Monster: A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  “—hooked up with this girl last night. She had the biggest tits I’d ever seen. They were like basketballs. Not hot. I closed my eyes and powered through it.”

  “Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,” Christian growled. “She’s asleep.”

  Christian must’ve shown up with his partner in crime, Rafael, who liked running his mouth. The younger bodyguard’s harsh tones blasted through the penthouse as I pulled on an A-line dress and kicked my feet through ballerina flats. Christian responded to something, which made Rafael burst through Christian’s soft murmur.

  “No, she wasn’t! I met her at the fucking gas station.”

  Christian let out a low whistle, laughing.

  “It’s not where I usually pick up women, but she got in a fight with her boyfriend. He dumped her there, so I brought her to my apartment.”

  “And then what?”

  “Well, she wanted to pay me back.” The stockier Rafael leaned against the counter, grimacing. “She kept insisting. I think she was a sweetbutt.”

  Christian clicked his tongue. “I thought you knew better than to dip your stick in biker trash.”

  “When’s the last time you turned down a blowjob?”

  “Yesterday, before I left your mother’s.”

  I grew hot along my collar as Rafael laughed. I strolled into view, enjoying the spasms of panic across their faces.

  I smiled. “Morning, boys.”

  “Good morning,” said Christian without missing a beat, followed by Rafael a second later. They exchanged worried glances. A tense silence filled the window-facing kitchen.

  I reached for the mugs, annoyed at the empty shelves. He couldn’t have coffee lying around. It was part of Tony’s strict no-drugs policy, which was probably a form of torture for the sadistic prick.

  I banged herbal tea on the black marble and shoved the kettle onto the stove.

  “Mrs. Costa, is everything okay?”

  “Mrs. Costa?” I murmured, fiddling with the burners. “Don’t you mean biker trash?”

  Christian paled. “Shit.”

  Shit was right.

  I forced a smile. “Take me to the clubhouse, and I’ll consider it ancient history.”

  Rafael grimaced.

  “What?” I asked when they didn’t move. “You have something better to do?”

  “We can’t do that,” he mumbled. “Tony wouldn’t like it.”

  Air streamed through the kettle. I turned off the burner, my temper close to its breaking point.

  “Then I’ll tell him how disrespectful his guards were to me.”

  “Evie, I know I fucked up, but I’d appreciate it if you kept this quiet.”

  Christian’s plea fell on deaf ears.

  I met his gaze, unsmiling. “The clubhouse. Now.”

  “How about a nice latte?”

  “I am not a toy,” I shouted, my patience snapping. “I am his wife. If I say I’m going to the clubhouse, that’s where I’m headed. I don’t need your permission. Or—” I poured the hot water, missing the mug. “Tony will find out what you said, and cut off your heads.”

  I was totally bluffing. Tony probably didn’t give a damn. He had no interest in me. He’d treated me like a cheap hooker on our wedding night, and he seemed to hate me on principle, so fuck him.

  Screw his rules.

  I strolled outside my dad’s mobile home, which sat beside rows of neglected lawns and identical houses. The clubhouse loomed ahead, a brick building that used to be a school. It faced the street, surrounded by the fencing where prospects stood watch. Over the years, the MC had purchased homes to expand the community into a giant neighborhood.

  A thunder of bikes trembled the ground, and then chrome zoomed past the gate. Rock music pulsed from someone’s portable speaker. As I walked, people raised their hands in greeting. My lips pulled into a lackluster smile.

  Ghost’s patchover party was tonight, which meant the members would get shitfaced and fuck club girls. They lounged on plastic chairs, sipping beer, sitting far from the women I considered my own, the old ladies, wives, and mothers. Dad swung his leg over his Harley and headed to the drinks. He was a stern man, big, black-bearded, and fearless. A worn leather cut wrapped his barrel chest. Outlaw tattoos snarled over his arms and splashed on his neck.

  A knot formed in my throat.

  Was he drunk?

  Hard to tell with the rosacea tinting his cheeks like a sunburn. His heavy arm draped my shoulder. “Hey, baby girl. How’ve you been?”

