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“What do you think?” I sneer, taking her mouth, swallowing any answer she might’ve had.
As she clings to me, tasting herself on my lips, falling into me as through resigned to the fact that this is her life now, I wonder what she would’ve said.
It doesn’t matter.
She finally understands just who she married.
Whatshe married.
I’m the Devil of Springfield, and she’s my wife—whether she wants to be or not.
SEVENTEEN
COMES FIRST
AVA
Everyone in the Sinners Syndicate treats me like I’m Devil’s wife after that—everyone, that is, except for the one man who counts.
I don’t know exactly what happened. He was the one who brought me in front of all of his men. He was the one who insisted on hoisting me up on the table, drawing my panties down in front of all of them, before burying his face in my pussy. He ordered me to ride his face, to pull his hair, to come… and then, when I’d barely come down from my orgasm, he killed a smart-mouthed man in front of all of us.
In that moment, I knew that my Link was gone—and that’s assuming that any part of the kind, dedicated, devoted boy he’d been was still lingering inside of him. I’d had glimpses of the Devil before—the way he glared at Joey’s corpse, and how he beat that man half to death at the club—but when he calmly pulled his gun out and shot one of his soldiers point-blank like that?
I finally understood why everyone in Springfield whispers his name in fear alongside Damien Libellula. He isn’t just dangerous. Devil is wicked. He’s heartless.
And I’m supposed to be his bride.
Maybe I’m wrong. Running my thumb over the healed ink, covering his name from theLto then, then going back again, I wonder if I said ‘I do’ to Lincoln Crewes, and now that Devil has reared his head, he no longer thinks of me as his wife.
I guess that makes sense. Since the scene in the conference room two weeks ago, there hasn’t been a single whisper that our marriage is a sham. Any time one of the Sinners stops by the penthouse, I get a nod instead of a knowing sneer. They murmur, “Mrs. Crewes,” in a voice full of respect; no more murmurs that I’m the Devil’s whore, or whispers that I’m his beard. Link might not have gone so far as to lay me out on the conference room’s table, fucking me for all of his men to see, but eating me out in front of them did the trick.
Not only did it prove that Link wasn’t afraid of vagina, but he showed them all just how much he honored me by going to his knees rather than ordering me to go to mine.
I know I shouldn’t, but I regret throwing it in his face that his act embarrassed me. For one, I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to marry him. Though so much of learning about Link’s world is an education, I went into this fully aware that he was the head of the Sinners Syndicate. He was a crime boss with at least thirty loyal soldiers under him.
The Springfield mafias do things differently. They let their actions speak much louder than any words. Whether by using their firsts, their weapons, or—in this case—their wicked mouths, they have to show they mean business.
He didn’t have any problem performing a sex act on me with all of his men watching. Of the two of us, it was Link I had to coax and tease to get him to go along with the thrill of fucking where we could be caught. Pleasuring me where the Sinners had no choicebutto watch? That would’ve bothered the old Link way more than me.
He wasn’t wrong when he told me I’d like it. If he’d eased me to my back, hanging my legs off the edge of the table after he made me come the first time, I would’ve eagerly welcomed him whipping out his dick. At that moment, I would’ve let him fuck me gladly, and not given a single crap who was watching.
But he didn’t. Instead, he encouraged Twig to take out his.
I still remember the fleeting sense of betrayal that had me hopping down from the table, moving into Link. If there was one thing I thought was clear about our arrangement, it was that we were monogamous. He wouldn’t take any mistresses, and I wouldn’t have to worry about another guy getting with me.
What happened that night in the Playground was supposed to have made that obvious—but then he stood there, entertaining the idea that I would suck off Twig.
I don’t know why I even let myself believe that Link would ever do that. In hindsight, the idea that he would kill Twig instead of standing back and watching me pleasure the other man was so much more believable… but until he fired his gun, it never occurred to me that he would.
I know better now.
This is the life, Ava. Welcome to it.
I get that. And if this is who Link is, I accept that. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s still the boy I once loved—and the man that, despite showing me different facets to the complicated Devil he’s become, I thought I was falling for again.
He’s a murderer. Anobsessedmurder, I admit, and for the first few weeks, I was his target of his obsession. From the gifts he bought—ranging from a first edition copy of my favorite book to jewelry, flowers, and a laptop that probably cost more than two months of my mortgage that someone named Tanner tricked out for me—and the way he hung on every word I said when we had dinner together, plus how devoted to wringing as many orgasms out of me as he could when we were in bed… even if he couldn’t love me, I knew he at least felt something for me.
He admitted as much after I accused him of not having any feelings at all.
