CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Never, in a million years, would I have believed I'd cry at a wedding. Luna and Julien have officially broken me.

From the song choice for her walk down the aisle—an acoustic version of Foo Fighters' "Generator"—to the vows they exchanged and how she ended hers by saying, "I'd chop your balls off if you ever cheat on me."

My God.

The perfect wedding does exist.

Carter occupied the seat to my left while the couple talked about their forever and ever. For the first time ever, I saw him shooting a deeply apologetic glance my way. To his left, Killian did the same. His lips mouthed two words, "I'm sorry."

They had nothing to be sorry for. I didn't want to get hitched. My tears weren't shed over this thing we have between us. Over the secrets we keep.

We'd get married, eventually. I hoped. It's just this bridal talk that'd fucked with my head. Had me daydreaming of shit I'd never cared for.

My fiancéthis. My future wife that. It was so sweet.

I want that for myself.

No, I don't. I remind myself as I fix my gaze on the bride and groom. It's my hormones talking.

This has nothing to do with Carter and Killian. They haven't told me they loved me yet.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the wedding officiant announces, mentally slapping me out of my head. "You may kiss the bride."

At last. Another second of this emotional onslaught and my tears would've ruined my dress. And I love this piece Killian got me.

Then again, the horrified looks they'd give me if I cried so much that I managed to destroy the fabric… Maybe that isn't the worst idea. I'd laugh and forget about the stupid dreams I've never wanted to begin with.

I stand up, smiling at Kim and Natalie who sat to my right. It takes everything in me to ignore Killian and Carter whose eyes I feel scorching my skin.

These men will end up giving me a whiplash. They've been clear about the importance of appearance. How we need to pace ourselves, pretend we're in the flirting stage. Once we're sure this relationship is forever.

Yet here they are, sending me cryptic messages. Boring holes into my profile.

"I'm going to get myself a drink," I tell the two women. "Can I get you something from the bar?"

My new friends return my smile. Their kindness warms me to my core. Friendship is such a foreign concept to me. Usually, when I tell people I talk to my flowers, their faces twist and they walk in the other direction.

These sweet blonds haven't.

It's settled, then. I'm keeping them.

Maybe next time I'm delivering flowers here—that is, if I still have my shop—I'll hang out a little. I'm sure Opal won't mind. I'll even tell her to hang the closed sign. For another thirty minutes or so.

"No, thank you, Amara." Natalie brushes back a loose strand of her hair. "We're going to congratulate Luna, then we're headed home. We have the morning shift tomorrow."

"I guess I'll see you around?" My voice is strained. Doubt twists my belly. Are my new friends blowing me off?

I don't even feel the men's attention on me anymore. That's how nervous I am.

"Damn right, you will." Kim squeezes my hand and joy resurfaces in my chest. "We're here a lot. Better yet, let's exchange numbers. We'll have a girls' night when the stars align and both of us have a morning off."

My grin tears at my face. Literally. Smiling hurts, but it's a good kind of pain.

Not as good as Killian biting my clit while Carter's pounding into my ass. Close, though. Real fucking close.

"I'd love that." I pull my phone from the hidden pocket in my dress.

Instead of putting in their last names, I type in new besties one and two. I show it to them, and they laugh. A friendly laugh. Since they're leaving, we say our goodbyes and I head to the bar.

Carter and Killian aren't staring at me anymore. They're talking to Luna and Julien next to the altar. Now that they're looking away, I miss their heated gazes.

Now who's giving whom whiplash?

Bar. Gotta go to the bar.

On my way over, I notice many people I've seen over the past six months. Most are the staff of the hotel. Others are members I bumped into. The rest I assume are the happy couple's family and friends.

The group of men at the corner of the venue, though, doesn't fit into either category. They have a dark, unpleasant aura surrounding them.

I still wonder who these people are when it's my turn to order my drink.

"What can I get you, Amara?" Jamey, the bartender, asks. Totally professional. He doesn't flirt like he had with the woman who was before me.

