He steps forward, lifts me into his arms and carries me bridal style back to his bedroom. This is like a really weird foreboding of what’s to come.
My head falls against his shoulder. His warmth is steady. Familiar but so, so dangerous.
I’m asleep before we even reach the bed.
Ghost
Had to change the plan.
Again.
Fucking again.
She’s a goddamn hurricane wrapped in skin, hidden behind soft curves and bewitching eyes. Nothing ever stays on course when she’s involved.
She’ll be the death of me, I just know it.
She’s asleep now. Peaceful. Serene, even. Like she didn’t spend the last few weeks trapped in a concrete crypt. Like she hasn’t been clawing through my brain every second since I dragged her back into my life, and long before that.
The pills I crushed in her coffee worked faster than I expected. She was out before we even hit the bed.
Good. I need to move fast.
I slip out from the room and head to my home office. Hidden compartment. The package arrived early this morning, courtesy of Luca Romano.
Had to send an urgent request last night. The Famiglia keeps shit like this in bulk, probably stockpiled next to their cocaine and dead bodies. Told Luca if he breathed a word of it — especially to Bones — I’d make sure his pretty little girlfriend got some nice photos in the mail.
He didn’t like that. At all. He’ll make me pay for it eventually, I’d bet my cut on it. But for now? Worth it.
I open the box and pull out the syringe.
Shit. That needle is big.
It’ll bruise, that’s a fact. But she won’t notice. And if she does, she’ll write it off. Bumped into something. Slept weird. Who the hell suspects a nano GPS tracker under their skin? No one, that’s who.
And if she asks, I’ll lie. I’ll smile. I’ll distract her with a kiss, a fight, a memory. Whatever it fucking takes.
I can’t trust her word, but I can trust the tracker. If she tries to leave, she won’t stand a chance.
Two days later, I’m a married fucking man.
No rings.
No friends.
No family.
Just me, her, and two homeless guys I bribed with cash and cigarettes to sign their names as witnesses and keep their mouths shut.
Adora looked like she’d been hit by a truck the entire time. Shell-shocked. Frozen. Her hand in mine felt cold and stiff, like holding a corpse.
When the “I do” came, she didn’t say a word. Just stared at the Justice of the Peace like the words wouldn’t compute.
So I squeezed her hand. Hard. She flinched, blinked twice and whispered something that barely passed as consent. The old man started getting suspicious, eyes narrowing like he was about to call bullshit.
I had to play the part. I slid my arm around her shoulders, pulled her in, kissed her forehead like I couldn’t wait to start forever. Picture-perfect. She held it together after that, as much as she could, but it was close enough.
We didn’t talk about it after. Didn’t acknowledge what we’d done. We just walked out of that courthouse like nothing had changed.
