Monster: A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance

by Vanessa Waltz

  I crushed into him, the space between my legs burning. We stumbled onto the bed, my back hitting the mattress.

  I squirmed, fighting the shiver of wanting as he kissed the shell of my ear. His lips grazed my cheek, kissing under my jaw. It was delicious. A five-story fire stroked my body as he dipped between my breasts. My wild pulse beat into his fingers as he pressed his lips into each globe, shoving my bra aside.

  I laced my fingers with the hand flattening my stomach. I squeezed hard as the slick warmth blazed down my leg, where Tony spread me wide as though—

  Warm air touched my pussy.

  “Oh my God, Tony.”

  Then he used his mouth in a way I’d only been told about by other women. Tony’s lips and tongue teased the tight bundle of nerves between my legs. He flicked and suckled and tortured, the ecstasy of his hot, amazing lips like flashes of lightning.

  A jolt hit my pussy when he kissed me. Then a wet heat delved into me. He yanked my hips so I couldn’t squirm. I grabbed his forearm in a halfhearted attempt to stop him, going slack. Tony sucked me in. He closed his eyes and licked, the unbridled joy giving me one immutable thought:

  Tony Costa was put on earth to ruthlessly fuck women.

  Fighting this insanely sexual man was useless. It only gave more torturous friction against his perfect mouth. I tore at the sheets since I couldn’t grab him. Ripples, waves, and then a tsunami of pleasure loomed just over the horizon. A spasm ripped up my thighs, and a cry burst from my lips.

  “Please.”

  He made a sympathetic sound. He circled my clit with my wetness, teasing, pinching. “Please what?”

  “Please make me come.”

  He slammed his fingers inside me, rewarding me with sweet, aching relief. Ecstasy blasted through my cells, and I arched into his touch. I breathed hard into the comforter as the wave crashed into my abdomen and ricocheted up, befuddling my senses. I collapsed, gripping his arm. I was barely conscious when he leaned into the bed.

  He shifted his leg over mine, his cock lying on my thigh. It still throbbed as though he hadn’t emptied his balls. His hand curled around my belly, blood rushing to the spots he touched.

  Tony patted me. Then he lifted me upright, and I limped to my clothes. He wordlessly handed me a Sanctum T-shirt to replace the one he’d ruined. We dressed silently. Words seemed inadequate for what had just happened.

  His arm snaked my waist as we left the room, colliding with the group of voyeurs. They bantered with him. Blood pounded in my ears, drowning out their bawdy laughter.

  My breathing still hadn’t caught up with my rapid pulse. Once we got in the car, I expected him to pull my head toward the bulge straining his slacks. Tony remained on his side, thumbing his cell, ignoring the sexual tension choking the air.

  Even the proudest men caved to desire.

  A sneaking suspicion dampened the glow from my orgasm. “Did you like it?”

  “Decent first effort,” he admitted an eternity later, reading his phone. “What’s not to like about a wife in her natural position?”

  “And where’s that?”

  “On her knees and covered in my cum.”

  He might’ve shoved me to the floor, but I’d jumped at the chance to give him pleasure, hadn’t I? I’d done it willingly, and it made his insult more grating.

  “And what’s the husband’s role?” I shot back, incensed. “Acting like a bullying shit? Taunting the girl who rocked his world ten minutes ago? How many women can get you off like I did?”

  A muscle flicked in his jaw. “A shocking amount.”

  “Bullshit. You’d be married by now.”

  That seemed to strike a nerve.

  “Shut up, Evie.”

  The car stopped on a cobblestone road, but I didn’t get out.

  “You’re not comfortable around me, are you?” I gaped at Tony as his knuckles whitened. “That’s why you avoid me. You lose control around me, and that’s scary. Because you had a bad experience. Maybe you ignored a safe word. Took things too far—”

  “You need a reality check. I was forced into this marriage, and my world does not revolve around you.” Tony leaned over me and opened the door. “Out.”

  The dismissal stung more than I’d expected. A stupid part of me assumed he’d make up for his behavior. Even more mortifying, I’d hoped he’d chase me.

