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The sight did stir me into action a minute later, because I didn’t want her fear to encompass me, didn’t want her to associate me with fright. So, I reached out, noticing she flinched at the movement, and slowly began to unveil my prize.
They’d done a skilled job of it.
I’d give them that.
The makeup was pretty flawless, but my trade was blood. Broken bones. Bruises.
I knew a black eye when I saw it.
I knew a busted jaw too.
My own popped out to the side as I processed the beating she’d taken, and I stared at her wedding dress, taking in all the covering, from the wrist-length sleeves to the way that not an ounce of her chest was revealed to me.
Sure, they might have been going for the demure look, but I’d seen nuns show more skin.
My mouth tightened, and I stopped looking at her flaws, and instead, looked at her.
My bride.
She was beautiful.
Dec was right.
She was a fucking stunner.
Her face was delicate, the bones strong, but somehow fragile. Like she was a fairy. Her blonde hair was in a fancy topknot, and tiny curls bobbed around her cheeks—it was a neat updo, but the way it teased and bounced with the faintest movement reminded me of the way a woman would raise her hand to grasp a hold of her hair during a blowjob when shit got real and she got down to business.
The thought, surprisingly enough, had my dick twitching when my mind’s eye switched Inessa into that role, but I pushed thoughts like that aside and focused on my future wife. Her ears sported heavy emeralds that complimented her engagement ring and her clear green eyes, and her mouth was made for sinning.
At my unveiling, the congregation hushed down, evidently thinking the show was about to start, but when I reached for her bouquet, more whispers stirred.
She frowned at me, her brow puckering at the move, and I appreciated the push and pull as she tried to evade my grasp on the bouquet, but I ignored it. And the second our hands collided, she did too.
Her eyes transmitted her confusion, but I wasn’t confused.
She was just registering the truth.
She was mine now.
Tossing the godawful lilies at the flustered maid of honor, who caught them with a gasp, I tugged her forward, being more gentle than I usually would have been, because rage was filtering through me with the purity of distilled vodka—and these fucks knew what that tasted like—and I didn’t stop until we were standing opposite Doyle. I’d curved an arm around her waist, bringing her into me.
The move was not traditional, and Doyle’s lips parted to scold me, but my scowl was evidently deterrent enough, because he instantly intoned, “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today—”
As he got on with the ceremony, I tilted my head to the side. “I will make them pay for beating you.”
She stiffened. “I-I…they didn’t.”
“Bullshit.”
Another flinch.
“Don’t lie to me, Inessa,” I warned, and as Doyle droned on, I whispered, “They did a good job, but not good enough. You’ll dance in their blood if you want.”
She didn’t reply, and while she was tense from the unusual hold I had her in, she relaxed somewhat at that.
If there was any consolation to marrying Bratva scum, it was that she’d been raised in the life.
She knew aggression and bloodshed were the universal language. Aoife, who was married to Finn, wasn’t of the life, but she knew about the Five Points, had been raised in one of our neighborhoods, and the violence of our world still surprised her.
