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It’s my wedding day.
Who would’ve thought? I sure as fuck never expected to see this day.
I glance over at my best friend, taking in his tall, tuxedo-covered frame. I’m glad he’s here by my side to keep me sane. I’m not the affectionate type like he is, but I never want him to feel like he’s not wanted.
I don’t think he knows it, but I can see the wheels spinning sometimes when he tries to decide what to say. It’s like he’s worried he’s going to say the wrong thing. But there’s nothing he could do or say that would stop him from being my brother.
He gives me a playful wink, which has me smiling. It’s not something that I do often, but it feels good when I do.
My eyes land on Rush next. You can’t see it from the outside but I know he’s strapped with a gun on his side and ankle. He may technically work for me, but I wouldn’t want anyone else standing up here with me. His eyes scan the crowd, searching for any sign of a threat. He’s always on edge; that’s his job. He’s up here because we’re close, but he’s also keeping an eye out.
The night of the engagement party, I rejected Viper’s call, but called him back after. Turns out the Draaks—the rival gang of the Snakes—have threatened my life for defending Rampage, a Snake, in the murder of one of their guys.
The Draaks are ruthless, dark, and depraved. Ten times worse than the Snakes. Not like the Snakes are saints or anything, but the Draaks have no moral code.
From what I know, they don’t back down from their threats. If I’m a target, then Tara’s a target. Rush is making sure we aren’t ambushed on our wedding day.
The music starts, pulling me from my thoughts. My eyes dart to where I know Tara will appear.
This is it.
Zep and Rian open the doors, and I’m almost knocked off my feet.
Holy fucking shit.
My eyes bug out of my head as I drink in the sight of her.
She’s stunning.
Fucking beautiful, in every way imaginable. It’s almost enough to make me forget she’s been her typical pain in the ass self and defied me again, this time over her choice of wedding dress.
My head is pissed at her for not listening, but my dick can’t help but love the way she looks in that red and gold dress—especially with the bare skin of her stomach on display. She’s wearing a traditional Indian-style wedding dress, paying homage to her culture, and fuck, it makes me harder than a rock. I’ve never seen anyone more gorgeous.
A small slice of something I can’t quite describe ripples through me, knowing she’d deliberately bear my wrath in order to stay true to herself. As much as she drives me insane, the challenge she creates inside me is something I’ve slowly started itching for.
Part of me wants to cover her up so the creeps I work with will get their slimy gazes off her. But then I remember I shouldn’t care. I need to stop thinking about her like this, like she’s actually mine.
I knew I should’ve gone with her, made sure she picked out an appropriate dress, one that doesn’t attract the attention of every man here. I can’t look away from her, but I can feel the heated gazes from other fuckers here, which pisses me off more than it should. I file it away in my brain to get the woman at the dress shop fired for ignoring my orders.
It’s not that I care what the hell she wears, but every person at the wedding who might want to destroy our marriage is an old-fashioned, egotistical asshole. The type who thinks a woman should be seen and not heard. They’ll think I can’t get her in line. That I can’t get her to conform to the rules of tradition. They’ll think she’s not truly someone I’d marry, because it’s well-known that I like control in every aspect of my life.
Tara strolls down the aisle, her hand gripping Thiago’s bicep. Something pulls in my chest at the sight of her touching him, but I push it away. I shouldn’t be feeling anything but the need to rush this along. To get this over with and start counting down the days until I can get the firm, divorce her, and never think about her again.
I’ve been looking forward to this day for weeks, but it feels different than I thought it would. Realistically, it’s not like Tara is anything more than a business transaction, but seeing her like this does something to me. Seeing her touch a man who isn’t me makes me feel something I’ve never felt. My skin heats under my suit jacket; I can feel a hint of rage simmering, ready to go grab her and take her off his arm so she can be on mine.
Tara is very out there, and Lya’s relationship with the guys is already strange enough. Who says Tara hasn’t been more than friendly with Lya’s boyfriends? It wouldn’t surprise me if she has. I saw the way she looked at Thiago when they first started walking, like she really cares for him.
They seem really close. All of them. Maybe a little too close?
Tara and Thiago reach the end of the red aisle, pulling me from my definitely not jealous thoughts.
“Who gives this woman to be wed to this man?” the priest asks.
Thiago looks lovingly into Tara’s eyes and says, “I do.” He kisses her henna-covered hand before turning to take his seat. I thought seeing her touch him was bad enough, but I never expected my blood to boil with envy on my own wedding day.
Never for a girl I don’t give a shit about.
Tara places her inked hand in mine, stepping up in front of me. My gaze wanders over the intricate brown lines, in awe of how good they look against her dark complexion. Her green eyes shine as she gives me a soft smile. I don’t know if she can tell I’m spiraling, but her smile helps calm me—which is even more terrifying.
