Page 49 of Pretty Little Threats

Her nails bite into the back of my hand.

She’s vicious for a princess, but I’d expect nothing less of Joseph’s daughter. If any woman can handle being my wife, it’s her.

The bruise on her arm catches my attention, remindingme she’s not untouchable. Her dad, the fucking asshole, set Eric loose on her, knowing full well his reputation. That mark on her skin is a reminder that she’s fragile, and I hate it for more than one reason. Clenching my jaw, I force myself to look away and all but pull Rose toward the church. The looming spires of the building are like white claws against the night’s sky, and the subtle breeze scatters the leaves that have started to gather on the stairs, fall making itself known.

Rose stubbornly tugs on my hand. I glare at her. With a huff, she relents and struts alongside me.

The dress is so tight, it rides up her thick thighs. My cock throbs. Ever since she sat in my lap, her full ass rubbing all over me, I’ve been hard. She’s a fucking tease. And I hate to admit it, but this is the most I’ve ever wanted someone.

Maybe it’s the idea of taking something from Joseph that fuels the desire, but when Rose and I are trading jabs, pushing one another, her father is the furthest thing from my mind.

All I want is to see the woman who thinks she’s better than me writhing beneath me, moaning my name, taking my cock, begging for me to make her come. From the way her pussy drenched my fingers the other night, I bet she’s thinking the same thing.

And I know it pisses her off, and that only makes my smile widen. I like her anger as much as I like the way her body moves under my control.

“Do you have to look so smug?” she growls.

I didn’t know I was grinning, but as I glance at her, I realize my cheeks hurt from how hard I’m smiling. “Do you have to look so angry?”

She curls a lip. “Yes.”

“And why are you so mad?” I ask as I open the heavy bronze door and hold it for her.

“You’re kidding, right?” She strides past me and whirls around, heels clacking to a stop on the marble floor. The dim lighting illuminates her face, a soft yellow kiss on those perfect cheekbones. We forgot the veil in the car, but there’s no way I’m going back to get it after I had to drag her up the steps. Besides, my future wife is fucking beautiful, just as she is.

She waits for me to join her before hissing, “You. That’s why I’m mad.”

I shake my head. “I’m not the only reason you’re pissed.”

Pursing her lips, she crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t pretend like you know me.” Ah. So, the princess isn’t ready to face the truth of what her daddy did. That, or she’s choosing to bury those emotions.

I consider pushing her buttons, but the priest shifts near the pulpit and nervously wrings his hands. Rose’s annoyance forgotten, I bypass her and stride up to him, taking great pleasure in the way the man cowers. “Father.”

He swallows. “Dare.” And despite his fear, the priest can’t help himself. “You haven’t even gone through the full process. I can’t bless the marriage. This is a disgrace to the Catholic religion.”

I scoff. “As is stealing money from the church, so why don’t you save your blessings and do what you’ve been told?”

His face reddens. Father here has taken close to a half-million dollars from the church. His mistake was using Vista Bank—the same private bank the church uses, that also happens to be mine—to stow away his money. When it was brought to my attention, I wasn’t sure how I’d be ableto use the information to my benefit, but I’ve learned over the years that knowing people’s secrets comes in handy.

Speaking of.

Rose stomps as she comes to a stop beside me. The air around her practically shimmers with her irritation. Knowing she’s mad at me gives me a twisted sort of pleasure. Rose, the infamous unfeeling ice princess, reacts so viscerally to me. The father takes her in, his eyes lingering on the short cut of her dress. A possessive rage tears through me.

“Eyes up,” I snap.

Tearing his eyes away from Rose’s body, the man blanches and fidgets with his sleeves. “We need witnesses.”

As if on cue, the front doors open, and in stride Remy and Frank. The dim light glows on them, casting halos around the vicious mercenaries, as if they were sent here by god himself. Remy’s short, dark hair is slicked back, the beard along the line of his jaw is freshly trimmed. His suit strains against his bulk. It was hard to find a suit last minute that fit biceps as big as his, but he cleaned up well enough. His father, Frank, is an older, grayer version of him, built just as sturdily, and despite the wrinkles covering his face, he still packs one hell of a punch.

I can count on one hand the number of people I trust, outside of my sisters. Since Mace and Crue were busy, Remy and Frank are the only other people I trust not to judge me for what I’m about to do. As mercenaries, they know the worst of the world, and this marriage is child’s play in comparison.

“I should’ve known Remy was here, but Frank?” Rose asks, scrunching her face. “Don’t tell me you ordered a cake.” If only she knew what Frank really did, she wouldn’t be shooting that irritated glance in his direction.

“Your witnesses,” I tell the priest.

Frowning, he glances at Rose but quickly looks away. “Dearly beloved,” he begins.

I turn and grab Rose’s hands, and she grudgingly faces me. A weaker man would be scared of the violent gleam in her eyes. My chest swells with pride. For a moment last night, I was worried Eric had broken her, but it seems her hate for me burns stronger than the trauma of what almost transpired. Somehow, hatred is like poetry when it’s shimmering in those hazel irises.

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