Chapter 7

I never saw myself marrying. Never entertained any of the countless women who batted their lashes at me. The idea of putting up with a nagging, high-maintenance wife, whose life purpose is to drain my bank account, never entered my radar until Cecilia. My quest for vengeance is rotting away in the dank darkness, and I’d almost given up hope of finding Cecilia until she waltzed into my life like a head on a silver platter.

I have a pep in my step as I enter the gym. Sinclair is already on the treadmill, his gray T-shirt drenched with sweat between his shoulder blades.

“You’re looking chipper this morning,” he chirps, barely winded despite pounding the treadmill with his top-of-the-range sneakers created for premium comfort. “Did someone die?”

“It was the Reckoning last night. Lots of people died.”

Sinclair presses a few buttons and the treadmill slows to a walk. Reaching for his sports bottle, he squirts water straight onto his face like an uncultivated prison inmate. I swear the man was raised by wild coyotes.

“Fair point.” He takes a sip, then tosses the empty bottle aside. “Good times. Shame we have to wait another ten years for the next party.”

I remove the towel around my shoulders and place it on a bench before joining him on one of the other treadmills. “It disappoints me sometimes how much of a simpleton you are, Nathaniel.”

“Says you, the man who defied the Exodus and forced a chick into marriage like a caveman.”

“I didn’t force her. I merely bargained.”

Sinclair laughs. “It was a hostile takeover, if I’ve ever seen one. How is the stunning bride this morning?”

“Call my wife stunning again, and I’ll remove your crown jewels and personally return them to the King of England.”

“Where’s my friend, and what have you done to him?” He chucks me on the shoulder, but I’m not impressed. “Seriously, how did it go last night?”

I turn up the speed. “Well, I had to strong-arm her home, and then she spent the next hour ripping out the brand new clothes and accessories I had express delivered to our home and tossing them on the floor. I’m sure she stomped on them too. Ungrateful, if you ask me, after the staff hauled ass out of hours to hand deliver everything in her size.”

“Wow.” He snickers, covered in sweat. “You sure have a way with the ladies.”

“What I have,” I pause to correct, “is leverage. Mrs. Delacroix cares awfully much about her friend.”

“Blackmail. I dig it.”

I roll my eyes, jogging now. My heart remains steady. I’m bored, so I check the time on the machine. Another twelve minutes and twenty-two seconds until I can move on to my strict weight routine.

“Is this your revenge plan, then? Imprison Mr. van der Meer’s daughter against her will and keep her identity a secret from the Exodus?”

“Amongst other things.”

“Such as?” He swipes for his towel and wipes his sweaty face, then throws it at me.

It slaps me on the side of the face and then falls to the floor with a wet plop. If I could get away with killing my best friend, now would be the time. I glare at him, but he’s unfazed, whacking the treadmill up to dangerous speeds.

If he’s not careful, he’ll shoot off into space like a comet, and I imagine the machine falling to pieces beneath his heavy weight, like the car in The Mask .

“By the time I’m done with Mr. van der Meer,” I respond, “there will be nothing left for him to salvage if he ever sees daylight again—which he won’t, by the way.”

Sinclair’s face falls, and he sprints until sweat drips from his pores before switching off the treadmill and heading to the weights. I’m still jogging. Another six minutes and thirteen seconds.

What is Cecilia doing now? The last time I checked the surveillance camera, she was searching every inch of her new cage—her luxurious bedroom—for weapons or something to break down the door. God only knows what goes through her pretty head, but I’m not stupid enough to let her into my own space. She’ll kill me the moment I close my eyes.

“Word of advice now that you’re a pussy-whipped man,” Sinclair says as he flexes his muscles in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. “We need to discuss her father.”

“I’m not pussy-whipped,” I reply with a heavy sigh.

“Yeah, keep lying to yourself.”

When I speed up the treadmill to drown him out, he says, “You know I’m right. We need to have this discussion. You can’t avoid it forever. She’ll kill you if she finds out.”

“She won’t find out. And she’ll kill me anyway.”

“I like her already,” he says, his shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. He selects dumbbells while I sprint like I can outrun my new obsession, a feisty heiress with a Venus trap for a pussy. When the machine finally slows down, Sinclair eyes me through the mirror. “While I’m worried about the potential fallout, I think she could be good for you.”

“Not only are you simpleton, but you’re delusional too.” I step off the treadmill and wipe my face with my towel. “It’s a business transaction. I give her my name. She gives me her family fortune and legacy for me to burn to the ground.”

Focusing on his bulging biceps, he lifts the weights, and I curl my lip. “Why do you always have to sound like you fuck when you work out.”

“Unless your prude ass hasn’t noticed,” he says, grunting, “fucking is a form of cardio.”

I select my own dumbbells. “Why do you think she could be good for me?”

