Pretty Little Sins (Kings of Bolten 2)

VINCENT

Stella stomped into the house, looking sullen and pissed off. Great. Two women with nasty attitudes. Just what I needed. I hadn’t expected my baby B to full-on kick my ass the way she had, but I wasn’t mad about it. I probably deserved it after the shit that went down in the woods two days ago.

But damn.

Pretty sure she broke my nose and bruised my dick.

“What’s your problem?” I asked wearily.

“Levin.” Stella glared at him as he strode past with garment bags in his arms.

“Seems he has that effect on women,” I said.

He ignored my comment. “Where am I taking the dress?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. Dom said he was going to tell B.” I checked my watch. “We’re cutting it short on time. The romance king wants to marry at dusk in the clearing. I made her a bouquet from some wildflowers I found.” I gestured to the assortment of flowers on the kitchen table I’d tied together with some twine I found in a drawer. “The priest is restrained in a room upstairs, praying.”

“Those aren’t too bad,” Stella said, peering over at the flowers and ignoring everything else I'd said like it didn’t faze her a bit. “A little thin, but the bouquet could be worse.”

I was surprised by her compliment. Or half-compliment.

“Thanks. There wasn’t an abundance of flowers to work with considering how late in the season it is. I did what I could.” I licked my lips nervously, suddenly self-conscious about what B would think of them. What if she hated them?

“Don’t sweat it,” Levin called out. “I had to buy the dress. I didn’t know what I was doing either.”

“Am I doing her makeup or what?” Stella’s hand landed on her hip as she glanced between us. She wrinkled her nose. “What the hell is wrong with your face?”

“B smashed her head into it,” I grumbled.

Stella paled. “I’m not going in there to do her makeup if she’s going to be violent. I didn’t sign up for that shit.”

“We’re a violent lot,” Levin muttered. “Best get used to it.”

“I’m not going in there alone. No way. She’s a freak anyway—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I snapped the same time Levin did.

Good to see he and I were on the same wavelength.

“What’s going on?” Dom’s deep voice boomed out as he came down the stairs, looking dapper as fuck in his wedding attire.

His pitch-black hair was slicked back, and his green eyes glinted in the overhead light. Without knowing him, anyone would recognize he was all power and domination. Knowing him only made those things a certainty.

Stella's eyes widened.

“I-I was just telling these two”—she pointed her manicured finger at us—“that I’m not going into Bianca’s room if she’s hurting people.”

“Scared?” Dom lifted his eyebrow at her as he stepped off the last step and adjusted his cuff links.

She scoffed. “Hardly. I just don’t want to be torn up by some rabid trailer trash.”

Dom moved quickly, stopping in front of her. She stumbled back, her eyes wide and filled with fright.

“Who am I?” Dom demanded.

Her gaze darted around, confusion on her face. “Dominic?”

“Dominic who?”

She licked her lips. “De Santis?”

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Stella?”

He inched closer. “Wrong fucking answer. You’re a nobody. A nothing. Consider this your one warning from me. Insult my bride again, and I’ll fucking hang your bloody corpse from a tree so the wild animals can eat you. Got me?”

“Y-yes,” she stammered, visibly swallowing.

“Good. Now get your shit so you can help my girl get ready. Today is a special day for her. If you ruin it, you’re dead. It’s that simple.”

“Right,” Stella murmured, her sass put on the back burner.