by Elena Monroe
I hope she was ready to damn her soul right along with mine because once we sign on the dotted line there is no going back.
She’d be Clave… and mine. Forever.
Leaning against the wall, the elevator was dark enough to already start whispering to my demons. Stirring awake, I caught her reflection in the glossy surface huffing. She was begging for my attention, my words, and my dick all at once and I couldn’t decide which was going to be the first to respond.
“Problem, Princess?” I didn’t attempt to face her while I watched the numbers climb with each floor we passed.
Another sigh later, she finally let the words slip off her tongue, “You haven’t said one word to me tonight.”
“Word,” I offered her with a quirked smirk knowing that I gave her three in the demand for one.
I watched her untie her rain jacket, letting it fall open to show off the nude-colored dress that displayed every delicate curve of her body. If you weren’t looking hard enough, you’d miss them.
That was her response to me being an asshole—fight fire with fire.
Only her version of fire was the way I wanted to burn.
The elevator doors opened, and she breezed by me with her long dark hair flowing behind her, forcing me to watch her ass leave when she casually said, “Don’t be an asshole.”
“When did the Princess get teeth? Can we keep her around?”
Following her out, I saw our parents almost immediately, waiting for us to arrive with what looked like bated breath. There was a nervous kind of energy in the air that made it feel like if there were enough complaints this wouldn’t happen.
They’d be wrong.
That nervous energy was only going to make everyone else uncomfortable. Not me.
When I walk into rooms, people get quiet, and I fuel the rumors with my detachment and repellant personality.
I want people to run away.
I want to be feared.
I only want one person to stay, and I ensured that she would with my endless bank account and the stupid contract in my hand.
My parents, the flashy and imprudent, stood there with grins on their faces like I was fulfilling some kind of fucking prophecy. I mean, I was following the rules, but I didn’t give a damn about the rules.
This wasn’t famine; it was abundance.
Not bothering to greet her mom and stepdad, I headed for the conference room. All contracts were supposed to be signed there, but my fellow horsemen had all decided to break this rule and just about every other one that are supposed to protect us.
“Let's get this over with.” Pushing open the heavy glass door, I glanced over the shiny lights of LA that looked even brighter tonight. Throwing down the contracts, hers and mine, I took the seat at the head of the table where I belonged.
No one was more built for the torment of this job like me.
Her parents timidly took a side of the table, but only after her stepdad deemed it so by sitting down and tossing his jacket to her mom.
He was a typical kind of controlling douchebag you could find on every corner of LA. I wasn’t dissing it, hell, I’m a douchebag too, but I also preferred to not have it reflected back to me.
My dad’s hand squeezed my shoulder as he walked behind me and took the further seats, only he pulled out my mom’s chair and poured her water first.
My dad was crude, a showoff, enjoyed the finer things in life, and believed everything was for sale. Even my mom’s love, who was half his age and had an affinity for Versace.
It was hard to clearly distinguish the good and evil among everyone in the room; it was up for debate.
Everyone but me, that is.
My mom, Cecelia, was smiling so much I didn’t recognize her as she spoke to the woman who was supposed to be Eve’s mom, but the plastic surgery and refinement to her appearance wasn’t something I remembered. She was frail like Eve, eyes not as bright, and her outgoing sensibility that made being a mom second seemed like a distant memory.
This imposter was something else entirely.
What the fuck is in the water in Denmark?
When Eve’s mom wasn’t given permission to speak, she turned all her focus on Eve. With a sympathetic smile, she reached for her hand across the table, showing something in her eyes that looked a lot like guilt.
Eve was more excited to see my mom than to be reunited with her own. My mom was practically hers too growing up, there for her through every moment, even when she got her first period.
Ignoring her whiplash of emotions, I opened the folder with our contracts. Slicing right through the small talk that hit a brick wall, Eve’s mom simply smiled pretty. It made it clear that whatever ate away at the real Eve had also sunk its fangs into her mom.
“Let’s begin. I assume everyone has a copy of the contract in question,” my voice was dull and devoid of any real excitement. I only use the emotions that serve me, and that one? Waste of time.
Eve sat to my right, in the seat before her parents, as I glanced over her contract that was completely unmarked. She had no issues with anything that was going to guide our marriage and that pissed me off more than her hard nipples in that tight fucking dress that barely covered the tops of her thighs.
“Line five, second paragraph, point three—strike stock.” I paused, waiting for the lawyer my dad brought to respond while he tried to stay neutral between our two parties.
Eve’s sad excuse for parents had to accept the complaint before I could move on. If they hated me before then I’m sure they hated me more right now. My lips flattened into a line as I waited impatiently for them to agree to strike calling their daughter stock.
I was already annoyed with having to take turns when I decided to pick up the pace and make them chase after me the way I did when flexing my Clave muscles. Business was a language I spoke fluently, and I expected anyone who wanted to do business with me to have the same skill set.
Stealing a glance to my right, I watched Eve examine everyone slowly, looking for clues as to why I’m so awful in my parent’s unwrinkled faces. She wasn’t even interested in the conversation or complaints. She was so hyper focused on making me hers and solving the mystery of me rather than the fact that she was being treated like a handbag I was purchasing.
