by Shen, L. J.
Franklin stood by our side, eyeing us curiously while grazing.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. Hamilton has had a bad couple of years. He had swelling in his rear legs and didn’t get much riding time. When winter hit, he was down for the count. I knew I needed to re-break him come spring. He wasn’t ready for riding. When I saw you on him without a helmet…” He shook his head, closing his eyes as he took a ragged breath. “I’m going to dismember Hunter and feed him to the polar bears he is so desperate to save.”
“Hunter doesn’t like the Arctic drilling, either?” I hiccupped, surprised.
“Don’t start,” he warned.
“Fine. But you should know it was my idea to ride.” I put my hand on his chest, feeling his heart rioting in contrast to his carefully blank stare. He held me gently as though I was a precious thing he didn’t trust himself not to break.
“Hunter screwed this up. He didn’t give Hamilton enough time to get acquainted with you. Smell you. Feel you.”
“He was by my side the entire time.” My tremors were subsiding, but I still held onto him tighter. “It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.”
Well, I mean…it was kind of my fault.
And by kind of I meant totally.
But I wasn’t going to admit that and give my husband ammo against me.
I trailed my thumb along the cut on his forehead. While he didn’t need stitches, he definitely should sterilize the area to make sure it didn’t get infected. Mud and blood caked his temple.
“You saved me,” I said quietly. “Again.”
The first time was the bleeding heart flowers.
The second was Byrne and Kaminski.
This was the third time Kill kept me alive, despite my unfortunate talent to find myself in life-threatening situations.
“You’re my wife.” He tapered his eyes as though the reason was obvious.
“You don’t act like I am,” I whispered. “We’re not a normal couple.”
“No,” he agreed. “We’re not.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but apparently, that was the sum of it. I looked around, changing the subject.
“Where’s Hamilton?”
“A question of the ages. I’ll give you a ride home, then go look for him. You stay with Sailor and try to stay alive while I’m gone.”
He got up swiftly, helping me back on my feet.
The ride back was silent. I texted Sailor that we were on our way and asked her to have a first-aid kit ready. When we got back, Sailor was waiting for us outside with water bottles and a medi-kit. Cillian ignored her, dismounting Franklin and putting me down back on the ground gently.
“You look like shit.” Sailor eyed my husband.
“You aren’t exactly my type, either,” Kill drawled dryly, placing me in front of her like a piece of furniture. “Make yourself useful and draw her a bath. Don’t let her out of your sight. She’s easy to forget and hard to keep alive.”
He got back on the horse, riding away without sparing either of us a glance.
Sailor directed her green eyes at me, biting back a smile.
“Nothing about this situation is funny.” I dropped onto a nearby rocker, flinging an arm over my eyes with a sigh.
“Oh.” She sat on the arm of the rocker, rubbing my arm. “But of course it is.”
“Please enlighten me.”
“You made your husband shit bricks, dude.” Sailor slid into my lap, pulling me into a crushing hug, giggling uncontrollably. “You should’ve seen the asshole when I told him you guys went riding. He looked ready to smash some skulls. Someone’s got it bad for you. Kill and Persy are sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”
She was wrong.
Kill didn’t want me.
He wanted what I could give him.
I laughed, letting the sting of the truth roll off my shoulders.
I tilted my head up to the sky, praying to find Auntie Tilda.
It was full of clouds.
Two hours later, Belle, Aisling, Devon, and Sam were back.
My friends hurried to my room, gushing about my banged-up husband (“Cowboy Cunt-sa-nova,” as Belle referred to him). How he found his horse on the top of the mountain and rode it back to the ranch.
“Let me tell you, I think cowboys are libido repellents, but somehow, watching Kill riding an unruly stallion changed my mind.” Belle fell onto my bed, sighing.
I elbowed my sister. “Watch it. It’s my husband you’re talking about.”
Ash rolled her eyes, plopping onto the mattress beside us. “Don’t worry, Belle is too busy trying to figure out how to drag Devon Whitehall into her bed to think about your husband.”
