by Mari Carr
“I’m not doing this,” he said through gritted teeth.
There was a moment, just one brief moment, when Juliette looked at him. He couldn’t see her eyes beneath the voluminous hood, but damn if he couldn’t feel her gaze. And he could have sworn the room suddenly got ten degrees colder.
“Yes. You are.”
Langston waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. And it occurred to him that Juliette did not play.
His mama was exactly the same way. If she said something, by God, she meant it, and heaven help the poor sucker who didn’t listen.
It took him aback for a second, made him consider his options.
He might have calmed down, might have done the right thing, but the guy in the black robe pushed his last fucking button.
“You need to show some respect to the Grand Master, and to the lady.” The man had a hint of a Texas drawl in his voice. “Being scared is no excuse for bad manners.”
Langston sprung like a coil wound too tight. Maybe he was new to this, but he wasn’t stupid, and his mother had raised him to have manners.
Or…at least she tried. But he and his brothers had gotten in line twice when they were handing out hotheaded tempers. Mama—and even his little sister, Sylvia—had preached for years, teaching him and Oscar and Walt all that crap about counting to ten and taking deep breaths, but none of them ever perfected the techniques.
He just wanted a chance to speak his piece, and this guy didn’t know who he was fucking with.
Langston lurched forward and grabbed the man out of his seat. The other man’s black hood flew back to reveal his face. He was a white guy with brown hair, and a close-cropped beard. He was older than Langston, and there was no denying from his scowl and the furious look he was shooting at him that he was pissed off too.
The woman behind him cried out. “Stop! What are you doing? Stop!”
Oscar was always hovering on the edge of pissed. Walt was direct and rarely got truly mad, instead always focusing on a solution. But Langston…his mama called him a slow-burning rage. It took a long time to make him truly angry, but once he was good and pissed, he lost it. And right now, he was having what his grandpa would have called a “duck dying fit.”
“I’m not scared. I’m pissed, you prick!”
The man jerked from Langston’s hold, stumbling back a few steps. His chair had flown back, and Langston leaned over to pick it up, ready to throw some shit, to crack some heads.
Strong arms pulled Langston away from the man—and the chair—hauling him across the room and shoving him into the seat he’d refused to take since entering the room. He twisted, fighting with all his might to shake off the grip. “Let me go!” he yelled.
Two men held him there and, through the haze of his anger, his frustration, he heard a voice telling him to calm down. The words steady and calm, spoken in both English and a second language.
It wasn’t a condescending voice and it wasn’t talking down to him.
Franco?
Langston glanced over his shoulder, breathing heavily. Franco was the man who’d introduced him to the rules of the Trinity Masters after his initiation. Mostly they’d geeked out about all the things Langston would be able to do now that he had access to highly placed people in the military and law enforcement.
The sound of Franco’s voice dimmed the haze of his anger. He felt like he’d just gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion. The two men holding him down, who had emerged from the shadows, were also covered in long black robes, their faces obscured by hoods.
“Settle down, Langston.”
This time it was Sebastian’s voice.
He stopped trying to struggle. “I just wanted to talk to her,” he said quietly, feeling defeated, confused. “I just need to tell her…” His words faded as the truth crashed in on him. Nothing he had said, or could say, was changing the outcome here today.
Neither man spoke again, though their grips on his arms loosened.
Juliette hadn’t moved. She remained still and regal, a heavy gold chain across her shoulders. Now she raised her arms. “Everyone resume your seats.”
All the fight left Langston as he sat there. Sat there and watched the Grand Master fuck up the rest of his life. He’d chosen this, agreed to it. He’d sold his soul to the devil, and as Juliette started to perform the binding ceremony, he knew there was no turning back.
“When you joined the Trinity Masters, you made a vow. You pledged your lives to our cause and our way. The time has come for you to meet your partners, your lovers, your spouses.”
Langston didn’t need to see Juliette’s face to know she was looking directly at him.
“When I call your name, stand and remove your robe.”
Neither he nor the other man had bothered to put their hoods back on after their fight, so there wasn’t much left to reveal.
“Rich Blake.”
Rich stood and stepped forward, but he didn’t remove his robe. Instead, he shot daggers at Langston with his eyes.
Langston returned the dirty look in spades.
“Langston Hayden.”
Langston pushed himself out of his chair, but it felt like his feet had been sunk in concrete. He didn’t take a step toward the medallion. He couldn’t.
“Mina Edwards.”
She was the only unknown, her face concealed from him until that moment.
Langston sucked in a breath when Mina pushed the white hood from her face.
Long dark-brown hair hung in waves over her delicate shoulders. Her chocolate-brown eyes were framed by thick black lashes and her cheeks were stained pink, either with embarrassment or lingering anger over the scene he’d just caused. She shot him a look that, while not outwardly angry like Rich’s, told Langston he had a hell of a lot to make up for.
“You now belong to one another. Stand together. Hold out your right hands.”