  “I should’ve known a monster like you only responds to blood or cum.”

  Color flushed his face, but his eyes were dead. The light in them had extinguished. The fire fueling his banter—that was gone, too.

  Disturbing.

  “Hide your eyes, darling. I can see your heart through them.” Tony lifted his head, smirking. “You will never win me over.”

  I stepped onto the pavement and slammed the door.

  My eyes welled as Tony disappeared behind the fogged glass, and then his car took off. The angry, red gleam of his taillights burned into the bleak night.

  My throat tightened, but I shelved the hurt to deal with another day.

  I would outmaneuver Tony.

  Eight

  Tony

  1 ¼ oz gin

  1 ¼ oz Campari

  1 ¼ oz sweet vermouth

  Garnish: orange twist

  My biggest enemy was me.

  The bitter irony was that I’d spent decades shooting up, snorting, and injecting my stupid problems away. Now that they were finally gone, I’d give anything to have them back. I’d trade this life to be that junkie again. At least he was harmless.

  I knew how to turn his life around.

  The man I was now?

  Hopeless.

  Sobriety had forced me to reckon with the worst monster in my life—the man in the mirror.

  After the fight with Evie, I went to the graveyard and stewed over my father’s cold body. Once the chill turned my fingers into icicles, I returned to my apartment in Dorchester, a dump I’d bought on impulse before my marriage. I’d barely furnished it besides a sofa from a thrift store and the mattress that sat only on its box springs. I rarely slept, anyway. I’d rather watch Jeopardy reruns than succumb to my nightmare-fueled sleep.

  I tossed my keys. They missed the counter and clattered to the linoleum. I strolled past them into the sparse living room papered with printed out articles, mugshots, old newspaper clippings. In the kitchen, the utter stillness cinched my throat like a belt. A jolt zipped down my spine.

  My senses tingled with awareness.

  I yanked open the fridge. “Stop skulking and come out, you fucking creep.”

  A man-shaped shadow melted away from the wall, firelight flickering over his fair skin. Cainan had the preppy WASP look down pat. His uniform was a dark blue blazer over a dress shirt and gray slacks, his paleness magnified by the blackness of his tiger-slanted gaze. A wave of slicked auburn curls rolled over his head. He looked like he’d just left Sunday service, but he was probably bright-eyed from ruining someone’s life.

  If I was a monster, Cainan was the devil incarnate. He was an even bigger disaster than I. Of course, he had no idea, the poor fuck.

  I had good reason to loathe him.

  But he’d saved my life in exchange for a hefty price.

  Cainan bellied up to the solid black counter as I drank seltzer like it was alcohol. Sometimes I poured club soda over ice just to have something that wasn’t flat and boring. The illusion unlocked a sliver of dopamine, rewarding me for a behavior that had ruined most of my twenties.

  His eyes lingered on my water before his mouth twitched into a smooth smile. Cainan always gave the impression that he could read my mind.

  I sipped my bland drink. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”

  “We agreed on full transparency.”

  Yes, we did, along with a list of other things I’d been forced to accept. Cainan was chairman of The Dark Circle. He was the arms dealer who helped supply Boston’s gangs with guns, and his influence spiderwebbed the globe. He could kill me seven different ways in an
hour, but he couldn’t play chess with Boston’s street gangs. I was supposed to be the bridge between them and our interests.

  Unfortunately, I’d failed.

  Cainan sneered at his surroundings, feigning interest in a chipped mug. His boat shoes smacked the linoleum as he followed me, a persistent, aggravating shadow.

  “Where were you last night?”

  “Getting laid. You want the details?”

  He cocked his head. “Was it a good time?”

  “Very.”

  “Then why so angry?”

  Cainan was a bloodhound for vulnerability, but I wouldn’t spill. Evie was none of his business. I didn’t care if it cost me. Every instinct screamed to keep her away from him.

  I cleared my throat. “Upset I skipped you on the wedding invitations? My bad.”