We group-hugged, me squeezed in the middle. I turned to my sister, popping my eyebrows.
“Oh, yeah? I don’t think you’ll need to sweat it. The man was all over you like a rash.”
“He’s such a delicious flirt,” Belle groaned, throwing her head down on my pillow.
“What about you and Sam?” I turned to Ash. “Any progress?”
“If it’s not going to happen this year, it’s not going to happen at all.” Ash smiled sadly.
I rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry.”
The dinner before we drove home was delightful. It consisted of bacon-potato corn chowder, fried chicken, and cornbread, all cooked from scratch by Sailor. For dessert, she served rhubarb tart and a peach cobbler.
“Anyone else wants to complain about how I invited the girls over?” Hunter wiggled his brows behind his coffee cup. He had three servings of the cobbler alone and shoved enough food down his throat to last a week.
“How’d you learn to cook and bake like that?” Devon sucked on a teaspoon, regarding Sailor with newfound respect.
“Our mom is one of the best cooks and bakers in the world.”
Sailor put her hand on Sam’s forearm.
“The best,” Sam corrected.
I sat next to Cillian, smiling and nodding. We both stared at our friends as they drifted in and out of easy conversation, first talking about the Brennans’ many restaurants, then about sports, and the disastrous stormy weather that still tore into Boston with its sharp talons.
I knew I had to put my big girl pants on and thank my husband properly, not just for today, but for everything else he’d done for me. I was walking the tightrope between wanting to ignore his existence and restore my wounded ego, and taking a metaphoric hammer to his walls, demolishing them one by one.
“Thanks, by the way,” I said under my breath, squeezing his hand under the table.
He slipped his hand away from mine. My heart bled.
This is going nowhere, and you are letting him lead the way, blindfolded.
“What for?”
“Taking care of Byrne. Paying my debt. Getting me a divorce. Saving me from Hamilton’s wrath. I never said thank you, and I should have.”
“It’s a part of our agreement.”
“You taking care of me or avoiding me?”
“Both.”
I opened my mouth to tell him something. I wasn’t even sure what, when Hunter threw a poker chip in our direction, hitting my husband’s shoulder.
“Mo òrga, are you in or are you out?”
“In.” Kill drew a cigar from a box, clipping its cap before lighting it up.
Hunter began shuffling. “And the missus?”
“She’s out,” he answered on my behalf.
“Holy shit.” Belle checked her phone. “Look at the time. It’s the twenty-first century. That means women can do whatever the hell they like without asking their husbands.”
Devon grinned, watching my sister with open admiration.
“You needed the phone to check what century you’re in?” My husband puffed on his cigar calmly. “I think it’s time to lay off the mimosas, sweetheart.”
“My sister is going to play.” Belle stubbed the table with her finger, breathing fire.
“Wanna bet? We’re already in a gambling moo
d.”
Cillian was arranging his chips neatly, not even sparing her a look.
I didn’t even know how to play poker, so they were both being stubbornly dumb.
“I swear to God, Kill—”
“Drop it.” My husband raised his gaze from his chips. “Her ex lost her entire worldly possessions in poker. Think she wants to relive that, Einstein?”
Silence fell over us.
He gathered the cards Hunter dealt for him with a shake of his head.
“Yeah. Thought so.”
“If I were her, I’d play just to spite you,” my sister persisted, the fire absent from her voice now. Everyone at the table played other than Ash and me.
“That’s why you’re not her. Why she’s married to a billionaire and you’re running a strip club,” Cillian said dispassionately, his yellow-rimmed hawk eyes scanning his cards.
“Madame Mayhem is a respectable institution. Burlesque is not the same as stripping, assface.” Belle blew a raspberry.
“I do love burlesque,” Devon groaned, shifting in his seat.
“You’d love genocide if Emmabelle did it,” Kill deadpanned.
“Stakes?” Sam asked around a lit cigarette. “Not that I’m not entertained by watching you all bickering like a flock of old hens.”
