Broken Bride

“You’re awake.”

I poke my head up from under the covers, and see that Mark has been sitting in a chair at the end of the bed. He has his socked feet up on the end of it, and there's a book in his lap. He smiles at me with that strong jaw and those bright blue eyes and I feel a flash of attraction, along with a small amount of concern.

“You were watching me sleep.”

“I’m making sure nobody else is in here.”

“By nobody else, you mean Billy.”

“Bobby,” he corrects me. “And yes.”

I sit up in bed. “He really hates me, huh.”

“He loves Angelo. And, well, I don’t want to worry you, but Bobby has been known to act out in the past.”

“So you’re going to guard me. But Angelo isn’t worried?”

“Our relationship is a complicated one. It’s going to take you some time to get used to it. Until I’m satisfied you’re safe, I intend to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s sweet.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he smiles and pushes his hand back through his hair, making it all tousled. He looks tired. I wonder if he slept last night, or if he’s been watching me this whole time.

“You don’t have anything better to do? You don’t have to work?”

“You’re my job.”

“But…”

“Tilly. I am making you my job. I’m going to get you out of here safely.”

That answer makes me feel warm and safe. Mark has taken an interest in me, and I don’t get the sense that he has any investment in getting something from me. He’s just a really nice guy in a place where there are no nice guys.

“You’re going to get me out?”

“Bobby is right about one thing. This is not a place for a girl like you. This is…” he looks around what seems to me to be a perfectly pleasant room. “This is a house of horrors.”

“It seems okay to me.”

“You’ve only been here a day or so. You don’t know any of us yet. Trust me, Tilly, when I tell you that there are better lives out there, and you should live one of them.”

I wonder if he’s just trying to get rid of me, but in a different way. Both Angelo’s boys are protective and possessive of him. I don’t think they expected me. I don’t think they want me here.

But Angelo does.

And Angelo is my husband.

And so far, really, I like Angelo. What he did to me with his belt wasn’t that bad. It made me feel better. I think Angelo might understand me. Mark doesn’t. Mark thinks I’m a pretty blonde girl who should live a nice life. He knows me skin deep, and isn't trying to know me any deeper.

“Hmm,” I say, noncommittally. “Where is my husband?”

Chapter 11

Angelo

“I’ve been waiting to talk to you all day.”

Tilly is pouting as she speaks, looking at me under her lashes, trying all the most common female wiles. They're not particularly effective, but watching her deploy them is entertaining.

“Oh, really. What did you have to say, Tilly?”

“That I’m ready.” She looks at me with significance, but does not elaborate further.

I can tell that my sweet young bride has developed a taste for me. The leather was all she needed. Like any wild young thing, she wanted to find someone capable of stopping her in her tracks. I did that easily.

“Your uncle called me today,” I tell her.

Her face turns pale, and her posture immediately changes from would-be siren to frightened little girl.

“What did he want?”

“He wanted you to answer some questions for the police.”

* * *

Tilly

Those words make me panic instantly. “I can’t. I won’t…”

“No,” he agrees. “You won’t. But I will need you to sign some papers. You are the sole heir to your father’s estates, and there are more than you imagine.”

“So you’re rich. Because you’ve got me. Lucky you.”

Angelo smiles at me. “Well,” he says. “It’s not luck, is it, Tilly?”

He makes me nervous. He knows too much. I can see his knowing in his eyes. When Angelo’s dark gaze meets mine, I start to feel myself unravel.

This is chemistry. I would say pure and simple, but it’s not pure, or simple. It is filthy and it is complicated, and even I’m not sure exactly what is happening between us, or why.

“Come here,” he says, beckoning me over.

I do as I am told, and he pulls me down to sit on his lap. I can feel the ache of his earlier punishment reignite as my cheeks meet the hard ridges of his thighs.

“You’re going to be absolutely astounding when you’re older,” he says gently. “I almost said, when you grow up.”

“I am grown up. I’m not a child.”

“Ah, but you are. Not legally. Not physically. But morally, emotionally, sexually, you are an innocent. And only one thing happens to innocents here.”