  “Well enough.”

  “Costa treating you all right?”

  I shrugged. “He’s not bad.”

  He patted my back and turned toward the grilled hot dogs.

  “Dad, it’s been weeks. I need the jewelry and the title to the property. I have to start with renovations. I’m way behind.”

  “Your stuff is in safety deposit boxes.”

  “I want them in my bank account, not yours.”

  Dad’s icy glare stabbed my heart. He wasn’t eager to give up his leverage. I forced down a frustrated scream begging for release.

  “Something has come up. I need you to get close to Costa,” he murmured, lowering his voice. “Gain his trust. Evie, this is really important. I have to know if I can depend on you.”

  “Why?”

  His arm weighed on my shoulders. He offered me a thin smile that filled me with dread.

  “Club business.”

  “If I had a nickel for every time you used that as an excuse.”

  “You don’t need the details, Evie. Just focus on your marriage with Costa. The more distracted he is with you, the better.”

  “Dad, what are you planning? If you’re going against them the second you make an alliance, why did I marry him?”

  “Relax, honey. I want him busy, not dead.”

  Heat flushed my face as he poured a shot down his throat. “I married the man, and now you want me to narc on him?”

  “Didn’t say that.”

  “Dad, he’s my husband.”

  Dad deflected that with a warm hand cupping my cheek. “You always want to do the right thing. How did I raise such a good girl?”

  My insides squirmed as he balled me into his chest. “Well, that was probably more of Mom’s doing.”

  He soured, pulling away from me.

  Mom was a jeweler, and so had been her mother. She’d taught me how to use everything in a jeweler’s studio. I’d spent my childhood smithing while other kids played outside. I’d been adding to her collection when she’d disappeared, forcing me to sell most of it to pay the mortgage.

  Two years gone.

  She’d packed up and vanished without an explanation. One minute she was mixing alloys with gold. The next she’d took off in the middle of the night. I had no idea where she’d went. She’d fled like she’d always wanted, and I was stupid for thinking she’d bring me along. There had been nothing but the punch to the gut from empty coat hangers swaying in her closet.

  She’d been my best friend.

  She’d abandoned me.

  It was why I couldn’t sever ties with the club. Maybe she’d return, and we’d be a family again. I’d show her my latest work. Once our jewelry was a nationwide brand, she’d find me and apologize for disappearing.

  “Dad, he doesn’t want me coming here anymore. He says you’re a danger to me.” My words cracked with desperation. “What if Mom shows up, and I’m not here? She has no idea I’m married.”

  “Evie, she had every opportunity to pick up the goddamn phone. She didn’t. You’re out of your mind if you think she’ll waltz back into your life. What do I keep telling you? Life’s not all rainbows and sunshine.” He cupped my cheeks as pain welled in my throat. “She fucked us over, baby. All we have is each other.”

  I used to be grateful he’d stuck around.

  Now I wasn’t so sure.

  My attention swiveled to Ghost, who strolled in the courtyard like a peacock eager to show off his new feathers. His che
stnut mane brushed his tanned shoulders. The leather cut stretched over his bare chest. Two girls attached to him as though summoned by magic. Grinning, he felt up a redhead with big, fake boobs. He crushed his mouth into hers. Another girl wrestled the beer from his hand and grabbed his cock through his jeans.

  My composure must’ve been as fragile as my thoughts because Dad dragged me into his arms. “Evie, go home.”

  “Why the hell should I?”

  “A patchover party isn’t the place for a married woman.” His grip returned, the bite in my arm deepening. “This is for the brothers and Ghost. Not for you. Go to your husband and stay there.”

  I stalked away from him, rebellion raging in my heart. As I headed into the brick building, my head pounded. I stomped past the ebony booths and the bar glistening with the glass bottles. Then I turned into the dorms echoing with female moans and harsher, male grunts.

  Gritting my teeth, I strode into my jeweler’s studio. It was the only reason I came here. My storefront needed renovations before I installed my equipment. I couldn’t fit it into Tony’s penthouse.