“Same as always,” Kill said.
“Like hell they are. Not everyone at this table can afford throwing a bunch of money on a poker game.” Belle slapped her cards over the table. “I’m not playing for thousands of dollars.”
“We can play for less,” Sailor suggested mildly.
“Or strip poker.” Hunter grinned.
“Unfortunately for Emmabelle, strip poker would also put her at a point of disadvantage, considering she’s wearing nothing more than a napkin.” My husband threw another jab at my sister.
Belle wore a flimsy mini dress, but dousing the argument between them seemed counterproductive. Besides, did he really think I’d let him talk to Belle like that?
“Cillian,” I warned pointedly. “Please.”
“You’re an asshole.” My sister darted up on her feet, pointing at Kill.
“And you’re stating the obvious.” Kill yawned, ignoring me. “How about we make this interesting? The stakes stay the same as always, seeing as you’re the only broke person at this table. If you lose, I’ll foot the bill. And if I win,” Kill paused, puffing his cigar smoke in her face, his taunting eyes holding my sister’s, “I get what I want from you.”
My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach with a thud that reverberated inside my body. The green claws of jealousy wrapped around my neck.
He wanted something from Emmabelle.
Why wouldn’t he? She was the interesting, worldly, firecracker one.
What was he after?
Her body?
Her heart?
I stiffened, focusing on my breaths, telling myself not to kill him. Not now. Not yet.
“And what is it that you want from me?” Emmabelle asked slowly, lowering herself back to her seat.
“The most precious gift of all,” Cillian said. “Silence. More specifically, if I win, you will stop treating my wife like a helpless lamb I’m about to annihilate. I hear and see everything. You’re not giving my marriage a fair chance. You badmouth me every step of the way. It is disrespectful to Persephone, and it stops today. That applies to you, too.” He pinned Sailor with a glare. “Same stakes. Same terms. Either of you win—you get the money. I win—I pay your debt, and in return, you hop off the Cillian is Satan train. If my wife wants to ride it, she’ll buy her own ticket and travel solo.”
Belle and Sailor exchanged glances.
Since when did Kill care what anyone thought of him?
“Are you saying what you have is real?” Sailor probed.
“I’m saying what we have is ours,” he countered. “It’s between Persephone and me. Didn’t hear any objections when Sailor was on babysitting duty to make sure Hunter’s dick wasn’t going on a world tour in their shared apartment.” Kill gestured to his younger brother. Hunter winced.
When Sailor and Hunter fell in love, we all knew he was a playboy yet still supported their relationship. Kill had a terrible reputation, but so far, he proved himself to me more than Hunter did to Sailor before they went steady.
“I’m a good poker player.” Belle bowed a silky eyebrow.
She wasn’t good. She was the best. And she knew it.
“Me too,” Sailor said.
Kill smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”
Fifteen minutes later, everybody was engrossed in the game. Sailor, the most competitive woman on the planet, kept wiping at her brow every time she pulled a card. Belle refused to lose focus, not taking part in the conversation in the room. My husband lounged in his chair, his body language bored and lax, occasionally throwing an idle remark about the stock market, which Hunter and Devon discussed at length.
“So. You want a divorce.” His smooth baritone trickled deep into my body. He picked up our conversation from the afternoon when I asked him to set me free if he was going to continue ignoring me.
“If I’m destined for a life chasing after my husband begging him to get into bed with me, then yes, I want a divorce. You never should’ve married me if you don’t find me attractive.”
“I do find you attractive.” He frowned at a card he drew from the pack, businesslike. “The problem is I find you too attractive.”
“I’m confused,” I said even though I was anything but. I just wanted him to tell me something reassuring. Boost my shattered ego.
“So am I. Every time I look at you. Which is why I’ve been avoiding you.”
“I have needs.” I shook my head.
“And I have skills,” he quipped back, putting his cards down, picking an orange chip and tapping it on the oak surface. He dropped one arm under the table casually. A moment later, his heavy, hot hand settled on my inner thigh.
