in my face.

She looks back over her shoulder. “Aaah! Darian.”

Then she comes, and it’s a beautiful thing to behold. She moans and writhes, fighting to get away, to get closer. I lick her through it, lapping up her slick arousal.

When her breathing returns to normal, I stand up and tighten my tie as I lick her off my lips. Then I lean over her and press a button on the intercom. It crackles, and a masculine voice says, “Mr. Delacroix?”

“I need a cleaning crew in here pronto.”

Cecilia shoves me off her, growling, “Fucking asshole.”

Ah. Married life. Such bliss.