Page 118 of Brutal Collateral

Smart woman...

“I don’t care what the hell just happened.” I punch him in the face, my hand aching. “We’re not married.”

Griffin just laughs and grabs the license the clerk left. “We are. Sign it.”

“No!”

“I will hold you down.” He takes the pen and signs it.

“Forgery!” I yell.

“I’m signing my name.” He holds the pen toward me. “Now you sign it.”

I’m tempted to take it and stab him with it. In the end, I just say, “No,” and fold my arms.

“Sign it or Iwon’tlet you go. At all. You’ll be trapped with me forever.”

“Go to hell.” I will away the tears building in my stinging eyes.

“If I do, I’m sure I’ll see you there.” He grabs my wrist and signs my name squeezing my hand. “Now kiss me,wife.”

“I hate you.” I sniff.

Griffin goes still, his eyes following a tear that leaks from my right eye. I thought he’d scream in delight that he got to me.

No, his voice gets low.

“Your tears are no victory to me. I’m the one bleeding inside over you. My heart can’t take much more of this.” He grabs me. “Now fucking kiss me.”

Our lips smash together and it’s a brutal, feral kiss. His tongue explores my mouth, fighting for mine. For me to submit.

“No, stop!” I break down, and it’s Zeke who steers me gently away.

“Boss, we’re in public.”

Without saying anything, Griffin storms past us and hikes out onto the street.

I have no choice but to follow. Outside, I look up at the angry swirl of gray clouds. “I hear ya.”

We drive back to the townhouse in absolute silence. I’m married and my husband hates me. I hate him, too.

I sniff, shaking that away. Okay, I don’t hate him. And I hope he doesn’t hate me.

In front of the townhouse, Griffin pushes out of the car, then turns to hold his hand out to me, expecting me to walk next to him like we’ve done dozens of times since I moved in with him.

To fool people that this farce of a relationship is real. For appearances, I let him hold my hand. But inside the house, I break from his grasp.

“I can’t even look at you.” I jog into the living room and push open the glass door to the backyard.

Outside, fat raindrops soak through every inch of my clothes. This stupidgetup,as Griffin called it, caused this horrible mess. Caused me to get married in a fucking T-shirt and shorts with a damn gun digging into my ass crack.

“Help!” I scream, hoping neighbors hear me and send the cops.

Shit, that’s not a good idea. Griffin will take it out on my brothers, who honestly, I’m more afraid of.

The rain lashes sideways, the wind picking up. Chairs tumble over. Ishouldbe scared considering the dangerous microbursts that have been moving through this area, but I’mmad.

Walking across the lawn, my stomping kicks up the mud from the saturated lawn. My sneakers are now soaked, too, and my shirt is a transparent mess. I focus on the twelve-foot-high brick walls. One with branches from the neighbor’s tree is hanging down into our yard. Thinking I’m back in training, I stand as far away as I can and run to the wall to scale it. It takes a few tries, but I get a hold of a branch.

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