Truths That Saints Believe (The Klutch Duet 2)

That should have bothered me a lot more than it did, that realization. Sure, I didn’t love my husband’s job, nor did I love that I needed a bodyguard, that he was in danger, that he believed that he was only worthy of existing in the dark world he’d created for himself.

But I’d gone in to this eyes wide open. I knew exactly who Jay was, and I’d fallen in love with that man.

“That isn’t an answer,” I objected. Something else hit me. “We didn’t get a prenup.”

The playful expression on Jay’s face disappeared. “No, we did not.”

“Why didn’t we get a prenup?” I demanded. “You have private jet money! I make enough to one day buy a Birkin. That’s pretty much it. You’re a smart man. A very smart man. You should’ve made me sign a prenup.”

“We’re not talking about this,” Jay declared.

I folded my arms over my chest. “We’re not talking about this?” I repeated. “And do you get to dictate what we do and don’t talk about?”

“Yes, when it’s about something fucking ridiculous,” he asserted.

“Ridiculous?” I scoffed. “Now you’re calling me ridiculous.”

“No, I’m calling the topic ridiculous,” he corrected. “The topic of a prenup that doesn’t exist, after we’re married.”

I sat all the way up so I was farther away from him, pissed off. It didn’t exactly make sense that I was pissed off, considering I was not the one with the private jet money.

“But I could ruin you if things end between us,” I uttered quietly.

Jay’s gaze softened. For him, at least.

“Baby, things end between us, I’m ruined, with or without a prenup.” He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head then leaned in to grasp the back of my neck, yanking my body to his so our mouths were inches away.

“Beyond that,” he murmured, hand at my hip, untying the side of my bikini. “I’m never letting you go.”

“It will be different when we get home, won’t it?” I asked that night.

We were tangled up in each other, the balcony door open, a gentle, salty breeze brushing over our naked bodies. Jay’s arms, already tight around me, tightened that much more. To the point of pain. I liked that. There was a wine glass in my hand, Italian red, exquisite. We’d spent the rest of the day—after our prenup fight—drinking wine, laying in the sun, having sex.

“Yes,” he answered simply.

I pursed my lips, wanting to keep them shut, wanting to leave it at that, drain the last drops of peace from this honeymoon that I could. But I didn’t do that.

“Have you considered ... getting out?” I swirled my finger around the rim of my wine glass.

“Getting out?” he echoed, finger running up and down the bare skin of my thigh.

“Of the business that has you dealing with things like the Russian Mob,” I clarified in a small timid voice. “Out of the business of running the streets.”

Jay didn’t answer me immediately. He was too busy dissecting, I knew that. Trying to figure out what was behind the question, whether I’d asked it out of curiosity or from want. I wasn’t quite sure which it was either. A mixture of both, most likely.

“Up until that night at Klutch, the thought had never entered my mind, not for a moment,” he eventually said. “I had never questioned my position in the world. I’d relished it, in fact. All of the ugly, dirty and horrific things that come with it suited me. I found something I was good at, something that made me a fuck of a lot of money and something that sated the dark hunger inside of me to hurt people.” His finger was still gently running up and down my bare thigh. “Love hadn’t entered into it because I hadn’t thought I was capable of loving. And love is a liability. It was what brought down many men before me. Without my job, my title, I am no one. So I hadn’t thought of leaving. Not once. Until you. Until you walked into an office you had no business in, and I knew I had no business with you unless I was an entirely different kind of man. But I can’t get out, Stella. The other side of my business, the fucking charity dinners, the old money, that’s a club that I will never enter in to. I’ll never gain the respect of that class of people. It doesn’t matter what I earn, what I own. I’ll always be a gangster, a thug, a killer, a monster. There is no entry for me there, Stella.”

I heard the vulnerability in his voice, the resignation. I’d already known all of this about him, of course. That there was no option of another lifestyle. He hadn’t signed his soul over to the devil or any such nonsense. He’d just made choices. To survive. To thrive. The only other option for him would’ve been destruction. Beyond that, I didn’t think one just ‘retired’ from being lord of the underworld or whatever he was. Jay had something inside of him that thirsted for the darkness, the violence, the power. It kept him going. And I really, really needed Jay to keep going.