Page 32

Cold seeped through my shirt from the metal I beam I leaned against, grounding me. Caleb walked straight to the bar cart, pouring himself a generous glass of cognac.

“It is a fucking kitchen,” Caleb said between clenched teeth, missing the middle finger she threw his way. “God, I’m married to an idiot who can’t even fucking feed herself,” he mumbled, causing me to chuckle at how badly he was in denial. His face looked pained as he closed his eyes, attempting to regain some semblance of control of the situation. He was supposed to bring home a betrothed whose daddy we’d kill before the wedding. And the bitch would’ve stayed in the apartment below us.

Give her a guard and call it good. That was the plan.

Instead, he announced to a room full of essential business associates that Scar was his fucking wife, and we’d have to keep up the charade until all our plans were in place. Fuck, we were in for an interesting time. Caleb and Scar did not get along because they were exactly alike. Full of fire and fight, unwilling to kneel to the other.

Then there was Kenji. He liked to dirty up every innocent and shiny thing he came across, so he’d try his damnedest to get her to bite at his advances. According to him, too much societal perfection made him uneasy. A reminder of the expectations of his family. It’s why the role of interrogator suited him so well. He found release in carving imperfections into someone’s flesh. The beauty in violence.

She might be his match, though, because I didn’t think she was as innocent as her posh exterior tried to convey. She might be perfect, though.

I ignored the thought and focused on tracking her as she made her way to our commercial-size fridge. She didn’t have to worry about whether we had food. All three of us had massive appetites. But her brows furrowed when she peered inside.

Did we not have anything she liked?

My gut turned at the thought, both because the idea of her not having something she liked upset me and because that reaction disturbed me.

“You don’t have anything…microwavable?” she asked, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of her feet.

“For God’s sake,” Caleb groaned.

Before I thought better of it, I strode toward her, nudging her out of the way. “Do you not know how to cook, little one?” I asked. She might hate the name, but I didn’t give a fuck. Compared to me, she was small, and my tongue seemed to like the way the term rolled off it.

Vulnerability shone in her eyes for a second before she scowled.

“So what if I don’t?” Her hands landed on her hips, causing the material of her dress to shift and reveal blood trickling down her thigh. The crimson droplets ensnared me. I barely caught her arguing about how we lived in New York and no one cooked since there were more places to eat than toilets to shit in. A shriek echoed through the kitchen as I lifted her, setting her ass down on the massive soapstone island and ripping her dress to the side.

My body relaxed when I realized the cut was superficial and probably resulted from Kenji’s playing. A knot unraveled in my gut.

Shit. That’s concerning. Obsession had already sunk her talons in deep.

“Kenji, grab me the first aid shit,” I barked.

I had to kneel to be at eye level with the gash. Being this close to her pussy and not leaning forward to pull her bundle of nerves between my teeth was a herculean feat. The thought alone had my balls tightening.

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Kenji was being a tease and licking up my blood to try to get me to squeal,” she said, shrugging her shoulders and attempting to push her dress back into place, as if the comment was completely normal.

Someone should have a talk with my body because the fucker was acting without permission. Or maybe Scar was a witch, and she’d hexed me. Because there was no way I should’ve leaned forward and cleaned up her thigh with my tongue.

She tasted divine, and I longed to lap up more than her blood. I glanced up at her. She tipped her head back, lips slightly parted, and white-knuckled the counter like she was restraining herself from pulling my face to where she really wanted me.

Or maybe those were all wishful thoughts on my part.

A chuckle boomed from behind me. “Here you go, brother. Antiseptic might be better at cleaning up her wound than your saliva,” Kenji joked, handing over the pad.

“You clean up all your hostages that way?” she asked, her words coming out breathy.

I hitched an eyebrow at her smart-ass comment. She didn’t enjoy feeling out of control and covered up her discomfort with her sass.

“No, not all hostages.” My fingers swiped the alcohol over the cut, smiling at how she winced. “Only my brother’s wife,” I stated, standing up after placing a bandage on her skin.

She gawked at me. Her mouth opened and closed several times, but no smart-ass remarks came out.

“You broke her, brother.” Kenji’s hand slapped my back as he chuckled. “Wait till she hears about how we like to share.”

“Kenji,” Caleb barked. He’d been leaning against the wall observing, but apparently, that bit of information was the breaking point of his composure.

Her head snapped back and forth between the three of us as my hands landed on either side of her body, caging her in.