Why am I even asking? I plan on spending as little time with her as possible. I’m certainly not curious about Nathaniel Sinclair’s opinion.

“You know why,” he replies in between counting the reps. “You need someone to shake up your life.”

“I’m not a fucking snow globe.”

“Dashing through the snow,” he sings, then places the dumbbells back down, “on a one-horse open sleigh?—”

“Shut up!” I growl, contemplating hurling the dumbbell at his head.

“Mr. Delacroix,” a voice comes from the entrance. “Phone call. They say it’s urgent.”

I eye Sinclair, who’s still laughing, and then I place the dumbbells down. “Did they say what the matter pertains to?” I ask the nervous-looking staff member.

“Your wife, sir. She escaped her bedroom, and now she’s throwing your art collection over the banister.”

Sinclair grabs my head with his sweaty hands and shakes it while singing the lyrics to “Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!” I swat him away and flip him off as I stride out of the room, thoroughly pissed but also strangely exhilarated that my newest acquisition decided to wreck my home.

The feeling doesn’t last long. The moment I enter the foyer, I hear it—the sound of six-figure-dollar art pieces, some hundreds of years old, crashing and splintering against the marble flooring. Still, I walk deeper into the foyer, rolling up my sleeves.

I’m simmering on the inside, but I’d never stoop as low as to show it. I take pride in being in control and refuse to let an angry, vengeful woman—no matter how attractive she looks with that feral glint in her eyes—crack the control I’ve spent years mastering.

Dressed in a dusky silk nightgown, her hair tumbling over her shoulders in messy waves, and her face free of makeup, she stumbles toward the banister with an original painting.

I arch a brow. “No need to exert yourself, Mrs. Delacroix. If you wanted to rearrange our home, all you had to do was ask. It could do with a womanly touch.”

“Oh, look, if it isn’t my dearest husband. I see you haven’t died in an inferno yet. Such a pity.” Driven by rage, she hurls the painting over the banister, and a maid beside me squeaks and jumps back. I stay where I am, hands in my pockets, an unmoving mountain in the wake of a typhoon. “I sure hope our children don’t inherit your temper.”

“Our children?” she all but shrieks, glaring down at me. “You think I’ll go near you with a barge pole?”

The sight of her wild eyes and even wilder hair does funny things to my body, but I chose to ignore that for the moment. “You already did. Twice.” I wave her off, done with her dramatics. “How about we talk about this? While it’s a little soon for marriage counseling, I’m pretty certain we would be advised to use our words.”

“Oh, yeah, because talking worked so well the other night when you had my friends murdered.”

There goes another painting. I was particularly fond of that one.

I check the time on my watch. Twenty minutes until my next meeting. My wife looks nowhere near ready to calm down. Not until she has wrecked our house.

I address the maid. “Tell Miss Sanders to cancel my next meeting.”

She bows and scurries away, glad to escape the raging volcano on the second floor.

“What a beautiful antique vase,” Cecilia sneers. “Looks expensive.” She throws it inches from my Oxfords, and I stare down at the mess.

A spark of annoyance flares inside me, and I take the stairs two at a time, but when I reach the top, my delightful wife scampers off, escaping down the hallway like a runaway bride.

It’s a little too late for that. I allow myself two seconds to enjoy the sight of her blonde hair flying behind her before I dart forward, determined to teach her a lesson for being such an ungrateful brat. I could have killed her last night, but instead, I gave her one of the most sought-after things this side of the world—my surname. She should show me her appreciation, preferably on her knees, but I don’t mind a good chase.

She takes one look behind her, sees me close on her heels, and lets out a scream before slipping into the library and slamming the door shut in my face.

The lock clicks into place, and I ram my shoulder against the wood. “You think you’re safe in there, baby? Think again.”

It turns out these sturdy doors are harder to break than they are in the movies. Five minutes later, I’m still trying to break in, convinced I’ve dislocated my shoulder.

“Your book collection is as unimpressive as your art collection,” she shouts from the inside. “I’m falling asleep reading these titles.”

“I’m impressed you’re literate,” I growl, ramming my foot into the door once again, and Cecilia squeaks, causing my dick to jerk behind my zipper.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I coo. “Are you scared Daddy will hurt you?” Straightening up, I roll my shoulders, jaw setting. “Damn right, I will. Once this door is down, I’m going to smack that little pussy raw. You won’t be able to sit for a week.”

“I’m sooo scared, Daddy,” she taunts close to the door. “You’re such a bad, bad man.”

I tear myself away from the door, stomp across the landing to the banister, and bark to the Pawns in charge of making sure my wife doesn’t try to flee the premises. “Grab her if she tries to leave.”

They blink up at me from the bottom floor, no doubt surprised to see me this ruffled. There’s usually not a hair out of place, but now I’m drenched in sweat, and I’m sure my left eye is twitching, too.

