Page 27 of Daddy’s Hunted Bride

“Power-hungry bastard. My father was the head of the Irish mob and my uncle wanted a piece.”

Nope, that is the most shocking thing he could have said. “You're in the mob?”

“We were. Well, Axel was the only one who ever really participated in any mob stuff. Our parents were adamant that none of us would join the ‘family business’ until we’d graduated college. Colt and Bram were in their senior year when it happened.”

“I’m sorry.” Regardless of what else I may think or feel about the Thorne siblings, having your parents brutally slain by a man you should have been able to trust and then fleeing for your lives had to be traumatic.

Maybe that’s why they are the way they are. That kind of thing is bound to fuck anyone up.

“It is what it is,” he says with a shrug as we step into the dining room where the rest of his family is gathered. “But that’s the past. Right now, I’m far more interested in the future. Namely, my future with you.”

Under any other circumstances, that sentence would be romantic. Coming from him, however, it feels more like a threat.

But arguing is only going to get me in trouble and I’m determined to prove I’m a good girl so I can earn another opportunity to run, so I force a smile as he settles into a chair with me on his lap. “Oh man, this looks delicious.”

And I don’t even have to lie this time. The table is laden with eggs and bacon and sausage and fresh-baked biscuits, along with a stack of the fluffiest waffles I’ve ever seen.

Chuckling, Dane leans forward to scoop some eggs onto my plate. “You can thank your Uncle Eli for that. He’s our family chef.”

“Thank you, um—” I stumble over the words, my tongue refusing to cooperate for a moment. “Un…Uncle Eli.”

“You’re welcome, little one.”

From my other side, Ford stabs a waffle with a fork and drops it onto my plate, his voice dropping to a loud whisper when he speaks again. “Don’t let your Daddy fill you up with protein. Little girls need plenty of sugar in their diets. It’s how they stay so sweet.”

“You’re going to spoil them, Ford,” Axel says with a shake of his head.

“Impossible. You can’t spoil babies.”

“You can, and you will,” Grayson says from the end of the table, her lips kicking up in a smirk. “But sooner or later you’ll get a Little girl of your own and it will be our turn to spoil her no matter how much you object.”

Their banter flies back and forth as Dane cuts my waffle up into tiny pieces and feeds me. He does insist on me finishing off the pile of eggs and a piece of sausage before I’m allowed to eat the rest of the waffle, which makes Ford roll his eyes in an exaggerated way I can’t help but laugh at.

All in all, it’s a rather… cozy scene, in spite of how I got here. If it hadn’t been for the whole “kidnapped and held hostage against my will” thing, I might even like these people.

Which means I need to be even more vigilant than I originally thought. Staying aware of an external threat is one thing. But staying aware of your emotions so you don’t fall victim to your own feelings?

Much more difficult.

I’m still marinating on that unsettling thought when Dane rises from his seat and carries me to the end of the table where Gray sits, a wide smile on her face.

“Come here, little one. Auntie Gray has your final wedding present.”

“What is it?”

Bending down, Dane places me in her lap and Gray cradles me exactly like you would a literal baby. Eli appears seemingly out of nowhere and hands her a bottle—a literal bottle—full of what appears to be milk.

“Open up, little one.”

Right. Okay. Play along, pretend to be a good girl until you can either figure out your own escape plan or Dane gives you another chance to run.

With that reminder playing on a loop in my head, I part my lips for her to slide the rubber nipple into my mouth. I suck, tentatively, then with more gusto as the most delicious milk I’ve ever tasted slides over my tongue.

“We have another fan of the island’s milk,” Gray says with a quiet laugh.

I don’t know what island she’s talking about or what makes their milk so special. And it doesn’t occur to me until I’ve downed nearly half the bottle that the milk could be poisoned. Or drugged.

Fuck. They’ve already gotten past my defenses, gotten me to let my guard down. I’ll have to be more careful going forward if I have any hope of escape.