“I don’t care. I’m gonna make every man that ever laid a finger on you regret it.”
A trench opens up inside me, a foreign feeling taking root. He pats my knee once, standing and leaving the room. Burrowing further beneath the covers, I stare outside the window at the night sky, a devious smile sliding over my lips.
That’s exactly what I’d hoped he’d say.
LUCA SCANS THE SHEET of paper again, arching his eyebrows. “This is the list?”
I bristle, annoyance prickling at the bottom of my stomach. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“You always answer questions with more questions?”
“Do you always talk out of your ass when conducting business?”
He smirks, letting the sheet fall to his desk. Luca’s apartment sits above a law office-slash-laundromat at the heart of downtown—which, compared to the downtowns of other cities, is not all that impressive. Inconsequential, like the entirety of King’s Trace, which makes it the perfect front for crime, and has all the makings of a quaint backstory for a senator like my father.
“Considering your generous little husband doesn’t give me much opportunity to actually conduct business, no, I can’t say talking out of my ass is a common occurrence.” Reaching into his shirt, a crisp black button-down, he pulls a pack of cigarettes from the interior pocket and flips open the tab. “Smoke?”
My fingers itch to take one, but I don’t want to arouse suspicion when I go home. Elia’s already on high alert since our dinner the other night, and finding out I ditched Leo to get here will only make matters worse.
But since Liv’s forcing me to attend her birthday bash tonight at Crimson, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to take a shot at a few of the men on my list.
Besides, by the time I’m supposed to leave for the club, Elia will be forty-five minutes away in Stonemore, trying to figure out his own problems; I should be the least of his worries.
And if not, well, that’s what I’m counting on.
I wave Luca off, leaning forward to point at the paper between us. “Sheldon McCarty and Todd Davis are known to hang out in the VIP section on Friday nights when college kids clear out, and they get their pick of the strippers.”
My chest constricts, a massive weight pressing down like a knee into my breastbone, as I utter these names. I try to shake it off, but the images of them circling me in my old kitchen, predatory and evil, flash in my mind. Memories of hands fixing themselves to whatever body part was in reach while my father left me to fend for myself cause a thick wave of nausea to spread through my abdomen.
It’s a nightmare I can’t escape. A hole in my soul I’ve tried filling a dozen different ways, always with the same result.
Nothingness. An empty rattle I’ve come to loathe.
The scenes give me strength, the chills tickling my skin at the memories strengthening my resolve to go through with this plan. It’s why these two are first.
I clear my throat, swallowing the bile that’s risen there. “Friday nights are also when the strippers who engage in prostitution at Crimson look for weekend work.”
Luca pulls a cigarette from the pack and slips it between his lips, lighting it with a red Bic swiped from the desk drawer. Tossing it back in place, he takes a long drag, studying me. “So, your plan is just to expose them for being perverts?”
“Illegal perverts.” In more ways than one. “These are men running electoral campaigns based on Christian values. Who wants to elect a hypocrite? I take a few pictures, email them to the Gazette, and their careers are over.”
“Right, but half of King’s Trace is ensconced in some kind of illegal activity. Maybe even more than that. I don’t think morality is all that high on the priority scale.”
“Okay, but it’s still illegal. So, even if the citizens don’t give a shit, the police officers will.” He doesn’t respond, just inhales on the butt of his cigarette, and my heart sinks a little further into my stomach. “Or… not?”
“It’s a good plan, but not one you could conduct at Crimson. Elia has law enforcement on his payroll, and he won’t allow any bad publicity to surround the club. Meaning phones are checked into lockers, and those let into the VIP area are typically well-vetted.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek, the soft flesh wilting through my bite. “What am I supposed to do, then?”
He shrugs, pushing a plume of smoke from his mouth. “What do you want to do? When you first came up with this revenge plot, didn’t you have something different in mind? Something... taboo?”