When I raise a single brow, they scurry into action, ascending the stairs like they worry I’ll shoot them on the spot.

It’s a possibility.

They salute me, out of breath, and I shoulder past. If my wife thinks she can outsmart me, she’s got another thing coming. No one wins over me. Cecilia will soon learn who holds all the cards in this marriage.

I return minutes later, clutching an axe, and when I barge through the Pawns, they stare at me like I have three heads.

“Last chance to say sorry to your husband, Mrs. Delacroix.”

Something hard hits the door with a loud thud. “Burn in hell!”

The guards shift, uncomfortable, exchanging glances.

“Have I told you how much I love your pillow talk?”

“Have I told you how much I dream about killing you?”

“You’re making me hard, baby. Tell me more.” I swing the axe into the door, and she releases a scream on the other end.

“You’re fucking crazy!”

“What’s that, baby? You want to choke on my cock?” Yanking the axe out of the wood, I slam it back in, lodging the blade deep. “I’ve told you already, good girls get to choke on my dick. My wife, on the other hand…” I pull the blade back out, leaning my shoulder against the door, ignoring the curious guards. “She’s an ungrateful bitch.”

She appears in the splintered gap in the wood, tilting her head and showing me her bared teeth. “Oh, your wife is a bitch, alright. She serviced your guards on her knees when you were at work.”

I swivel my head toward the alarmed Pawns, who back up a step, pale as ghosts, hands raised. “Boss, we never…”

My wife is messing with me to prove that she can slither beneath my skin, but my fury is unleashed, and I turn back around before I decapitate them both. “Nice try, baby. We both know they wouldn’t dare touch what’s mine.”

“Aww,” she drawls, sticking her finger through the hole and poking me in the eye. “You love me.”

“Ouch, fuck!” My eyes are watering. I blink once, twice. “A hernia is more lovable than you.”

Cecilia cries out with fear when I set upon the door with the axe.

This time, I don’t hold back. Whatever monster crawls out from the darkest corners of my soul is an ancient beast. Something born from evil.

Trust my insufferable wife to be the one who finally succeeds in making me lose control.

With a final roar, I kick the door open and block the doorway with my heaving, sweat-soaked body. “Oh, honey, did you miss me?”

I scan the room, the axe resting on my shoulder. Now, where’s my beautiful wife hiding?

“Baby, don’t be angry with Daddy.” My shoes clap on the shiny marble flooring as sunlight pours through the windows to my left, casting streaks of light across the open space.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

Out of seemingly nowhere, a book comes flying at me, hitting me square in the shoulder, and I stumble back, almost tripping.

Cecilia throws another book, but I’m prepared for her poor aim this time and duck before the hardback can smack me square in the face and ruin my perfect nose.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

She pops her head out from behind a pillar, a book at the ready, and even I can admit she looks a bit scary.

“Overreacting? Oh, my dearest husband.” Airy laughter bubbles from her chest as she steps out from behind the pillar. “Buckle in, because you haven’t seen anything yet.”

The book goes sailing, bouncing off my other shoulder. She flips me off and screams when I hurl the axe in her direction.

It lodges deep in the bookshelf beside her, and she stares at it while I run a hand through my ruffled hair.

“You threw an axe at me.”

“There you go, overreacting again. I threw it in your direction. Not at you.”

“An axe? You threw a fucking axe.”

“Would you prefer if my choice of weapon were books?”

Her face turns blotchy red, and I swear she’s two seconds away from stomping her foot like a petulant child. Why I’m entertaining her mood swings is beyond me. No one else would get away with such unruly behavior, but I like her fiery spirit for some mysterious reason. People are too quick to kiss my ass in this world. With a snap of my fingers, I get what I want. Power has its quirks, but it gets boring fast, and my wife is the only woman I’ve met who has a spine.

“Now,” I say, loosening my tie, “if you’re done with your temper tantrum, it’s time for your punishment.”

Her eyes blow wide. “You can’t be serious?”

I step toward her, and she inches back. “You’ve destroyed hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of art pieces, thrown books, and damaged a door. A pussy spanking is the least you deserve.”

“I didn’t take an axe to the door. You did.”

“I wouldn’t have had to if you’d let me in like a civilized citizen.” Another step. Cecilia looks around, nervous. “Are you coming to me willingly, or will I have to capture you?”

The sentence has barely left my lips when she pivots and runs deeper into the library, disappearing into the countless rows of books.

I gesture for the Pawns to block the entrance, and they take up position.

“There’s nowhere to hide, wifey,” I call out as I move forward on light feet. “I’m starting to believe you enjoy being chased.” Kicking a book out of the way, I scan the rows of shelves, then take a left. “Running is what you’re good at, after all. You’ve done it for the last ten years. Did you really think the Exodus wouldn’t find you eventually?” I’m goading her on purpose, hoping she’ll give away her location.