  I dressed in an apron before I sat on the watchmaker’s bench. I pulled on my welding goggles and a dust mask, then turned on the ventilation hood.

  Metal winked from the shelf. I grabbed the wedding band I’d made for Tony, long before I realized he’d eat me alive, and dropped it into the crucible. I grabbed my blowtorch, blasting the fucker. A yellow flame haloed the circle, dissolving the jewelry into liquid. Gold poured out the spout, and the wheel turned, spinning the liquid into the mold. When it stopped, I seized the flask with tongs and quenched it.

  Bubbles hissed as I submerged the flask. The water clouded, and then I broke apart the wax, revealing the clasp. I fished it out and dumped it into the magnetic bowl, which spun and spun.

  I’d been refurbishing a busted Cartier watch for weeks—stripped everything but the leather, which needed treatment but was otherwise in excellent condition. I’d removed the hands and replaced them with blue stainless steel. All I had to do was fit the sapphire cabochon into the knob, and then I’d have a twenty-four-thousand-dollar product. Plenty of money to pay off my loans.

  I dried the freshly cast gold and placed it on my bench. I took off the goggles and dust mask, and then I flipped off the ventilation.

  My senses tingled with awareness.

  “You’re hard to get alone.”

  I glared at my unwelcome visitor. “That’s because I don’t want to see you.”

  Ghost stood at the door, arms folded. His mussed hair stuck up in all directions. For a man who’d just had sex, he looked sour. Most guys knew to stay away from me, but Ghost didn’t share the same instincts for life preservation. Months ago, he’d shoved his tongue down my throat while on guard duty.

  I’d slapped him.

  Since then, he’d been after me. I’d let him chase me because it was nice to be pursued. I just wanted to be good enough for someone. Apparently, that wasn’t Ghost. He’d never asked my father permission to date me.

  Ghost’s smooth lips tugged into a mocking grin.

  “Still mad at me?”

  I slid the blowtorch off the watchmaker’s bench and fingered the trigger. “Come any closer, and you’ll find out how much.”

  Ghost’s brow rose. His tall figure turned, heading toward me.

  “You know your jealousy is a turn-on, right?” Ghost stopped an inch away, dropping his voice. “How wet are you for me, baby?”

  “Drier than Death Valley.”

  “Savage.”

  I wasn’t kidding. Nothing about him appealed to me, not even the leather stretched over his muscled chest.

  “I can do worse.”

  “Lay it on me, babe.”

  “You smell like cheap perfume and sex. You’re gross.”

  He wrestled the blowtorch from me and jabbed it under my jaw. “What’d you call me?”

  “You want another adjective? Disgusting.”

  “I’ll burn your fucking mouth off.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  Ghost was on the mild end of the violence spectrum. Guys like him needed to posture. He was probably annoyed I hadn’t begged for his cock. My nails bit into my fists as he pressed the nozzle into my throat.

  I struggled against his vise grip. “Get off.”

  His palm glided to my waist and slipped down my ass.

  “I said, quit!”

  I shoved him.

  He relented, smirking. He tossed the blowtorch on my desk, sneering as his gaze fell on my tools. “Costa make you give up this shit?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well, it’s only a matter of time. That guy wants a house mouse, not a businesswoman.”

  I grabbed the Cartier watch and the sheets of metal, shoving them in my bag. “Are you speaking for yourself?”

  Ghost winked at me.

  I had no idea what Tony wanted, but Ghost was probably right. Men never took my work seriously. My father disparaged my silly “hobby,” never mind that fine jewelry was a multibillion-dollar industry and with the materials, I could easily rake in a six-figure income. I’d floated the idea of supporting us more than once. Dad freaked out at the mere suggestion. His ego couldn’t handle me providing for us, and he wouldn’t know an honest way of living if it bit him in the ass. He’d shot it down.

  Ghost shadowed my footsteps as we wandered out through the gate. Tony’s men lingered around the Lexus, their arguing carrying up the road. At my approach, Christian smoothed his flyaway salt and pepper hair.

