Page 10 of Inconvenient Marriage
I only care about Miranda—and what I’m going to do next.
Before he can find another way to stop me, I walk out of the den, through the house, out the front door, and into the cold night. It’s the middle of March, frigid when the sun goes down, and my light sweater isn’t doing anything to fight off the chill.
That’s okay. The fury running through me now that I’ve made my escape is doing a bang-up job.
My hands are shaking as I start the car. I force them to still so that I can make the twenty-minute drive across town without causing an accident. Somehow I manage, and by the time I’m letting myself into my apartment, my angry tears have turned into helpless sobs.
I slide down the wood and press my fists against my mouth so no sound escapes. Last thing I need right now is one of my neighbors checking to make sure that I’m okay.
But I’m not. I’m totally not.
He’ll ruin Miranda.
He’ll ruin both of us.
Unless—
It’s a stupid plan. A reckless plan. One that someone like me—with my need to people please added to my Type-A personality and undeniable naiveté—would only think of if she was absolutely desperate.
Now that? That’s something Iam.
Hope. I cling to it as I force myself up and into my bathroom. After splashing some cold water on my face, wiping away theremnants of the make-up I applied to meet with Eric, I stare at my reflection. I’m pale. Red-eyed. Lost, but definitely not broken.
Not yet.
There’s one way out. A single loophole that the Order will honor if I can pull this off.
A husband. If I ‘legally’ belong to someone else, Eric can’t touch me. He can’t threaten my husband for touching me, either. If I’m married, my reputation secured by my husband’s ranking, no one—not even the King—can demote Miranda unless she makes her own mistakes.
If one man can damn me, another can save me. It’s as simple as that. It doesn’t have to be a high-ranking member. In fact, since most Offerings are reserved for those at the top, I need to find a junior member, a new member, someone who’s been barely inducted into the Order and doesn’t rate an arranged marriage.
But if he’s interested in a marriage of convenience, letting me share his name and his status until Miranda has Colton’s, then I’ll be the best fucking wife he can ask for.
I need an Owed to call my own. I’m not looking for someone to love. Been there, done that. In fact, I’d prefer it be someone who will be happy to act like Eric does with Cicely. A marriage in name only, though I’ll do anything he requires if that’s what it takes.
A man like that… there’s only one place to find him. And while it might be even more dangerous with Eric’s threats still echoing my ears, I’m willing to risk it.
Tonight? I’m not going to the Last Prayer.
I’m going to the King’s Court.
THREE
THE KING’S COURT
SEBASTIEN
It’s good to be the King.
Whenever I go down to the King’s Court—Harmony Height’s premier bar and gentleman’s club—I usually sit near the bartender, nursing my drink, watching the women work the floor like sharks swimming circles around their prey. Everyone here is affiliated with the Order. The Owed sip their top shelf Scotch and choose the woman they’ll follow into the backrooms, while the Used entertain the men, hoping to hook one long enough that they can become a kept woman instead of a communal mistress.
I don’t have one of my own. I rotate between the Used whenever I’m feeling horny; I take a ride out of Harmony Heights when I’m looking for a little more variety and discretion.
Tonight? I’m not interested in pussy. I’m here because Dallas asked if I wanted to go out for a drink, and even if he wasn’t the King, I’d drop anything to spend time with one of my bros. These days, Connor is still busy with Haven, and it’ll take a crowbar to pry Adrian off of his new wife, but Dallas… if he needs to vent, I’ve got an ear. If he wants to pretend he’s not the most powerfulman in Harmony Heights, I’ll happily knock him down a peg or two. If he just wants to throw back a beer and reminisce about the old days, I can do that, too.
But heisthe King. Most of the Owed are pointedly avoiding him; during Jack Collins’ reign, it became understood that keeping under the King’s radar is a smart move. That’s why he’s given a private booth, tucked off the side of the dance floor, with a dedicated manager to make sure the drinks keep flowing and the pick of the Used are available if he feels like fucking.
Good luck. Dallas doesn’t go for the Used. Adrian didn’t, either. I know they wondered why I do, especially when I don’t hide how much I hate the Order… and that right there is the answer. If the Order exists to class our women into virgins and whores, I’m going to show them how the Used are just as important. Keep the Offerings. I want a woman who knows what she’s doing, and I’ll be the man who will treat them more than a vessel to get off. I take the time to know them. Talk to them. It’s never just about sex for me—which is why, three months later, I can’t get over how the mysterious brunette from the Last Prayer usedme.