“Strike: monthly check-ins, blood oath, and split of wealth. Denmark is off the table, heir in one year is also off the table, the other bullshit titles where her birth name should be need to be removed, and anything that hinders my privacy.” Sitting back, I waited for a reaction like I was dehydrated, and their scowls were the only kind of solution for my cottonmouth.
My father sat up with a sheer look of panic when he spat out, “The blood oath is required, Bowen. It can’t be stricken from the contract.”
Twisting my gaze in his direction, I arrogantly responded, “I have an innovative idea for that. A tattoo. Mix the blood with the red ink, problem solved.”
Eve’s cheeks flushed a warm pink, and her eyes were a kind of blue that seemed crystalized. She was practically swooning at the idea of me marking her.
Too bad it was going to be the only time I marked her, as far as I was concerned.
Her excited voice spoke at the exact moment her mother looked outraged, “Is that allowed? Can it be a tat-” Her words were cut off when her stepdad, King of Denmark, grasped her mom’s hand to take control of the emotions running rampant on his side of the table. “No one is marking her skin like that. She’s pure and innocent. It wasn’t an easy road keeping her desirable.”
My fists balled up under the table from anger at his words. I wanted to kill him right there, and I could already see my plan unfolding in my mind of how easy it would be.
Unlike Khaos, my hands weren’t even close to clean. I wasn’t a stranger to death, hell, I felt like death more than Death himself. I took pleasure in taking the lives I did and I wasn’t ever remorseful.
Eve’s stepdad would just be another notch on my proverbial bedpost. Little demons I create
out of dead men who sit on my conscience and await my arrival to hell.
Stretching across the table, my dad’s hand tried to reach me in order to hold me back from the vile spew he knew was coming—unsuccessfully, no doubt. Staring right into the eyes of her deranged King, I made sure my voice was calm, “Desirable? Pure and innocent? Are you so sure I didn’t fuck her halo crooked already?”
None of it was true, but if my cold exterior could convince him that she was no longer an angel then he’d be forced to meet my demands.
The King of Denmark was, dare I say it, biting his brutal tongue when I challenged him to question me. He may be royal somewhere else, but this was my town, my cult, my upper hand that just slapped him in the face. He asked for seconds when his mouth fell open, “Do you think I’m stupid? You're bound by your rules as much as I am.”
Rules. Ironic rules. Overbearing rules.
Rules that claim purity until the vows are exchanged.
Rules that bind us to chosen wives.
Rules that everyone has broken, except me.
Standing up, I maneuvered myself behind Eve’s chair, clasping my hand gently around her throat to hold her wild ideas of fucking me captive as I forced her head back. Bending down, I made her think I was going to kiss her before moving her head to the side at the last second. My lips collided with the delicate skin of her neck while I kept my eyes on his.
Her skin was warm, and I could finally breathe in her scent up close. The strong aroma of cashmere, old books, and a spice of arousal that had my balls in a vice.
I wanted her but not in the same ways. I wanted her to fill parts of me that have been vacant since she left. She just wanted me to fill her—period.
My hand grazed down her neck lazily when her fingers laced with mine trying to keep me close. Watching her legs rub together and her mouth split wide open, I knew she was awaiting more.
I wanted to whisper that I was protecting her now instead of her protecting me.
“You were saying? Something about rules… I’m making some new ones. Accept the changes to the contract, or good luck finding someone who wants my sloppy seconds.” Vicious undertones didn’t cover it, and I realized that I couldn’t take my hand back now without letting the whole room see just how much I was lying.
Forced to stay behind Eve with my fingers still woven with hers, I barked at the room, “Get the fuck out.”
Her mom looked terrified; I’m sure no one spoke to the King and Queen that way in Denmark.
Terrified or not, she still got up to leave the room with no push back while my parents stayed in their seats, waiting for the room to clear.
Collecting my marked-up contract, my mother spoke, “I’m proud of you, Bowen.” Her hand brushed over my shoulder as her attention focused on the lawyer at the other end of the table, writing down whatever he needed to.
Feeling the sheer force of her eyes to leave, he stood up, fumbling to gather his things before offering a demure, “I’ll have new contracts sent over tomorrow.”
The conference room emptied, and as soon as it did, I ripped my hand from her grasp. My chair had been pushed out crooked and my jacket was barely hanging off the back, bringing my attention to the ring box still waiting in its pocket.
Turning back to Eve, her ass was now planted on the edge of the underused conference table with her palms resting on the surface between her legs. Holding eye contact with me, she slowly spread her legs even further, making me swallow the lump in my throat.
Her dress was pushed up from her legs being so far apart and I could see a small patch of fabric covering her pussy even with her arms in the way.
I’m a prude, but I’m still a guy who can catalog this for later.
“What are you doing?” I knew exactly what she was doing. Somehow asking was the only thing that came to mind.