My breath hitched. I wore an off-shoulder emerald-green dress that barely reached my knees. He hiked his fingers up until his hand nestled in the crook between my thigh and groin.
“Your move, Kill.” Sam threw one of his cards into the pile.
My husband pushed a stack of chips to the center of the table. The players looked around, gauging each other’s reaction. Kill took the opportunity to graze his fingers over the cotton of my panties, nudging the fabric sideways.
He trailed two fingers over my exposed slit, exploring lazily, teasing my flesh without entering me. I shuddered, feeling my nipples hardening.
Belle frowned at her cards. “He’s bluffing. I raise.”
She dragged more chips to the center of the table.
“So brazen with other people’s money.” Kill smiled idly.
“I’m always brazen,” Belle corrected. “But when it comes to putting assholes in their place, I’m also gleeful about it.”
“I fold.” Sailor tossed her cards, wincing at my sister. “Sorry. You know it physically hurts me to lose.”
“Me too, dammit.” Hunter smacked his cards on the table.
Devon, whom I gathered from our few interactions was a total snake, chuckled, his eyes moving between Belle and Cillian.
“Is this a who’s-got-the-biggest-cock competition? Because Emmabelle, my darling, I would be sorely disappointed if you win.”
“But not undeterred,” Sam muttered. “Roll your fucking tongue back into your mouth. You’re drooling into the tortilla bowl.”
My sister stared at my husband expectantly, but Cillian hadn’t bothered noticing anyone in the room. His expert fingers were now playing with my clit, his thumb rubbing my slit under the table, unaffected by the fact everyone’s eyes were on him. Every muscle in my body tightened deliciously, begging for release.
I liked that we had an audience even though they weren’t aware of it.
“Show us your cards,” Emmabelle snarled.
“Ask nicely,” he schooled her.
“Goddammi
t, Kill, read the room. You’re about a snarky remark away from getting stabbed.” Hunter laughed.
Cillian turned his cards with his free hand. Everyone leaned over the table to examine them just as he slipped a finger into my core, curling it, his thumb pushing against my clit.
I gasped, twisting my fingers over the edge of the table.
Mother of dragons.
“Are you okay, Pers?” Sailor turned to me.
“I don’t know about her, but her husband sure isn’t.” Belle revealed her cards in triumph, making everyone wheeze. “You’ve got nothing, American Psycho. I, however, have a full house.”
Using both her arms, she collected the chips in the center of the table.
“I’m fine, just…just…” I panted, trying to string a sentence together, but Kill pushed another finger into me, now pumping in and out, the pad of his thumb still circling my sensitive bud. I was soaked, shamelessly trying to arch my back and grind against more of his hand. I was also pretty sure if people around us shut up for a second, they could hear the slurps that erupted when he played me like an instrument.
“You what?” Sailor pressed.
“I pulled a muscle in my foot.” I reached for my drink, forcing myself to swallow down a sip, my fingers shaking so bad the water sloshed over.
“Oh, shoot.” Ash scrunched her nose, pushing her chair back. “Let me have a look, maybe I can…”
“No!” I cried out. My husband fingered me deeper, faster, more possessively than he’d ever touched me. He was knuckle-deep inside me now, spreading me wide, making me feel deliciously full. “I-I’m fine now. Thanks.”
Cillian’s expression was empty as he examined Belle’s hand calmly.
“Beginner’s luck,” he decided.
Obviously disappointed by his lack of emotional response, my sister snorted.
“Don’t worry, Kill, I’ll clean out your chips by the end of the next game.”
“And my house, if that stripper club gig doesn’t pan out.”
Devon started dealing again.
I was panting hard, grasping the edges of my seat now, chasing his touch under the table. I’d never felt so hot and bothered in my entire life. Paxton and I had never had sex anywhere worth mentioning. What made everything a million times hotter was no one suspected what we were doing. My husband was the vision of everything elegant, golden and proper, wearing his icy, unapproachable mask while he did filthy things to me.