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She will never have a white picket fence and children running around. She’ll spend her days in a lonely house with a husband who hates her and nothing but rolling hills and awful neighbors for company. It’s better than she deserves, and hopefully, it won’t kill us both.
Reese Carmichael took years off my life. More importantly, she tricked me. She made me believe that there were good people in this world who truly cared.
She showed me I was right and deserved a lifetime of misery.
“Ladies first,” I finally say.
She snatches out of my hold. “This is a castle. I don’t know where to go.”
I’d love for her to get lost here. Maybe she will find me in a few years when I’ve forgotten how she smelled and how her face looked when she realized I hadn’t planned on kissing her.
“You know what?” she says, frustrated with my silence. “Maybe I’ll just scream, and everybody will come to us.”
She really is brave. “Go ahead. Their prey instinct is stronger in the evenings.”
Her smile falls as she wages if I’m lying. After all, it’s not that hard to believe that the man she fell in love with, an arsonist by trade, doesn’t have criminal friends or family.
“I hope you know I hate you,” she says after a moment.
I tip my chin but don’t return the sentiment. Not because I’m a gentleman. But because I more than hate her. I loathe the very air that she breathes. And I hate myself even more for wanting to be smothered by it.
I feel Reese’s hand tighten on mine as we reach the kitchen, where laughter sounds from the outside, you’d think we were a real family. Except, we are the monsters lurking in the dark, waiting for you.
“For real, all bullshit aside.” She pulls us to the stop and looks at me. “Give me your word. Please. Are there really killers in there?”
I almost lie to her and make her feel better, but then I remember how much I enjoy watching her squirm. “Yes.” I won’t elaborate. It’s the second time she’s asked this question.
“Well…” She blows out of breath. “Okay. Introduce me to the killers, then. I’m ready.”
She’s far from ready. But I’m not giving her another opportunity to calm down. I pull her through the doors, into the massive open kitchen, where three of my brothers are standing with Magda.
Ignoring the wide eyes and curious stares, I approach the table and pull out an upholstered chair. “Sit,” I demand.
She doesn’t.
Instead, Reese stands frozen as my three brothers track her with predatory eyes.
“Boys,” I mock curtly, moving in front of her to block their view. “Unless you want to spend the evening cleaning blood off the kitchen tile, I suggest you avert your eyes to something that won’t get you killed.”
These fuckers can never act right, but neither can my wife.
Turning, I grab Reese by the shoulders and deposit her stubborn ass into a chair.
“Now, where was I?” I ask as silence and shock saturate the room. “Right, introductions.
“Reese,” I announce to everyone before proceeding clockwise around the table.
“Shakespeare.” I point to my youngest brother, who is still leisurely playing with the knife in his hand. His dark and frightening eyes find my wife, pinning her with a venomous smile.
I don’t give him the chance to speak to her. I might enjoy taunting Reese, but I’ll kill anyone else who does.
I nod curtly to the blond to the right, with scars spanning across the base of his neck. “Tennyson, my middle brother.”
Moving on, I land on the man with midnight-black hair and green eyes that scream with tortured pleas. “And this is Bach.” His fingers move rapidly along the table like he’s playing a song on a piano—his death song.
None of them speak. They simply evaluate the situation because that’s what they do. They’re criminals, just like me—patient men. Bred from tragedy and filled with revenge and malice. Our past may be reconciled, but the demons still wait for a chance to finish what we started…
We are new men. The world no longer sees us as criminals. But in our darkest days, the criminal beckons, pleading to come out and play.
