Page 31 of Wicked Spite
“Alright, Minister Baby Blackwood,” I say with a grin, “time to make this shit official.”
Ramsey shoots me a look that’s equal parts annoyance and amusement. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?” he mutters as he clears his throat, preparing for the most unorthodox wedding ceremony known to man.
“It should have been my middle name instead of bitch ass Robert, but here we are, cuz,” I reply with a wink. “Now get on with it.”
“Fine.” Ramsey takes a deep breath before beginning in an exaggerated, overly dramatic voice. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the unholy union of Penn the Psycho, and Reagan the Unconscious.”
I roll my eyes at his snark, but let him continue. “Do you, Penn, take Reagan to be your lawfully wedded wife, eventhough she’s passed the fuck out and has no idea what’s happening?”
“Damn right I do,” I respond without hesitation, the anticipation building inside me like a tightly coiled spring.
“Great,” Ramsey deadpans. “And do you, Reagan…oh, wait, never mind. You can’t answer because you’re comatose.” Despite the mockery in his tone, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction at the thought of claiming her as mine.
“By the power vested in me by absolutely fucking nobody,” Ramsey continues, “I now pronounce you psycho and wife. You may now kiss your bride, or whatever.”
“About fucking time,” I grumble, leaning down to press a possessive kiss against the top of Reagan’s veil. My heart races at the contact, knowing that this fucked up little plan of mine is now sealed. I slide the black and titanium wedding band onto her finger, pushing it snugly into place.
“Congratulations, you sick bastard,” Ramsey smirks before turning to leave.
“Thanks, Rams,” I call after him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Make sure that marriage certificate gets filed correctly, hmm?”
“You act like I’m a fucking amateur,” he adds with an eye roll.
With a final shake of his head, my cousin departs, leaving me alone with my new bride. I scoop Reagan up in my arms, her body limp and vulnerable against me. It sends a shiver down my spine as I carry her to the bedroom, laying her down on the black silk sheets that seem to swallow her whole.
The syringe on my nightstand gleams in the dim light, and I waste no time in grabbing it. Gently moving Reagan’s head to the side, I insert the needle into the back of her neck, injecting a small tracker beneath her skin. It’s a necessaryprecaution, I tell myself—one that will ensure she remains by my side, willingly or not.
As the reality of the situation sinks in, my chest swells with a twisted sense of pride. She’s mine now, bound to me in ways I never thought would happen.
My fucking wife.
The words echo in my head like a mantra, filling me with a possessive satisfaction that borders on madness. I sit beside her, running a finger along the curve of her jaw, memorizing every detail of her face. The black lace veil, now slightly askew, frames her like a halo.
I lean back, my eyes never leaving her still form. I want to see her awake, to witness the fire in her eyes when she realizes what I’ve done. Part of me craves the challenge she’ll surely present. It’s almost disappointing how peaceful she looks lying there.
I rise, feeling an itch under my skin, too keyed up to even consider sleep. I strip out of my clothes, tossing them aside carelessly, then pull on a plain black t-shirt and some sweatpants. I slip my feet into my fuzzy bat slippers before grabbing my controller from the TV stand.
Walking back to the bed I sit with my back against the headboard next to my sleeping bride. Damn should have hired a wedding photographer to capture our first date. I laugh before turning my attention back to the video game intro credits.
As I play the game, slashing and stealing my way through the various levels, I can’t help but to think that marriage ain’t so fucking bad. I mean, with the right fucking person, it’s almost…nice. I think that’s the word.
But then again, I don’t know shit, considering the way I grew up, and the complicated relationship I have with thepeople who birthed me. I mean I’m not exactly forthcoming about the fact that I killed my own mother five years ago.
Terrible thing trying to take advantage of children. Sometimes they go fucking feral and turn on you. Josephine Deveraux learned that the hard way.
A smile splits my face as I think about how I took the trash out with her. Pedophiles have no fucking business being alive and it was no love lost between her and I.
Glancing down at my left hand where my own matching wedding band rests, I can’t help but wonder how the fuck this is all going to play out.
Chapter 12
Reagan
Sunlight creeps through my lidded eyes, teasing at the edges of my consciousness. Reluctant to wake, I slowly blink away the haze of sleep and sit up. Taking in my surroundings, confusion tightens its grip. The room is unfamiliar, bathed in a morning light that only serves to highlight its sterility and impersonality. Tasteful decorations and hints of luxury do little to warm the atmosphere.
A low chuckle draws my gaze to the wall where Penn fucking Blackwood leans, a smirk playing on his lips as he observes my bewilderment. “Good morning, hellfire,” he drawls, clearly enjoying my disorientation.
“Where the hell am I?” I snap, trying to hide my unease behind a tough exterior.