My nostrils flare, fingers tap on the edge of the desk. He knows. And, frankly, so do I, but I’m not quite convinced I can pull it off. “I didn’t want to lead with that.”
“Why not?” Gripping the cigarette between two fingers, he leans in, gesturing wildly with his hand. “These are men that hurt you, abused you. They stole your innocence. Your life, Caroline. You and I both know there’s only one way you can get that back.”
“There are no refunds on innocence, Luc. It’s not a tree limb or an octopus tentacle. Once it’s gone, that’s it.”
“That’s not true if it’s not something you wanted to give up in the first place.”
I shake my head, tucking my hair behind my ears. “I just didn’t want to be like them.”
“How badly did these men hurt you? How badly do you want them to pay?”
My breathing scatters as I remember the catcalls, the whistling, the leers a fifteen-year-old shouldn’t have to fend off from men twice her age. Todd and Sheldon were the worst, with Todd constantly placing his hands on me whenever my father left the room, and Sheldon being the one to steal my virginity.
And the fact that I was seventeen when that happened didn’t even phase my father. He’d just smiled when he found out, said everything was going according to plan.
Dominic Harrison pimped me out to his friend, a man expected to uphold the values of this country, for clout and cash.
How badly do you want them to pay?
Glancing at the list, I reach over and mark out all but four names: the ones who destroyed me and the one who unwittingly put me back together again. The one avenging me.
Luca folds his hands and tucks them beneath his chin, elbows propped on the desk, cigarette burning. The butt flickers orange, enticing in the unwavering life it holds despite not being touched. “I’m going to help you, Care, but not if we half-ass this. These are men that deserve worse than what they did to you.”
“I can’t very well kill two grown men in a packed club.”
“No, you can’t.” Sucking on the cigarette again, he smiles on the exhale, smoke falling from behind his teeth. He looks at that last name and back at me. “You were never supposed to. There’s only one person who can.”
I suppose it should make me nervous when I leave Luca’s office building and am met by my husband, leaning against the door of a black SUV I’ve never seen before. The only cars parked in our driveway are expensive, luxury vehicles that no one ever takes out, almost like they’re just for show.
But it doesn’t. If anything, it sends a perverted tingle down my spine at his protectiveness, along with a shot of annoyance.
Technically, he’s just doing his duty as my partner, but still. I don’t need a fucking stalker.
He looks delicious standing there; thick arms crossed over the chest of his black suit, a practiced, bored expression on his face. His dark hair swoops over one eyebrow, obscuring the slight quirk there, the strands just begging to be tugged.
Fuck, no. Get a grip, Caroline. You’re on a mission, and this man is a target. You can’t allow your vagina to reduce you to a quivering puddle every time you see him.
There are plenty of attractive men in the world. Save yourself for one that doesn’t have a body count.
The glass door slams closed behind me, and the sunlight bounces off the frames of Elia’s Ray-bans, temporarily stunting my vision. Turning on my heel
, I make a left and head down the dilapidated sidewalk, ignoring his presence entirely.
His footsteps thud on the sidewalk behind me, trailing close. We pass a few boutiques, trinket shops, and a couple of cafes; tourist traps meant to draw people in from Portland and Augusta, sometimes even Quebec. Folks with too much money and idle hands, itching for something to do.
That’s what my father was, decades ago, before he came in from Stonemore to settle down here. Just the heir to an old mining fortune, with a degree in public policy and a penchant for depravity. Underage girls, those whose daddies would do anything for association with a Harrison.
I don’t know what pushed my father to become one of those men, forcing me to do his networking and clean up messes I had no business even knowing about. But it’s the fuel to my internal fire—my need for revenge.
Elia keeps pace just behind me, a shadow I’m not in the mood for. “You know, you could throw your influence around town and ask the mayor to fix some of these sidewalks,” I grumble.