Langston was forced to take a step toward the center of the room. Mina and Rich had joined hands, and he looked at them for an awkwardly long moment, trying to figure out how he’d lost control, how he’d failed so miserably. Then he reached out and placed his hand on top of Mina’s.
The Grand Master took the gold chain from her shoulders and wrapped it around their hands. “A Trinity Marriage isn’t easy, but if you love—and trust—one another, you will never be alone.”
Langston considered the words and knew, knew all the way to the depths of his soul, that this was going to be a fucking lonely marriage.
Chapter Two
Mina blew out a long, slow breath as she changed back into her street clothes. She considered leaving the bridal-white lingerie she’d bought specifically for today on the floor of the private dressing room, but at the last minute, she scooped it up and stuffed it into her bag. The white robe she left in a puddle on the floor. She should hang it up, treat it with respect, but she was so damned angry, it was easy to fight the impulse to be good, to do what was right.
She’d bought the lingerie because at the binding ceremony, each member of a new trinity was supposed to take off their robe. They could be naked, or they could have something like lingerie on underneath. The point was to be vulnerable to their new spouses.
That hadn’t happened. Everything about that ceremony had been wrong, felt wrong.
Looking at the crumpled robe was making her feel a little sick, a little like crying.
She needed to get out of here.
Mina yanked open the hallway door and stepped out, large purse on her shoulder, jacket over her arm. She looked at the doors on either side of hers, the rooms where Rich and that fucker Langston would be. The doors were still closed. She could make her escape without witnesses.
Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she hustled into the entrance hall, where the staccato snap of her footsteps reverberated, concealing the sound of someone coming up behind her.
A hand landed on her shoulder and she shrieked, whirling around, her heart in her throat.
“Darli
n’, it’s just me.” Rich smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“You were plenty mad with that walk.”
She hitched her purse higher on her shoulder, adjusted where her jacket lay over her arm. “And you’re not?”
“Oh, I’m angry enough.”
“Angrier than a snake in a…I’m sorry, I can’t think of any Texas phrases.”
He laughed, and she relaxed a little.
“Right now, neither can I,” he admitted.
Rich sounded like he spent his days riding horses on a ranch in Texas, when in reality he’d attended boarding schools in the northeast and college here in Boston. When he was in business meetings, or talking to interviewers, he could—and often did—lay the Texas on thick as a tactic, since the accent often made people underestimate him.
He and Mina had known each other since they were young, and one of the party games at the legacy house had been for Rich to teach her and the other legacy kids Texas colloquialisms.
“May I escort you, ma’am?” He took her jacket, then held out his arm.
“I like ‘darlin’’ better.” She took his arm.
“Then I’ll call you darlin’.”
Together they walked to the elevator, squeezing themselves in. She didn’t have a problem fitting on her own, but Rich was a big man.
“Appropriate that you have a nickname for me,” she said softly. “Since we’re married.”
Rich squeezed her arm. “Let’s get a drink.”
He held open the elevator door for her, and then she opened the closet door, slipping out and closing it behind her. She walked away but stopped, waiting for him to ensure the secret panel slid back into place, concealing the elevator. When he emerged from the closet and walked up to her, she shook her head. “I can’t be out in public right now. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I understand. The house?”
“That…that might work. But shouldn’t we go…” She glanced pointedly back at the entrance, staring at the triquetra worked into the plaster beside the door, a seemingly random decorative touch to anyone who didn’t know it was actually a marker.
“No. We shouldn’t,” he said in response to her unfinished question. “I’ll have my driver bring the car around.” Rich took a phone from his pocket.
“Why do you have a driver in Boston?”
“I have a driver everywhere. Why don’t you have one?” Rich frowned at her. “How did you get here?”
“Walked from the hotel.”
“I don’t like the idea of you walking alone in the city. It isn’t safe.”
Mina wanted to roll her eyes, but it was sweet—she guessed—that he was protective. “I thought we’d be going back to the hotel anyway, so…” She shrugged.
“So did I. My bag is in the car. That was before we met Bubba.”
“Bubba.” She laughed, but it was hollow.
They walked out of the library and down the steps. A black sedan was waiting in a no-parking-or-waiting zone. Rich opened the door for her and Mina slid in, closing her eyes. A second later he got in, and his hand settled on hers. “It’s going to be alright, darlin’. I’ll take care of it.”
That made her eyes pop open. She turned her head, staring at him. “Your statement implies I can’t take care of issues myself.”
“Hold on there,” Rich said with a grimace. “I wasn’t implying anything.”
“Really? Because I think your statement is—”
“Counselor, please don’t cross-examine me,” he pleaded.
Mina relaxed. “Sorry, Rich. I’m just…”
“Horrified by the behavior our third exhibited?” There was a thread of suppressed anger in his voice.
“It’s certainly not how I imagined my wedding day would be.”
“Ah, don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying.” She almost said “I don’t cry,” but that was a total lie. She hated crying, and never cried in front of strangers, but Rich wasn’t a stranger.
