Page 48 of His Bride

I think I want to insert his head, freshly ripped from his shoulders, up his asshole.

Anger, hot and bubbling, surges. I don’t even care that he’s purposely trying to piss on my bonfire.

When the anger levels out, I have a sip, set the glass down, and look at him. “Do what you want. I really don’t care.”

If the fucker touches her…

He sighs. Very loudly. “Man, you’re a piece of fucking work. Just admit it.”

“If you’re referring to a very expensive, very coveted work of art, then yes.”

“More like a burned canvas.”

“Burned but still worth millions,” I retort and take another swig of my drink.

Isaia takes a seat across from me—his designated spot at the table. “Admit you fucked up, chased Giana off, and now you’re scratching at the door, whining pitifully.”

“I think you need to see the eye doctor because, brother, your eyesight is fucked up.”

He nods. “So you don’t give a shit?”

“I don’t give a shit.” I’d love to say I honestly don’t, but the part of me that doesn’t is small and pathetic. I’ll get over it. She’s just a girl…that sticks hard in my throat and when I swallow it feels like glass.

“All shit aside,” he says, leaning back, “I know you, Caelian. And you do give a shit. I’ve never seen you like this over any woman.”

“She made her choice. She chose to leave.”

“She chose to protect her brother rather than sit here in this house like a prisoner with a husband who only speaks to her when he’s drunk. Tough choice.” He rolls his eyes, and I resist the urge to throw my glass at him. “Maybe we should have helped.”

I snap the computer shut, leaning forward. “You and Nicoli were there when I told her father to fuck off. You didn’t say a word, which meant you were in agreement.”

“Still,” he says, then takes a quick sip of his drink, “maybe we should have taken time to think it through.”

“I don’t trust him, Isaia. He doesn’t give a fuck about his daughter.”

“You don’t give a fuck about his daughter, either, remember?”

I shoot him a dark look. “I’m not her father.”

“You’re her husband.”

“Not for much longer.” That’s another sore point.

“Let’s admit you care, you fucked up, and you’re trying to work out how to get her back, and we can move on to the business at hand.”

“But I’m not.”

“You’re a raging monster because she left you.”

“I thought I was a pitiful dog at the door?” Where the fuck is my lighter? I pat my pockets, but it isn’t there, and I shouldn’t be smoking in here, anyway, but who the fuck cares.

“You can be a tiresome cunt.”

I wave the unlit smoke at him. “Fuck you.” I flop down and toss the cigarette in disgust. “Giana made her choice. She left. I did my part and married her as instructed, but she refused to play ball. I wash my hands of her.”

“What’s her number?”

“Call her, and I’ll shoot you.”

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