  “This is where I stop.” Ghost hooked my arm, tugging me to a halt. “Can’t be too careful these days. That guinea’s olive oil–slicked hands are all over Chelsea.”

  I ripped his hand off me. “You scared of him?”

  “Give me a half hour—no—fifteen minutes alone in a room. I’ll have him screaming like a bitch. By the way,” he purred, dropping the animosity. “Did he take your virginity, or was he too small to get the job done? Rumor has it he left you on your wedding night.”

  How did he know that?

  My eyes widened before I waved him off.

  “I guess he’s not man enough for you.”

  “If anything, he’s too much man.”

  “Standing by your husband, huh? I get it.” Ghost pounded my shoulder, his gaze lidded with admiration. “I know you’ll give this marriage everything you got. I’m just not convinced Costa will.”

  My stomach churned.

  “Evie, over here!” Christian beckoned me, his face stricken.

  I stormed toward him as he jogged to meet me. Christian ushered me in the armored car, his expression grim.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Tony found out.” Christian swung into the driver’s seat, blowing out a tense breath. “I’m fucking dead. We shouldn’t have come.”

  My mouth thinned. “I’ll call him and explain.”

  “No need. You’re meeting Tony for dinner right now.”

  Seven

  Evie

  I’m grateful that my husband keeps our marriage fresh.

  Dinner was at a sex club.

  Black and gold dominated the dungeon-like atmosphere. Sanctum’s 1920s prohibition vibe reminded me of the snootier bars in the city where you needed a password to enter, with several glaring differences: Girls draped the leather couches in rhinestone-encrusted pantyhose. Nipple tassels dangled like ornaments. Women pleasured men on their knees, on the furniture, in rooms that echoed with high-pitched sighs, everywhere.

  After all his bashing of biker culture.

  Tony certainly had no problem with the models in pasties, or he wouldn’t have dragged me here. Tony stood from the table in a fluid motion. He’d slipped into a navy blazer and slacks with a patterned shirt. The dim lighting hid the details, but his debonair looks hadn’t been my imagination. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, but shock nudged my ribs at his breathtaking beauty.

  He strolled toward me, somehow more gorgeous than my memories. He’
d barely tamed his hair, and a cowlick curled near his temple. His shaven beard showcased the perfect anatomy given to him by his supermodel mother. Deep amber flickered in his dark eyes, the passion in them making me lightheaded.

  “Evie,” he grumbled.

  He drew me in a gentle embrace until one breath stopped us from kissing. Then his lips caught mine in a perfunctory kiss, a show for the bodyguard behind me.

  I fell for it anyway.

  He swept his arm around my back, cupping my head. His lips touched mine, soft and searching, the electricity just as strong as I remembered. The air seemed to catch fire, and I couldn’t breathe, stunned by this feather-light assault.

  He pulled away before I found my feet on solid ground. He could’ve been in an elevator for all the emotion he showed, but I needed an ice bath. He gazed at me coolly, his attention narrowing on my bare thighs, my cutoffs, and the Harley-Davidson T-shirt.

  “The dress code was upscale, but I slipped into something comfortable,” I quipped, all saccharine poison. “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “Why wouldn’t I want my wife’s ass to hang out for everyone to see?” His graveled edge barely drowned out the violent thudding of my heart. “You look like a club girl.”

  “Yeah? You look like an olive oil salesman.”

  “I could sell the shit out of some olive oil.”

  He hooked my waist and led me away from Christian.

  “What are we doing here?”

  “Celebrating,” he growled, flashing me a bland smile. “It’s our one-month anniversary.”

  A cloud settled over Tony’s features, and dread pitted my stomach.

  “I’m not in the mood for whatever sadism you have planned.”

  When we reached the table, he ripped back the chair. He pushed me down, glowering at me like I’d maxed out his credit cards on lingerie.

  “What is wrong with you?”

  “I’m stuck with you.” He sank into the seat beside mine. “My hands are so tied they might as well be in cuffs. So my new purpose in life…is you. My wife.”

  He sounded thrilled.

  Did he think I wanted him around me?