Unspoken

by Lauren Hawkeye

  Chase

  Entice: To attract or tempt by offering pleasure or advantage. Origin: Middle English, possibly from set on fire.

  I looked in the mirror one last time. What the hell was I doing? What deranged lunatic had taken control of my body and said yes to that woman’s proposition? The worst part was I couldn’t even blame my yes on alcohol.

  It wasn’t as if Mil, the newest mafia boss for the De Lange family had drugged me. Hell, I wish. Instead, she’d simply asked me a question, albeit a stupid question.

  But I’d actually answered her in the affirmative. Stupid mistake number one, followed by number two, which was obviously me keeping my word.

  Which meant only one thing.

  My broken heart had caused me to lose my mind.

  “You ready?” Nixon knocked on the door and let himself in. He was dressed in a nice black Armani suit, looking every inch the mafia boss of the Abandonato family, while I just looked petrified and pissed. My reflection in the mirror was pale. Green eyes stared back at me accusingly, as if to say, you’re the one who got us into this mess. Yeah, thanks. Got it. Fully aware of my many sins. Just add to the naughty list.

  You’d think after all the hell Nixon and I had gone through these last few weeks, he would be the last person I wanted at my wedding. But he was family — my best friend. Even though he was with Trace, the love of my life. Shit, that was some messed-up love triangle. He’d gone so far as to fake his own death all in the name of saving our family and now… now, it seemed, was time for my sacrifice, my death. Pretty sure Mil would castrate me if she knew I was comparing marrying her to getting shot at.

  “Shit, no.” I pulled a flask out of my pocket and took a shaky swig. “What the hell was I thinking? What’s wrong with me?” The one time I should have said no in my life and I’d said yes. I’d even shrugged and then laughed like it wasn’t a big freaking deal!

  Nixon shrugged, the ass, and then took a swig from my flask. “How am I to know the mind of my best friend, hmm? I thought you were joking.”

  “Does this look like a joke?” I jerked at my tie and let out a long string of curses that should have gotten me kicked out of the church.

  “You can always back out,” Nixon suggested, leaning against the door. The only thing he needed was a giant cigar sticking out of his cocky mouth and the look would be complete. His lip ring looked completely out of place with the black and white tux. Tattoos peeked out from under his collared shirt in a way that said F-off to anyone who stole a glance in his direction.

  “And get stabbed in my sleep? Or worse yet? Feel like shit because I’m the only thing keeping Mil from marching down to a money lender — or even another family — and asking a favor.”

  Nixon sighed. “You don’t have to sacrifice your own happiness just to keep the peace.”

  The air was thick with tension as we both fell silent. Because we both knew the ugly truth. The one time I had decided not to sacrifice my own happiness, I had made a gargantuan error, a lapse in judgment. I had allowed Trace, the love of my life, to slip through my fingers and land firmly within Nixon’s grasp. Shit, I was still holding onto the idea that it had all been within my control. My fault. It was my fault.

  “Nah, man.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll finally choose someone else over me. Besides, she only needs protection and money for a year. I can do anything for a year.” Inebriated, that is.

  At that exact moment Mil came storming into the room, color high. She wore a short white cocktail dress and threw her bouquet at my face. “You’re late, jackass.”

  I caught the bouquet with a grimace and gently set it on the table next to me, while Mil’s eyes sent a seething glare from me to Nixon and back to me. I itched to run in the opposite direction, those eyes, Mil’s eyes, they saw too much, she knew too much.

  Nixon choked out, “Famous last words.”

  I was doing the right thing? Wasn’t I?

  Not how I pictured my life going.

  It was always Trace I’d seen at the end of the aisle — not a sworn enemy — and not the first girl I’d slept with in my entire life. Not my dead best friend’s stepsister.

  Not the future I had planned.

  Not at all.

  Hell.

  I had to hand it to her though, she looked really pretty, the type of pretty that guys like to stare at but are afraid to touch. She was scary pretty, terrifyingly so.

  Her pitch-black hair was curled in loose waves around her face, her naturally tan skin brought out her bright blue eyes, and her sharp cheekbones were decorated with something pink and shimmery.

  So maybe looking at her wouldn’t be that awful.

  But talking to her was a completely different issue. I’d probably end up chopping off my own ears by the time the marriage was annulled. Either that or begging Nixon to shoot me, not that it would be the first time I’d stared down the barrel of a gun with him smiling on the other end.

  “Well?” I slowly held out my arm. “I hate to keep my future bride waiting.”

  Mil rolled her eyes and took my arm.

  “Did you just hiss?”

  “Depends.” Her bright blue eyes met mine. “Did you just call me your future bride?”

  “Um, yeah?” What else was I supposed to call her? Satan?

  “Then I hissed,” she said, nodding. “It’s a business arrangement, Sleeping Beauty.”

  “Am I ever going to live that down?”

  “Getting drunk and passing out on your own bed just because a girl rejected you? Probably not. Think of me as the yin to your yang, the ointment to your cut, the—”

  “I think I get the picture.” I held up my hand. “Let’s just get this over with.”

  Mil gripped my arm. “Ready for the honeymoon, eh?” She slowly licked her lips and winked.

  Holy hell, I was going to end up on Dateline. I was going to end up strangling my bride — in bed, and not Fifty Shades-style.

  Shit.

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