I pass another two rows, hands clasped behind my back. “You’re lucky it was me and not one of the other Elders. With a family fortune like yours and such a powerful bloodline…” I whistle. “You were already promised to the highest bidder.”

My shoes are now silent on the marble flooring as I enter the next row, walking on light feet along countless leather spines. “I would have paid triple the price of the highest bidder.”

Cecilia will never know her true value to a broken man like me. She’s priceless.

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew I would burn down the world to make her mine. Mr. van der Meer’s daughter was always destined to end up in my clutches. He made sure of that.

I turn slowly, pushing a book forward with a single finger to reveal a startled Cecilia on the other end, and when the book topples to the floor with a loud thud, she yelps.

“Boo!” I say, and she runs away, but I’m faster, catching her as she comes flying from the end of the row.

I slam her up against the bookshelf with such force that a surprised gasp slips from her plump lips.

“Darian?” There’s a question in her voice, a hint of fright.

“Shut up!” I yank her dressing gown from her shoulders, tossing the flimsy material onto the floor, her generous breasts nearly spilling out of her low-cut balconette bra. “I caught my prize. Now it’s time for my reward and your punishment.”

My eyes find hers as I run a finger along the elastic hem of her lace panties, and with a quick flip of my wrist, I tear them off and stuff her mouth.

“I see my wife missed me,” I say, palming her cunt and squeezing it.

She’s sopping wet.

Her eyes glower as I lean in to suck on her dusky nipple through the sheer lace. I bite and nibble on the hard pebble, looking up at my wife through my lashes while palming her fine ass and dragging my other hand along her needy core.

Cecilia is so responsive, even when she doesn’t want to be—or maybe because she doesn’t want to be. She likes a good fight with an opponent stronger than her, someone who’ll hold her down and take what they want. She proves as much when she grabs a book off the shelf and whacks me in the head before kneeing me in the balls. Luckily for her, her aim is off, so she misses my jewels by a hair’s breadth.

After she spits the panties from her mouth, she bares her teeth.

Now I’m thoroughly pissed off and horny for her. My engorged dick throbs, and I can barely think straight.

“You want to fight me, huh?” I grab her chin and mash my body against hers, her heat searing through my clothing everywhere we touch. I want more. I want this woman to come undone at my touch. I want to break her like a shiny new toy. “Think you’re stronger than me?”

She tries to shove me off, but I force her hands away before I shift my grip on her chin and ram my thumb past her parted lips. Her mouth is warm and delicious and fucking tempting.

A warning flashes in her eyes, and I know what it means.

“You want to bite me?” I taunt, my gaze locked on her mouth. “Do it, baby. Hurt me. Make me feel it.”

Her teeth sink into my skin, making me hiss.

She could bite my finger off if she wanted.

I tease her wet slit. “You’re such a wildcat.”

Her back bows when I smack her pussy hard enough to make my own fingers tingle, and then I’m back, smashing my body against hers, replacing my thumb with my tongue. Our kiss is dirty and frenzied, and Cecilia moans and squirms. I trap her wrists above her head with one hand, then dip down to bite her jaw, determined to leave my mark.

Why does she have to smell so fucking good, like late summer evenings and morning dew? Everything about her is untamed perfection. I should’ve never taken her as my wife—it was impulsive—but vengeance is a bloodthirsty hellhound.

I rip open my belt to free my massive dick, and Cecilia licks her lips in anticipation as I stroke the length, holding her wrists against the leather-bound books, close enough for our lips to brush.

“Fuck me, Darian,” she pleads, and it’s not lost on me that she uses my first name.

Pleasure pools low as sweat drips from my temple. Cecilia’s chest heaves with her rapid inhales and exhales.

“Beg again,” I demand, stroking my length in long pulls and darting my tongue out to lick my top lip. “Let me hear how much you want your pussy filled to the brim with my dick.”

She’s staring at my hand on my cock with such longing, a shiver travels up my spine. “Please, Darian, fuck me.”

I wait until her eyes meet mine. “Look at us getting along. Our hypothetical marriage counselor would be proud.” And then I come all over her pussy and stomach.

With a gasp, she looks down at the white ropes of cum squirting from my dick and onto her smooth skin. I lock my jaw, shuddering from the onslaught of my orgasm.

As I catch my ragged breath, I tighten my grip on her wrists, then swipe a finger through my release, drawing battle marks on her cheeks. I like the pink hue of her flushed complexion and the hitch in her breath as I paint the final mark.

Before she can annihilate me with her damn eyes while my guard is down, I step back and tuck my dick away. Collecting her dressing gown, I toss it at her. “I expect you to tidy up the mess you created in the foyer.”

She growls at me, but I’m already gone, retrieving the axe on my way out. “Miss Sanders,” I shout, and she materializes like a genie when I exit the library. “See to it that this door is replaced.”