They pulled up outside of a brownstone. It was the legacy house, used by those of them who’d grown up knowing what the society was because they were the products of trinity marriages. The house acted as a sort of informal hotel and hangout for those times when there were all-society events.
She waited for him to open her door, then took his hand before climbing out of the car. As she touched him, something passed between them, a little electric thrill, something she hadn’t felt—or rather allowed herself to feel—before.
“So, the Grand Master…” she said, trying to change the subject.
Rich escorted her up the steps. “Definitely Juliette Adams.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
Juliette had been a few years older than them, but they’d attended some of the same parties here at the legacy house. Though they were all legacies, Juliette Adams, and the other members who could trace their lineage back to the founding fathers, were next-level legacies.
Rich keyed in the code and escorted her into the house.
Mina sighed and dropped her purse, then leaned against the door.
Rich hung up their coats, then looked at her, hands on hips. He wouldn’t have looked out of place with a cowboy hat and coil of rope at his hip.
God. Why had she let herself imagine Rich and some rope…?
This was supposed to be her honeymoon, so she’d shown up today excitedly anticipating what would happen tonight.
She was struggling to turn that off because, holy shit, she was seriously attracted to Rich.
That shouldn’t have surprised her. Rich was good-looking and charming. Among the legacies there was always a bit of tension, as it was very possible, maybe even probable, that they might end up married to someone they knew. But that knowledge led to an unspoken rule that they couldn’t hook up with, or even have a crush on, another legacy, because they might not be the one they ended up with. The arranged ménage marriage meant not only that everyone needed to be at the very least bisexual, but under no circumstances could they develop feelings for another unmarried person.
“Wine?” he asked her.
“Whiskey.”
“Good girl.” Rich turned and headed toward the living room, which, if memory served, had a wet bar.
Good girl. Holy shit, that was hot. Her nipples were tight in her bra.
A forbidden romance might sound sexy and dramatic, but the point of the trinities was to create strong marriages, and having one of the triad longing for an outsider would make it weak.
Now, however, she was married. To Rich.
Which meant it was totally acceptable for her to lust after him.
She followed him, watching as he returned from the kitchen with a full ice bucket. He lifted and examined the bottles at the bar one by one.
“We could have sex. Right now,” she said.
Rich bobbled the bottle of whiskey, which bounced off his hand, hit a chair, then rolled onto the floor, luckily without breaking. They both stared at it.
“That…that wasn’t a good bottle anyway,” he said gruffly.
“We’re married. We can have sex.”
“Darlin’, I’m going to need you to stop putting that picture in my head, or I’m not going to be steady enough to pour.”
“We can have drinks after.”
Rich braced his hands on the bar, bent at the waist, and took several deep breaths.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about baseball.”
He was even sexier when he was trying to resist.
“If I were to take off all my clothes right now…”
“Don’t. Don’t do that,” he begged.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not having sex. We can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have a third.”
And just like that, the heat left her body. Mina sighed and walked over to a couch. She retrieved the fallen bottle and held i
t out. He took it, placing it among its compatriots before selecting and pouring something else.
Rich brought her a glass, then took a seat beside her on the couch. “We need to talk about how we’re going to handle this.”
Mina took a sip. “Have you ever heard of the Haydens? His name was Langston Hayden, right?”
“That was his name, but no, I’ve never heard of him.”
“So not a legacy,” she mused.
“I don’t think any legacy would have done what he did.” Rich took a sip and frowned. “Part of me wishes I’d said something to stop it.”
Mina’s fingers tightened on the glass. “You wanted to object, too?”
“I wanted to object to how he was behaving. The Grand Master shouldn’t have gone through with the ceremony after his outburst.”
“I agree, though I feel disloyal questioning her.”
Rich sighed. “I feel the same.”
Mina took another sip, letting the whiskey sit on her tongue. “What do we do about it? This is supposed to be our honeymoon, and we didn’t even leave together.”
Rich pinched his bottom lip as he thought. She wanted to lean over and bite it, lick it.
“You’re the lawyer,” he said finally. “Is there a loophole?”
She stared at him. “You’re talking about getting out of this marriage?”
“I won’t let him near you. I don’t trust him not to hurt you.”
“I’m not the one he attacked.” She considered what he’d said. “After the binding, we have a month before we go back to finalize the marriage. In theory, if we’re completely incompatible…”
“The bloody binding rule. Assuming it’s not just a society legend.”
“I’ve never heard of anyone using it. At least not in the past few generations. Have you?” she asked.
“No. Can you remain a member if you don’t complete your marriage?”
Losing your membership in the Trinity Masters could be a death sentence. At the very least, it meant kissing life as you knew it goodbye.
They shared a glance. “He made it clear he didn’t want to be placed in a trinity,” Rich said slowly. “And his first impulse was to attack.”
“So we wait it out and invoke some obscure, possibly fictional rule in a month? It’s risky,” Mina asked.