  “Yeah, I’m upset. I leave town for a few months, and my protégé is in bed with the enemy.”

  “My cousin made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I shrugged, wiping a crumb from the counter. “Vinn got sick of me interfering with the Family. He kidnapped me. Held me at gunpoint. Mock execution.”

  Cainan’s expression stilled and grew serious.

  “So that’s how he’s playing it.”

  “I warned you he wouldn’t take it well. Vinn’s waited his whole life to be the boss. He wasn’t going to roll over and let me control things.”

  “You could have subdued him,” he glowered, auburn eyes flashing. “Or killed him and inherited the Family.”

  “That’s your answer for everything.”

  “We wouldn’t be having this conversation! You wouldn’t be married to a biker.”

  “She’s not associated with them anymore. I’ve made sure of that.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Without your cousin’s support, we’re stalled. We need boots on the ground. Soldiers,” he barked, pacing my living room. “Where will we get them?”

  “Rage Machine.”

  “Now they’re in Legion’s pocket, thanks to the president’s new policy of patching in other gangs.”

  “Not yet.” I leaned over the counter, grabbing a notepad with a list of names. “I’ll start targeting anyone who defects to Legion.”

  “There’s a giant hole in your master plan. Your wife.”

  My insides prickled. “My wife is none of your business.”

  “You’re compromised.”

  “No, I’m not. They gave me a soft, pliable virgin. She won’t be loyal to them much longer.” I thumped my glass onto the counter. “Cainan, I’m handling this.”

  Cainan stepped forward, his glare drilling into me. He said nothing for a long while.

  “Have it your way, T.” His grave tone grew agitated as he dragged a wool coat over his shoulders. “But what about your cousin? What if he finds out you’re not honoring the alliance?”

  “He’ll try to kill me.”

  I tipped the tumbler, clinking the ice.

  Cainan buttoned his jacket, his insolent stare raking my body. “I have no idea why you don’t get rid of him.”

  A man like him wouldn’t understand.

  His overbearing presence slipped away, heading out.

  I waved him off as he opened the door.

  “Oh, and T?”

  I glanced at him. “Yeah?”

  “I have no problem with you making that girl your new toy, but the moment you catch feelings is the moment you catch a bullet.”

  With that, he left, slamming the door.

  My throat burned.

  Nine

  Tony

  1 ¼ oz Jägermeister

  6 oz Red Bull

  I needed my wife under control.

  I thought I’d put the fear of God in Evie, but five days after taking her mouth, I woke to a notification that she’d charged twenty thousand dollars to my credit card. Evie’s toddler tantrum bullshit tested my patience.

  What was wrong with her?

  Hadn’t I scared the shit out of her? Dragging her to Sanctum was supposed to straighten her out, but she’d brushed it off like rain rolling off her shoulders. What the hell had happened in that godforsaken clubhouse to make her impervious to men like me?

  It wasn’t enough that I allowed her free room and board. She sucked down my oxygen, ate my food, now she blew through my cash, my father’s legacy, with light-fingered contempt.

  Damn her.

  I wouldn’t stand for this.

  The money meant nothing—it was the principle that mattered. I was not her personal ATM.

  I dialed her bodyguard.

  “Christian,” I roared into the phone. “What is going on?”

  “Hey, T! Funny, we were just talking about you. I asked if she’d been to Vinny’s yet. She said she’d rather sit on an uncovered gas station toilet seat than hang around Goliath.” He broke off, laughing hard. “I guess that’s what they call him at the MC.”

  Goliath was apt.

  “Never mind that. Where the hell is Evie, and why are you letting her max out her credit card?”

  Christian’s heavy sigh brushed my ear. “Let her do what she wants. Your words, boss.”

  Did I say that?

  Fuck.

  I searched for my car keys. “Where are you?”

  “At the store. You know, overseeing renovations. She wanted me to watch the contractors. Make sure they’re doing a good job, but I’m clueless about that shit. You?”

  Renovations?

  My mind reeled as he prattled on.