Removing her hands from their spot between her legs, she leaned back, giving me a perfect view, but I forced my eyes to stay with hers. “That was impressive…”
Taking a big step closer to the corner of the table where she was perched, I caught her chin with my thumb, forcing her face up until every ounce of sexiness drained from the moment. “You want to thank me? Lose the Pretty Princess act. You aren’t fooling me.” Her eyebrows dipped, and her eyes began to gloss over when I set the ring box down between her legs without her noticing.
The diamond I spent a year trying to find, the vivid blue teardrop diamond that matched her eyes perfectly, was going to have to replace my dick.
And whatever other hopes she had in those baby blues.
EVE
Bowen had defended my honor and didn’t look repulsed when he laid a perfect kiss on my neck that sent chills down my legs.
It didn’t matter if he didn’t want the credit; he got it.
“What is that supposed to mean?” I shouted after him when he flicked the conference room lights off and yanked the door open.
It wasn’t an act; it was trauma and scars making me different.
I had been internally punishing myself for calling him an asshole—the old Eve wouldn’t even think twice. He had deserved it, but now I would deserve my own punishment of purging later.
It was beyond my control now.
It was a part of me as much as he was.
Bowen didn’t respond, only leaving a box between my legs that I didn’t notice until I pushed my thighs back together.
Picking up the velvet, navy blue heart-shaped box, I cracked it open, and my jaw dropped in surprise. It was the most beautiful diamond I had ever seen on a simple platinum setting, letting the diamond shine.
My lip rustled under my teeth as I pushed the ring onto my ring finger and stared down at the frosty colored, yet vivid, blue diamond.
“Eve, let's go,” Bowen’s voice bellowed, cutting off my silent excitement.
Pushing myself off the table, I tucked the ring box in my coat pocket still looking to catch a glimpse of the diamond glimmering against the dim lights.
Silently in the elevator, I stood next to the doors for an easy getaway for when they opened to the garage. “You can’t be both people either. You can’t be the guy who defends me and gives me a ring like this. And be the guy who despises me.”
I’m sure my mind would be spinning if I let myself think things over. I choose to focus on Bowen and ignore the rest; all of that would be in our past once we were married.
I could see his reflection, leaning against the railing, still cavalier. He made no moves to respond when it came to him. He only wanted to interrogate me.
“Fine. We’ll both have a double personality,” I quipped, frustrated this elevator was taking too long.
Once the doors opened, I rushed them, but a firm grip on my wrist yanked me back until the cold metal of the door sunk into my spine. His body was so close, I could feel my senses kickstart and the heat in panties reignite when his warm breath caressed my skin.
My eyes danced around his lips as he spoke, “What exactly happened in Denmark, Eve? Why aren’t you concerned that your own mother called you stock? They would’ve let anyone with a checkbook have you.”
All the heat he stirred up in me faltered when his words started to make sense.
Taking a big swallow, I filtered through all the ways I could lie to him by explaining Denmark wrapped up in a pretty bow—but it wasn’t that easy.
Denmark was too complicated.
Denmark was where killing personalities, breaking souls, and all hope is lost.
Denmark was a nightmare that had ended now that I will become his.
“It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters as long as we get to be together.”
“Until reality sets in. Nothing is ever that easy, Princess.” His body gave mine more space and the solitude felt wrong as he left the elevator.
I didn’t bother to keep up with his long strides. Space was feeling more normal than chasing after him at this point.
My heels stomped the concrete with each step until my fingers
grabbed the door handle. Falling down into his lowered, clearly expensive car, I made sure my gaze stayed out the window.
He didn’t deserve the clarity of my baby blues right now.
He can take a long look at the ring instead. The one he clearly picked to match my eyes.
The familiarity of a crack next to me made my eyes shift when I stole a side glance at Bowen tossing back two nips at once. The labels back to back with his mouth open, so willing to catch the buzz, before tossing the empties behind him.
“Seriously? You’re driving.”
“And? I’m a functioning alcoholic. That’s practically water,” his voice was callous as he pushed the button that made the engine roar to life.
“Wouldn’t know. I don’t pretend to know this version of you. You act like you know me after all these years when you don’t.” Sitting back into the leather, I crossed my arms, already annoyed that he never lets me bask in the good moments for long.
Pulling out of the garage, the speed pushed me back against the seat even more when his voice reigned in the adrenaline.
“Oh, I know you better than you want to admit, Princess. I know that it doesn’t matter if I’m behaved or cruel, you still get just as wet.”
Pushing my thighs together even more, I felt myself shutter at his realization that wasn’t helping. My body ached for him in ways that became painful years ago.
I tried to ignore the way my panties felt more uncomfortable and how his words practically licked my sensitive spots all on their own.
I needed to change the topic smoothly in the heavy silence to something that would make my body fall in rank. “So, I have to get a tattoo? Of what and where? Do you have tattoos?”
It was a glorious display of word vomit.
At least it wasn’t the kind that helped me maintain being frail the way they wanted in Denmark.
An exhale came before he responded, “Yes. You’ll see. And yes, but I’m not showing you…”
“You have tattoos?” I couldn’t stop my voice from sounding overwhelmingly excited as he sped down the highway. The streetlamps cascaded shadows over us as they blurred by, making us seem just as disjointed on the outside.