Maybe he doesn't like me like that.

And maybe Carter's and Killian's proverbial pee in a circle around me scares the living fuck out of him. After what they did to Christopher, it wouldn't surprise me.

I'm theirs. Jamey and everyone senses it. They're aware that messing with me would suck big time.

Is it sick that I get excited over it?

"Amara?"

"One Shirley Temple, please." My mouth waters for something sweet. Something that won't get me drunk.

Loose lips sink ships and all that. So no to alcohol for me. I like my ship where it is.

"Coming right up." Jamey turns to start mixing my drink.

"Nice of you to work on Luna's wedding day." I lean on the bar, sneaking glances at the group of suspicious men.

"Not to brag, but I'm the best bartender in the whole Tri-state area." He smiles over his shoulder. "And Luna deserves the best."

"She does," I say absentmindedly.

"There you go." Jamey hands over the red-orange drink.

"Thanks."

Sipping on the pink straw, I continue studying the room and the strangers from my place at the bar. Guests—Carter and Killian included—watch Luna and Julien's first dance on the improvised dancefloor. The couple is adorable, swaying in a slow dance to Megadeth's "Paranoid."

Everyone's captivated by them.

Everyone but the men in the corner. I have to know who these people are.

"Hey, Jamey." I lean closer, and he mirrors my gesture while keeping a respectful distance. "The men over there. They look familiar, don't they?"

His green eyes widen almost imperceptivity. I catch it nonetheless.

"They're members." Refusing to give me another clue, he grabs a glass from the bar and starts wiping it.

Curious. Very curious.

"Hmm, makes sense."

"I wouldn't go staring at our members, Amara," Jamey says without averting his attention from the glass.

I'm on a reckless streak, because I return to staring at the men. I'm sure that if I look long enough, I'll figure out who they are.

I'm positive I've seen them before.

Maybe—Oh, shit.

Oh, shit.

The tallest one in the black suit stares back at me. I still don't recognize him, but I'm scared. His dark gaze has my heart plummeting to the floor. He resumes talking to the other creeps. I don't breathe any easier because of that.

Putting my drink on the bar, I turn to Jamey. "Why not stare at them, exactly?"

"Hmm." The line has cleared up, so he continues to focus on the glass he's cleaning. Wipes, wipes, and wipes.

A weird feeling as though someone's watching me takes over. I don't dare check who's eyeing me. I might be reckless and curious, but I'm no fool.

"Are they celebrities?" I whisper to Jamey, baiting him for more information.

Crickets.

Why won't Jamey answer me?

Fuck, now I'm even more curious.

"Just tell me if I'm hot or cold?"

"Miss Carmichael." A voice behind me thunders over the electric guitar in the background.

A voice I'd recognize anywhere.

My heart thrums in my chest as I spin around. I perch my elbows on the bar, thrusting my breasts forward, pretending not to be bothered. Both Killian and Carter's eyes slide lower for a brief second.

"Hot or cold, what?" Carter's tone is tinged with anger, despite his wide smile.

The one he aims at Jamey behind the bar.

"Nothing, really." Apparently, that was all it took for the bartender to find his voice. "I was being polite, I swear."

"He's right." Images of Jamey bleeding don't particularly appeal to me. He did nothing wrong. "It's me. I was being nosy."

On the other hand, my men's violence is such a turn-on. I'll have to get a reaction out of them by myself without risking Jamey's forehead.

Sluuuurp. I drain the rest of my Shirley Temple obnoxiously.

Their eyes slam on me. I continue sucking on the straw.

Killian's nostrils flare. His eyes are blazing.

"Nosy about what, Jamey?" Carter doesn't let up, stepping closer to me.

Poor Jamey. I have to save him.

"About them." I cock my head to the side. "Were they on Law Order or something?"

"Miss Carmichael," Killian hisses. "You seem to be asking a lot of questions tonight."

"No, no, please." Jamey jumps to my rescue. "Don't be mad at her."