“It’s not my job to look after the city.” Catching up to my side, he falls into step with me, long legs dwarfing mine. “And anyway, I could say the same regarding your father, the actual bureaucrat. Giving his hometown a makeover seems like just the kind of publicity that could launch his campaign into the stratosphere.”
I snort. Fat chance of there even being a campaign, if I have my way. “Maybe you should mention that at the upcoming fundraiser.”
“Maybe we can bring it up together?”
I freeze mid-step, whirling to face him. He mimics my stance, eyes unreadable through his dark lenses. “I’m not going to that.”
“Caroline.” He inches closer, mouth turning down at the corners. His ridiculously plush, kissable mouth. My thighs tense of their own accord as he cups my jaw in his rough palm. “If you think I’m letting you out of my sight after the other day, you can think again.”
Jerking away does me little good; he steps in again, barring my body against the storefront we’ve stopped in front of, gripping the other side of my face in his free hand. He cradles it like precious cargo, and I try to ignore the fluttering in my stomach, the way moisture slickens between my legs.
I don’t want to mean anything to this man.
And yet, I want to mean everything.
“You can’t possibly be with me every second of every day. Besides, what happened to barely married?”
“You’re the one that assigned us that title. I’m tired of using it.” His warm, minty breath washes over me, devoid of any scent of alcohol for the first time since I’ve known him. “And it never meant I’d allow you to fuck men behind my back, especially one of my own. You still belong to me.”
Defiance bubbles within me. “Does that mean you stopped sleeping with strippers?”
His jaw ticks. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. You’re just surprised I know about it. Siena, is it? Does she have bigger tits than me? Her mouth sharper, hair brighter?” I lean forward, closing the distance between our chests. His heaves at the contact, nostrils dancing. “Pussy tighter?”
I can feel the resistance thinning, can sense the moment the band bundling his control starts to snap. His hands slide down my jaw, one slipping over my shoulder and skidding along my spine, the other locking around my throat, barely robbing me of air.
Just the way I like it.
The way that makes me forget anyone else ever hurt me.
“There’s no pussy tighter than yours, mio amore. No mouth that gets my cock harder than the one attached to your beautiful little body.” He bends his head, teeth nipping at my earlobe.
My pulse skyrockets and my heart thrashes against my ribcage. We’re standing in the middle of downtown, engaged in a seemingly passionate embrace, not a care as to who might see.
Which, I suppose, for a still-newlywed couple, public displays of affection might be expected. But no one else knows the truth, that our coupling is a war, a fight for power—one that can only end in bloodshed.
“You should be careful what secrets you reveal to me, carina,” Elia whispers into my ear, lips grazing my skin. “Every kernel of information you give that isn’t public knowledge puts your little lover in danger. I’d hate to have to murder your cousin.”
I swallow over the knot in my throat, refusing to acknowledge that Luca’s not my lover. He didn’t deny Siena, so why should I give him any satisfaction? “If you kill him, I won’t forgive you.”
“Baby.” Straightening to his full height, he grips around my waist and pulls my pelvis into him, the length of his erection pressing into my stomach, making me dizzy with desire. It’s hard to focus on his words. “I don’t need your forgiveness. Don’t want it. All I want is your goddamn surrender.”
My body curls into his, my fingers splaying themselves on the hard plane of his chest. I give him my most saccharine smile, the one I reserve for times of desperation. “You won’t get it.”
His lips spread, revealing his straight teeth, blinding against the sun. “Oh, we’ll see about that.”
The hand on my throat loops around my waist, linking with the other just above the curve of my ass. Without warning, he dips, pressing his shoulder into my stomach and flinging me over it. I squeal as he walks the way we just came, trying to get a grip on the skirt of my dress to maintain a shred of modesty considering the crowd we’ve suddenly amassed.
“Oh, my God, you’re an asshole.” I smack at his back, unwilling to acknowledge the tight muscles working there.
“Speaking of assholes, yours is probably showing, so I suggest you stop fighting.”
