AVA
The night that I visited the Devil’s Playground for the first time, I thought my marriage was over. Seeing how determined Link was to claim me as his—beating that guy up, throwing him out of the club, then coming back to the penthouse with Cross so that he could tattoo a wedding band on my finger—made me understand the lengths he’ll go to maintain the facade that we’re really in it ‘til death do us part.
I’ll admit, though, that as another few weeks pass, it’s getting harder and harder to tell myself that it’s a facade.
He’s trying. Because he is, I am, too.
There’s only one big point of contention that we have: my babysitters.
I would’ve thought that, after I got Bobby in trouble for how I snuck past him, Link might’ve realized how ridiculous it was to insist that I have one or two strangers watching over me whenever he was busy. Nope. It was the opposite, actually. He tried to arrange a rotation like I was one of my students, for God’s sake. Only when I threatened to return to my house—leaving the penthouse entirely—did he back off down.
I still have babysitters. They’re just not on a schedule, so it’s easy to pretend that the random armed men moving around the penthouse are like maintenance men or something.
I’ve learned to ignore them. I had to. They’re not my friends. At most, they’re Link’s employees, and I never forget for a minute that their loyalty is to him.
Mona, too. She’s sweet to me, and if it wasn’t for her, I’d go stir crazy when Link was busy out of the penthouse, but it’s obvious that she’s keeping tabs on me, reporting back to Mr. Lincoln whenever she gets the chance.
At least, when it comes to my actions, she does, and I know it’s because Link makes her. Same with the guards.
But while they’re happy to report on me to my husband, they definitely keep their feelings about me to themselves—because, one thing for sure, if Link heard what I did one afternoon, I’m pretty sure he would’ve lost his shit.
I mean, he beat a guy to a bloody pup for touching me. I highly doubt he’d stand by and let his own men question our marriage.
Only they are, and I find out completely by accident.
I’m in the kitchen with Mona, “helping” her make lunch. Cooking has never been my strong suit, so I’m probably being a nuisance more than anything, but Link left early this morning and I like to feel like I’m doing something.
And, honestly, there’s only so much TV a woman can watch before she wants to chuck the remote at the screen—and, considering Link’s television is like seventy freaking inches across, I wouldn’t miss.
Leaning against the counter, watching as Mona stirs the stew for today’s lunch, I hear a pair of footsteps coming down the hall. Heavy boots hit the floor, just out of step with each other, and I realize that since there’s two of them out there, it’s probably the changing of the guards.
I’ve watched it happen as I sat on the couch in the living room, either watching TV or reading a book I nabbed from the library. The men always seem to talk in code—something Link has a tendency to do, too, as if I’m too delicate to hear about all the awful thing the Devil does—but I get the gist they’re talking about me.
They are now, only this time? It’s not in code.
They probably think they don’t have to since I’m not in the living room to overhear them.
Oh, no. I’m in the kitchen with Mona, and I can hear every word.
“Hey, Twig.” It sounds like the guard who’s been here all morning. “You up next?”
“Oh, yeah,” comes a second, more nasal voice. “I pissed off my handler and he decided it was my turn to spend an evening with the boss’s bitch. What about you? How’d you get stuck with the job?”
“Me? Oh. I offered.”
“Yeah?”
The first man chuckles. “Yeah. She’s easy on the eyes and stays to herself. Quiet, too. I don’t mind watching her for the boss.”
“Hey. You never know. WIth a girl like that, you might have a chance when he’s done with her. I’ve heard that he’s never been seen with a chick before. Like some of the fellas started thinking he was a fag, right? Not anymore. He proved us wrong.”
I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Link told me that there hasn’t been anyone but me since we broke up—and I still have a hard time believing that—and that he was too busy to find a wife, but that it was expected of him. Is this why? Because rumors run that he’s gay?
He’s not. Not completely, at any rate. For all I know, he could’ve been with a hundred guys and still mean it that I was the only girl. There’s no faking his attraction to me. That’s one thing that’s never been in doubt. That man lives to fuck me, but why are these two talking about me like I might be up for grabs eventually?
Mona is still stirring the stew, back to the threshold. I can’t tell if she’s oblivious to the conversation—or if she’s pretending not to hear it.
I should do the same… but I don’t.
I can’t.
“I guess,” continues the first guy. “He seems attached to this one, but if he changes his mind… I like ‘em sweet.”
“A sweet whore,” Twig sneers. “Ain’t that an oxymoron or some shit.”
“Twig…”
“What? To be honest, I still can’t believe Devil finally took one of the whores home with him. I mean, shit. It’s one thing to pick one out and fuck ‘em upstairs. But the move ‘em into his place and act like she’s better than the rest… she must be a fucking amazing lay, that’s all I’m gonna say.”
Oh my God. They’re still talking about me, aren’t they?
Mona stops stirring the stew.
“You know something,” says the first guy. “I heard he married her.”
“Bullshit.” That’s Twig again. “Sinners fuck whores, they don’t marry ‘em.”
I look at my ring finger. It took days of wearing the ointment Cross left with Link before the swelling went down and the tattoo healed enough that the script—Lincoln—was legible.
He married me. In the dead of night, with only a judge to witness it, he married me… and two of his employees are debating it as if they have no idea that it’s true.
But he told me. He told me that he needed a wife to run the syndicate. He needed a wife and… and an heir.
He told me.
He didn’t tell the Sinners.
I wrap my arms around my middle, wishing that the floor would just open up and swallow me whole. I’d put fifty bucks down that these two think I’m in a totally different part of the penthouse and that they had no idea I heard everything they just said. I can’t bring myself to leave the kitchen in case I run into them and have to see their distaste for me on their face.
I can’t.
Mona can.
Whether she missed out on the first part of their conversation or it hit a point where she just couldn’t ignore it any longer, the grandmotherly housekeeper finally snaps.
Laying her wooden spoon on the spoon rest, she wipes her hands on her apron, storming across the kitchen. When she reaches the threshold, she perches her hand on her hips.
“You talk like that in Ms. Ava’s home, tak? When she can hear you?”
Oh, God. This is even more embarrassing. I mean, I know what Mama Mona is doing. Like always, she’s standing up for her children, but I was hoping I can slink out of here without passing the two gangsters.
Welp. Not now.
Because staying hidden in the kitchen would make me look like a coward in addition to being a whore, I join her at the threshold, looking at the two men who were talking about me.
One is the shaggy-haired, twenty-something who’s been here all afternoon. The other is a skinny blonde with a perpetual smirk and an ill-fitting suit. I don’t recognize him—he must be a new soldier on babysitting duty—but his dark eyes look right through me.
Next to me, Mona says something in Polish, too fast for me to pick up any of the words I’ve learned from her. Whatever it is, she’s obviously scolding them, and the one with the shaggy hair actually looks contrite; he must understand the language. The other one just throws a leer at me.
Right. Because I’m Devil’s whore, huh?
And despite how often he calls me his wife, or the fact that he branded me with his name, I can’t even argue that they’re wrong.
It’ll be real from the moment you say ‘I do’
For me, maybe. Obviously not for Link.
Pushing past the leering asshole, leaving Mona to ream them out again, I disappear down the hall. I can’t find it in me to go to our bedroom right now, and I let myself into Link’s library, flopping down on the chaise lounge I’ve never seen him use.
Right. Because he’s rarely fucking here.
Oh, Ava… I always knew I was naive.
I guess I thought, by the time I reached my mid-thirties, I’d have grown out of it.
Too bad I obviously haven’t.
