The Marriage Debt (Underworld Kings)

Fuck.

After all these years, nothing has changed about my desire to own her.

And she … she hasn’t changed a bit, with those rose-colored cheeks, those full, heart-shaped lips, and that shoulder-length blond bob and bangs. Still the same pretty little bunny hopping right back into my fucked-up life.

But some part of her is different. Distant. Bitter.

Like she’s lost her will to care.

As the teardrops roll down her cheeks, I slide aside her hair. I never thought I’d care, but it stirs something inside me that I can’t ignore.

Is she crying because of what I’ve done to her? Because I stole her freedom? Or because I never allowed her to say goodbye?

My hand balls into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. I shouldn’t feel guilty. She deserves this. She deserves every ounce of pain, every ounce of misery, and every ounce of guilt she feels.

So then why am I the one with the stinging heart?

Suddenly, she turns her face to me, her wide, innocent-looking eyes boring into my soul as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Fuck.

I retract my hand and look out the window.

“Maybe I’ll let you see her again,” I say through gritted teeth.

Her breathing grows more rapid. I can hear it. “I don’t believe you. You’re still a vicious monster. You haven’t changed one bit. You’re just like you were when we were kids.”

Rage becomes me, but I swallow all the anger and hatred back down.

“Yet I still made you my wife.” A proud smile tugs at my lips, but it’s only brief.

“Made. Exactly. But I didn’t choose you,” she retorts.

I stare her down so hard she retreats farther into the corner of the car. “You chose to come to the church and save your sister. You chose to take her place and marry me.”

“What other choice did I have?” she replies, tilting her head. “I would never, ever let you put your depraved hands on her.”

I snort. “Depraved?” I grab her throat. “You haven’t even seen the worst yet.”

My fingers squeeze, and she sucks in a breath, but it hitches halfway down. “You only prove my point.”

“You think it hurts to hear you say that? Wrong. I know what I am and what I like.” I shove her back in her seat. “It’s about fucking time you learned too.”

After she’s regained her composure, she says, “Learned what? I’m not the one forcing marriage onto girls just because of a vendetta.”

I grab her wrist and push her against the window, leaning in so close I can smell her fear. “What you and I have goes far beyond a vendetta, Jill. Or did you forget that night I came into your room?”

Her cheeks flush, and I know she remembers how I touched her … how I made her yield to the feel of my fingers on her little clit. How she mewled with delight from the handle of my knife shoved up her goddamn pussy.

An hour before Liam’s death

* * *

The second I found out my brother was supposed to marry Jill, I jumped out of my window and went straight to her home.

I couldn’t stop myself.

Couldn’t fight the urge to climb up her house and enter her room, soaking wet from the storm.

All I wanted was …

Her.

Pinned to the wall, breathing raggedly mere inches away from me.

Right. Fucking. Now.

And I still can’t fucking stop myself from claiming her.

From wanting to make her bleed with this fucking knife in my hand.

From toying with her pussy until she falls apart in front of me.

“So tight … so perfect,” I murmur as my fingers slip in and out of her. She’s moaning and bucking against my hand. “So desperate for me.”

“Don’t,” she murmurs.

Leaning into her, I whisper into her ear, “Say it like you mean it.” I smile. “You can’t, can you?”

I grow stiff against her body as I slowly lower my knife down her neck. I move it across the towel and slide underneath, tracing her slit with the tip.

“Are you scared of me, little bunny?” I ask.

She shakes her head, but I don’t believe her, and the mere thought of her fearing me is such a fucking turn-on.

I twist the knife around so the dull end is facing her pussy. “I might be vicious, but I’m not cruel.”

Then I thrust the handle of the knife inside.

Present

* * *

I lean in to whisper into her ear, “Remember how hard you moaned when I made you come?”

The memory alone makes my cock hard as a rock.

“Stop,” she hisses, and she jerks her hand away. “I’ve wanted nothing more than to forget that night ever happened.”

I’d be lying if I said that didn’t hurt. “Keep telling yourself that.” I sit up straight again and roll my eyes.

Her cheeks only flush more. “You used me. Just because you wanted me does not mean I wanted you.”