“I hate you.” I mumble the words into his back, so softly, I almost don’t even hear them myself.
But I certainly hear his response. “You just wish you did.”
Mortification flushes my skin, and when he sets me down, I can tell he isn’t expecting continued retaliation.
I get it. I’m not much of a fighter; for the last decade, I’ve laid down and taken every beating, all the abuse, as it was given. No contest—to keep my sister safe, to keep our family, however secretly broken, intact.
A sad, delusional form of self-preservation I’m no longer leaning into.
So, instead of letting Elia shove me into the car for the second time in our short marriage when his arms snake around me and begin to lift, I channel each lesson of defense Luca taught me last year and throw my body weight into him.
My elbow connects with the side of his jaw at the same time my knee collides with his groin, eliciting a satisfying grunt from his mouth. My joints throb, agony spreading like an oil spill, but I carry through, ensuring the hits have as much power behind them as possible.
His sunglasses fall to the ground, breaking on impact. He doubles over, nearly taking a knee, a mixture of shock and utter rage lighting his features. I don’t stop to consider the way his pupils seem to dilate ten times their normal size, or for Benito—who I just know is behind the wheel of the SUV—to come out and grab me.
Instead, I whirl on my heel and take off, my feet pounding along the sidewalk to the rapid beat of my heart.
There are no stolen glances over my shoulder. No pause to consider that I’ve just assaulted my husband, a very dangerous and powerful criminal.
I just run.
And I don’t stop until I’m sure he’s not coming after me.
A CURSE RIPS FROM my throat as Siena drops the ice pack into my lap, sending pain splintering through my groin. I hiss through my teeth and clutch the arms on my chair, squeezing my eyes shut.
Part of me knows she’s acting out because of how I treated her the last time we sat in my office, but she was the only one available when I limped inside. A smarter man wouldn’t let yet another woman scorned anywhere near him, but this day only proves how stupid I truly am.
“Can you fucking watch where you put that?”
She lifts one shoulder, clad in one of the red, silke
n robes we keep on-hand for Crimson’s dancers, moving to adjust the gauze strapped to my chin. “That bitch really got you good, huh?”
“Don’t fucking call her that.” I glare at her from narrowed lids as she dabs at the coagulated blood decorating my lip. “And you don’t have to sound so damn smug.”
The harsh overhead light enhances the freckles on her angular face as a soft grin spreads. “Sorry. It’s just not often someone puts you in your place.”
“She didn’t put me in my place.”
“The bruise on your jaw begs to differ.” She cocks an eyebrow, turning to toss the damp paper towel in her hand into the wastebasket beside us.
“I don’t need a reminder, Siena.” Especially when my pride’s just been wounded.
After Caroline cold-clocked me and left me writhing on the sidewalk, afraid of my ability to produce children in the future, a few people from the Gazette trickled out of a cafe and snapped pictures.
Benny helped me inside the SUV and destroyed as many cameras as he could. But the foreboding sense of dread that someone still has photos settled in my stomach hours ago.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself the dread is about. I don’t want to connect it to the fact that I don’t know where Caroline disappeared to; she ditched her phone at the house, and I’ve yet to bug any of her underwear.
I know she has that list memorized; I just haven’t figured out what the hell she’s doing with it.
But I don’t care. She can get herself butchered, for all the shits I give. Kieran’s been quiet lately, but I’m sure he’d be willing.
The fire in my balls agrees, even if the pinch in my heart says otherwise.
“I just can’t believe she’s still alive.” Siena wipes her hands off with an alcohol pad, and I reach down to move the ice pack over an inch. “Imagine if any of your men pulled this stunt.”
“My men are trained to kill, not wound. If they did something like this, I wouldn’t expect to live to tell the tale.”
“So, you’re letting her off the hook because she’s a dainty little girl?”
Sweet Surrender: A Dark Mafia Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (King's Trace Antiheroes Book 1) Page 14