  “I’m impressed with your wife. She’s got a lot of ambition for a young girl. When I was her age, I waited tables and chopped up table-side steak tartare at your dad’s place. Remember the Black Cat?”

  “Focus. Tell me where you are.”

  “We’re at Newbury Street.”

  I hung up, seething.

  Newbury Street was a high-end outdoor mall in Boston. She’d dragged Christian there to go on a shopping spree. I’d done worse at her age, but it still boiled my blood.

  I spotted Christian leaning against the column of a storefront I’d never noticed before. The grizzled mafioso threw his lit cigarette on the ground as I double-parked my Lexus.

  I unrolled the window. “Where is she?”

  A grin jumped across his wrinkled face, and he rapped his knuckles against the wall. I glanced up the tall glass windows and gaped at the serif letters etched into the building.

  What in the actual fuck?

  EVIE

  “We’ve been here all day.” Christian patted his wool coat and grabbed his phone. “Working. Well, she’s working. I’m overseeing things. You married such a nice girl, T. She bought everyone lunch.”

  My stomach hardened. “You had lunch with my wife?”

  “Me and the contractors.” Christian’s grin flashed, wide and infectious. “She ordered Halal Guys and beer. Never had it before. Pretty good.”

  The image of all those men around a table, breaking bread with my woman, sat in my gut like poison. The idea of Christian and Evie, cozy in a corner, digging into aluminum plates, laughing, set my blood to a low boil. I didn’t care that it was crappy fast food. I hadn’t so much as shared an olive with my wife.

  My throat burned.

  “T, don’t get upset,” Christian said bracingly. “Everybody had one drink. That’s it.”

  “You know better.”

  “T, it’s Halal Guys. Not a fucking picnic at the Common.” Christian frowned, his gaze dipping to the golden band he still wore. “You know I’d never let anything happen to her.”

  Evie had charmed the fuck out of him.

  Unacceptable.

  I shoved my keys into his chest. “Park my car and meet back here.”

  My shoulder bumped the handle-less glass door, swinging it into a gutted store. The walls had been stripped, and a tarp lay on the floor. A chemical stench stung my nostrils as I stepped over power tools, hanging plastic billowing with the stream of outdoor air as I headed into a workshop.

  Big windows poured l
ight into the square room. I couldn’t name half the things in the vast space. Several wooden benches ran along the wall, filled with instruments, pots, and other devices I’d never seen before.

  A ventilation hood hummed over Evie, who sat at a bench, bending over a concrete slab. A leather apron wrapped her body. She fiddled with something, peering at a small object through safety goggles.

  What was she doing?

  She replaced a tool on the shelf and picked up another, a dentist-like instrument connected to a hose. She held it to the tweezers. A blue flame passed through it.

  The brightness pierced my eyes.

  I threw up an arm, shielding my eyes.

  Evie raised her welder’s mask and whirled around. Her brown curls were windblown, tucked into a messy braid. Her bowed lips fell open.

  The memory of her champagne-and-cum-soaked tits grabbed my cock. So fucking hot. Hardly any of it had made it down her throat, but it’d been worth it just to mark her curves. She must’ve made men at the clubhouse insane. Part of the reason I didn’t want her within five miles of that place.

  So many filthy things I could do to her. God, it’d taken everything inside me not to fuck her full of cum. The virgin-with-the-body-built-for-sin fantasy was at the top of my list.

  It’d been weeks since I’d touched her.

  She removed her helmet, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

  “You first.”

  “I’m working.”

  “On what, bankrupting me?” I stalked to her side, fingering the crockpot on the bench. “What is that?”

  She took my wrist. “Don’t touch. It’s a pickling solution.”

  Heat from her gentle grip traveled up my arm.

  “Pickling?”

  “An acid bath for removing oxidation and residue left after soldering.” She moved my arm away from the bench and clapped me on the back. “You know, for my plastic beads.”

  My lips tugged into a smirk at the memory of my careless words at the wedding. Evie was clearly on a different level than lanyards and beaded bracelets, but her asshole father had hinted otherwise.