"She's not in trouble," Killian calms Jamey.

Carter chimes in, "It's just that we value our members' privacy."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell the good-intentioned man that I want Killian and Carter mad. Means they'll spank my pussy later. Hmm.

Jamey mumbles, "Of course," behind me.

My brain tunes out their conversation. Out of nowhere, I finally realize where I've seen these men. They were on TV.

On a show not too different from Law Order in its essence.

The news.

And they sure weren't the presenters.

"Holy shit," I mumble. The realization hits so hard that I stumble and almost fall down.

Killian reacts in a flash. He slips his strong, hot arm between me and the bar. His hand presses possessively to my back. I feel his bicep flexing as he holds me in place.

His dark brown eyes narrow, assessing me. "You okay?"

"I…" Rather than being scared or upset, I'm excited. I've never been around criminals.

"What did you put in her drink?" Carter slams his hands on the bar beside me.

Though I can't see him as I stare directly at Killian, I assume Carter is baring his teeth. About to climb over and rip out Jamey's throat. My sexy beast.

"Nothing." Jamey's voice trembles. "I swear on my mother's life. Nothing."

"I'm okay." My need to save Jamey's throat wins over my oh-my-God moment. I put the empty glass on the bar, then grip Carter's forearm. "I'm fine, except…"

"Let's get her out of here," Carter urges us. He's one badass hotel owner. In another life, he would've made an amazing bodyguard.

"Miss Carmichael is overworked," Killian talks over me, making excuses to Jamey. "We'll escort her to where she can get some fresh air."

Jamey stands there, speechless. I hope he hasn't peed himself.

"If something happens to her, so help me, Jamey." When I turn to Carter, I see him gripping Jamey's collar with one hand, pressing his knife to his trembling throat. "I'm coming back for you. Trust me that your job won't be the only thing you lose."

"I'm fine," I insist.

"Let's go, Carter." Killian starts walking us toward the exit.

Carter catches up to us, matching Killian's long gait. We don't talk on our way to the elevators. I don't mind. What I do mind is the heavy, relentless feeling that we're being watched.

Since Carter and Killian flank me from both sides, it's not them. I twist my head back. The questionable members are deep in conversation with each other. No one's paying attention to us.

Who's watching us, then?

"You've been bad again, beautiful girl." Killian mashes the elevator button and we wait for it to arrive. "Very bad."

Uh-oh.

Any thoughts of stalkers fly right out of my brain. My depraved desires take over everything.

Punishments. Sexy, painful punishments. Please let it be hand necklaces. I love those.

"I have," I breathe.

Carter moves closer to me. Threatening me without a single word or a touch.

Ping.

The elevator doors slide open.

Carter steps in first, punching the button that'll take us to the parking garage. He doesn't bother covering his erection. There's no hiding it even if he tried, despite the impressive size of his hands. His cock is bigger.

Goosebumps prickle across my skin and my thighs clench as Killian ushers me inside. I steal a glance at Killian's pants to my other side. He's hard too.

I'm sandwiched between my two hungry men. Who are hot. For me. For each other.

The doors close and we begin our descent.

A million sexy scenarios run through my head. Pesky questions follow.

"They're mafia, right?" I blurt out. "Mar… Mor… Something like that?"

"Amara." Carter squeezes my hand tighter. There's not a hint of reprimand in his voice. Just my name.

"Carter?"

Both Carter and Killian glare down at me. Their hands clutch mine.

Strange. The security people can see us.

"The cameras in the elevators stopped working?" I ask.

"We made them stop working, pet." Carter massages my inner wrist, his grin wicked. "We turned them off."

"And to your question." Killian gestures for me to step into the parking garage once the elevator doors open. "Yes. They were mafia. Julien's friends. And our members. We have all sorts of people here."

He doesn't offer another explanation, nor do I ask for one. At the moment. I'm high on the feeling of having my fingers enlaced with theirs out in the—sort of—open.

I can't wait for us to get home.