Page 86 of Inconvenient Marriage
With the same rage flooding through me as the night I attacked that Used, all I want to do is hurt Eric. Because itisEric, I want to hurt him badly. Spinning around, I dash over to the dresser.
The pocket knife that Sebastien gave me is in the place of honor on top of it. Without even thinking twice, I grab it. My hands are shaky. I don’t drop it, though it takes more effort than it should to flip it open. But I do. I fucking do. I get the knife open just in time for Eric to grab my arm, whirling me around to face him.
His icy blue eyes are as murderous as I feel. “You worthless little?—”
I stab him. In his neck. In his throat. In his cheek. I keep shoving the blade into whatever part of him I can find as he howls, trying to cover the stab wounds as I make them. Blood spurts hot across my hand. I ignore it. I ignorehim. I just keep stabbing with Sebastien’s knife, and when Eric drops to the floor, I climb on top of him and jab the knife over and over again into his chest.
Screaming, sobbing, shaking… I don’t stop until he stops fighting back.
Until he stops moving.
Until the howls in my head go silent.
Until everything inside me finally breaks...
Finally, I drop the knife. My knees give out at last, and I collapse next to Eric’s corpse, curling up into the fetal position, sobbing so hard my ribs ache. The tears don’t last. The gasps replace them until all that’s left is my pitiful cries as I stay on the floor.
And that’s when I hear my husband’s voice calling my name, and I can’t even bring myself to answer him.
TWENTY-SIX
I LOVE YOU
SEBASTIEN
Iknew something was wrong the second I pulled into the driveway.
Dallas was crashing out. The pressure to find the perfect Offering was getting to him. Adrian has been doing background checks on a few who might suit him, but Dallas has a reason why he can’t marry each one. He refuses to step down as King, either, which I get. To do that would mean that his old man was right. That Dallas wasn’t cut out to lead the Order. He’ll Claim an Offering at random before he ever lets Jack Collins into his head like that.
The problem is his mom. Therese Collins. After losing Lucy the way he did, he’s convinced that anyone who is tied to him will suffer their fates. Even if it’s just a marriage in name only—like mine was supposed to be before I set Annaliese straight—it doesn’t matter. Dallas kills in the name of the Order, but he refuses to be responsible for another woman losing her life… no matter how she does… because she got involved with him.
His mother was murdered by his father so that the old King could have his fun with the Used without allowing Reese Collinsto do the same. Lucy… she’s lost to him, something the three of us know. Because Adrian, Connor, and I have now settled down, finding the woman that’s perfect for us, we understand that Dallas had his and lost her.
But the old guard keep pushing, and August is approaching. Dallas just has to be married by his thirtieth birthday; unlike the other members, he doesn’t have to take part of the Claiming ceremony in August mainly because, as King, he’s the one presiding over it. Still. We’ve already come so far, made so many good changes with Dallas in charge. Plus, I don’t want to be King. If I wasn’t married, I wouldn’t have to worry about my name being thrown into the ring for succession. However, I am, so I have a vested interest in keeping Dallas in the top office besides him being one of my best bros.
So when he called a meeting of his inner circle—with me, Adrian, and Connor—I knew I had to go. I offered to bring my wife to Adrian’s house so that she could spend time with Haven and Loni, but I wasn’t surprised when she declined. I’d just fucked her brains out when Dallas’s message came through, and as hard as it was to leave my wife behind when she looked like she was ready for round two before we ate dinner, I went.
She should’ve been fine. I warned her to lock the door because I’d be gone longer than I thought, and she seems to think that danger is for other people. Sometimes her naiveté is charming; at others, I want to roll her up in bubble wrap to keep her safe.
But then I pulled up into the drive, parking my bike next to a silver BMW that didn’t belong. Someone had left the car behind Annaliese’s coupe. While my Porsche is in the attached garage, my wife prefers to leave her car out in the driveway. I never argued. If it made her happy, then it made her happy, and I got into the habit of leaving my bike next to her car.
That’s Annaliese’s. Whose is that?
I know. I’m a goddamn mechanic. I know exactly how much a car like that costs, and it’s out of the Crawford’s comfortable middle-class budget. Besides, Miranda is using a beater before she gets her license so it’s definitely not Annaliese’s sister. It’s not my brother or my parents.
But someoneishere, and I think I know—and if I’m right? Tossing my helmet to the asphalt to get rid of some extra weight, I hop off my bike and book it toward the front door.
I grab the knob. Jerk it. Shove the door open.
Because it’s unlocked. Annaliese texted me back an hour ago, telling me that she would lock it, but there’s a car out front and the door isn’t locked.
I storm into the house. “Annaliese?”
No answer. Jogging now, I check every room on the ground floor. The television is on. Annaliese’s blanket is on the couch, her phone next to it. At one point tonight, she was curled up, watching TV, but she’s not now.
Where is she?
I head to the stairs. Taking them two at a time, I burst out into the hall before marching into the bedroom.
