When I walk into the house, I expect to hear… something. Laughter, talking, maybe crying. Whatever it is that women do when they get together.
But I hear nothing.
I pause my steps to listen, but still, nothing.
My man at the gate told me Val got here three hours and twenty-five minutes ago.
They’re all a little jumpy after yesterday’s gate guards disappeared, probably thinking I had them killed.
Really, I just had them transferred to Texas. Summer in the south felt like a good punishment, since technically, I was at least partially to blame for Savannah getting away yesterday. I’d been too preoccupied to give every employee a photo of Savannah and explicit instructions to keep her on the grounds. But I’d figured no one would be stupid enough to let some random woman leave, in a vehicle that clearly doesn’t belong to me, when they knew I had a kidnap victim on the premises.
So let the men think death is the punishment. Because if anything had happened to Savannah it would’ve been.
Duke lifts his head from his spot on the living room couch, but he doesn’t bother to get up to greet me. He always acts put out when I work late.
“You gonna run away from me, too?”
I swear he rolls his eyes before closing them and dropping his head back down on the cushion.
My emotions have been all over the fucking place today and I can’t figure out why I feel so…out of sorts.
I finally got my sexy little wife under me last night.
Finally got my dick buried in that sweet little pussy.
And she was a full, enthusiastic participant.
I hadn’t gone to Chicago with the intention to fuck her before bringing her home, but when I saw her…
When I found her waiting for me in that room…
All the dangers of my world crashed onto my shoulders.
I had done this.
I had put her in this situation.
My steps take me into the kitchen, and I grab a beer out of the fridge.
I don’t usually drink very often but drinking sounds like a great idea right about now.
Dropping the cap on the counter I lift the bottle to my lips and the taste brings me back to last night. When Savannah came out of that room, looking thoroughly used. Looking perfect.
She looked like mine.
I want to argue with myself that I’m only being territorial, only acting jealous, because she’s my wife. That I respect vows made between two people. And that’s what makes her mine.
That’s not all of it though, is it?
I tip the bottle further and gulp down the rest.
I like her.
I like my wife, and liking her makes me feel guilty about what I’ve done to her.
Liking her also means I want to keep her.
I am going to keep her.
I also want her to like me back.
My eyes squeeze shut.
How the fuck am I supposed to make her like me back?
I set the bottle down and grab another.
Another mouthful of beer and I remind myself, I’m King Fucking Vass. I know how to make women fall for me.
No. That stupid inner voice argues. You only know how to make women fall for your dick.
I shrug at myself and finish the bottle.
Seems like a good enough place to start.
Because if she falls for my body, I can make her fall for me.
And if she falls for me, she won’t run away again.
And if she doesn’t run from me, then I can keep her safe.
Because that’s what I do. I keep my family safe.
And my goddamn wife is part of this family. Willingly or not.
