OBLIGATION

ALPHAHOLES #2

GEMMA WEIR

Obligation

Alphaholes #2

Copyright © 2023 Gemma Weir

Published by Hudson Indie Ink

www.hudsonindieink.com

This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it wasn’t purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademark status and trademark owners of various products referred to in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Cover Design by The Pretty Little Design Co.

Obligation/Gemma Weir – 1st ed.

CONTENTS

**Warning**

Obligation

Prologue

1.  January

2.  Clay

3.  January

4.  Clay

5.  January

6.  Clay

7.  January

8.  Clay

9.  January

10.  Clay

11.  January

12.  Clay

13.  January

14.  Clay

15.  January

16.  Clay

17.  January

18.  Clay

19.  January

20.  Clay

21.  January

22.  Clay

23.  January

24.  Clay

25.  January

26.  Clay

27.  January

28.  Clay

29.  January

30.  Clay

31.  January

32.  Clay

33.  January

34.  Clay

35.  January

36.  Clay

37.  January

38.  Clay

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Gemma Weir

Other Authors at Hudson Indie Ink

You asked for more, so here you go.

Don’t say you weren’t warned.

You thought Sebastian was crazy, just wait till you meet the rest of the alphaholes.

**WARNING**

My heroes are assholes. They are not PC. They are at times morally ambiguous, behave like cavemen and sometimes they’ll do whatever it takes to get their heroines pregnant.

Please, please, please don’t read this book thinking I’m exaggerating about how OTT and alpha these characters are because you’ll hate the book and then write a scathing review saying both me and my characters are psychopaths.

If you’ve read the first book in this series, Obsession, you’ll know that Sebastian is a walking red flag. His friends may end up being worse than him, so be warned.

This book contains elements of bullying and, at times, skirts along the lines of dark romance, with some scenes that could be considered as having dubious consent.

The alphaholes are controlling, manipulative, cruel and sometimes cold to the point of being glacial. Please do not let their age fool you, they are as alpha and dominant as all the other heroes I’ve written and if alphaholes are not your jam, then please stop reading now.

All my heroes are over-the-top, jealous, unreasonable, possessive assholes.

If you consider unapologetic alphaholes unacceptable or feel their behavior is in some way abusive, then this isn’t the book or series for you.

If you’re a naysayer who thinks what I write is romanticizing domestic violence and abuse, then please, please stop reading now. You will not enjoy this book!

This book isn’t a guide to dysfunctional relationships. It’s fiction. My books are fantasy. This isn’t real life. It’s a romance novel and should be read as such.

Just because this book is based during the high school and college years, please do not mistake this as a young adult romance—it’s not. This book is packed full of sexual scenes, dirty, filthy sex, and some scenes that will make you slightly ashamed that you enjoyed them so much.

We all know in the real world, throwing a woman over your shoulder, messing with her birth control, stalking her, and letting yourself into her home is a one-way ticket to either a restraining order or the mental hospital.

Nothing I write is based on real life, it’s pure fantasy, so it’s okay to agree that the dysfunctional relationships between my characters are sexy as fuck. Please do not kink shame me or my enthusiastic readers for finding these extreme alphahole behaviors hot. Maybe if you read this book with the pinch of romantic salt it was intended to come with, you might like it too.

Please heed this warning, my books will make you question your feminism, so I suggest you leave it at the door while you live in the world of my creation for a little bit, then pick it back up on your way out. It’s okay to like this kind of story because that’s all it is, a story, a few hundred pages of fantasy intended to titillate and excite, not to change your life.

If you’re easily offended, this isn’t the book for you.

But if, like me, you love a guy who is so obsessively in love with his girl that he will manipulate, coerce, control, and obsess over her until she gives herself to him completely, then read on and welcome to the world of the alphaholes ;)

For a full list of trigger warnings for each book, please check out my website www.gemmaweirauthor.com.

OBLIGATION

Noun, an act or course of action to which a person is morally or legally bound; a duty or commitment.

PROLOGUE

S taring at the girl across the room, I wait for her to look at me, silently demanding that she acknowledge me, that she turn her hateful, poisonous face in my direction. But her eyes remain downcast, her expression so damn neutral it’s like she’s wearing a mask.

She must hate this. She must be as angry, frustrated, and disgusted by this situation as I am. But while I seethe, she just sits there, blank, calm, and innocent in her demure white dress, the picture of virginal purity.

January Lynda Burke is the snake who is slithering her way into my henhouse. She’s the interloper that I’m obliged to accommodate because of a business deal. I don’t want her, and she knows it, but neither of us can escape our fate.

I always knew that I’d be in this situation at some point. In this day and age, it seems barbaric that arranged pairings, such as the one being forced upon us, still happen, but the world we live in isn’t modern America. This is high society and the way the rich stay rich, and keep getting richer, is through tactical marriages. Which is exactly what this is. An alliance, a planned joining of two families.

My parents told me at a young age that this was what would be expected of me the moment I was old enough to get married. I just never anticipated her. Her family is old money, just like mine, but unlike the Jansens, the Burkes are forcing this alliance with the threat of a hostile takeover. I can almost appreciate the nefarious methods by which they’ve secured this agreement if it wasn’t me who was being forced to marry the venomous mouse on the other side of the room.

Of course, despite their threats, we all know they wouldn’t have succeeded in actually hurting my family or our business, not when we have the Morrises, Rossbergs, and Lockwoods on our side.

If you’re wondering why my parents still agreed. It’s because, in my world, we hate scandal, and just the threat is enough to force a reaction. You can always make more money, but you can’t buy a better reputation or social standing.

Despite appearances and the fact that they’ve forced me into this, the Burkes are actually on the losing end of this deal. They think they’re winning because they assume that by their daughter becoming one of us, they’ll get the backing of my family and our closest allies in every business deal they seek out. In return, they gave us January and controlling interest in enough fields of black gold to destroy the earth and then buy a new one.

What they haven’t considered is that we’re just as ruthless as they are, and regardless of family ties, we’ll only back them when we choose to.

So here we are. The contracts have been written, entwining our futures, and I have a fiancée that I’ve never spoken to but already can’t stand the sight of. If I was getting married under different circumstances. If I was tying myself to one of the girls my parents have suggested might make useful allies over the years, I might have been content, maybe even happy about my upcoming nuptials. But not like this. Not when the woman I’m expected to marry and have children with is from a family of liars and extortionists.

Until a few weeks ago, I didn’t even know the Burkes had a daughter. They’ve kept her cloistered away, and it bothers me that I don’t know why. The world we live in is small. I know all the children of the families in our social sphere. I’ve met, gone to school with, or partied with them all. Even the ones younger than me have all been introduced at gatherings, events, and weddings. But my fiancée is an unknown, and that’s unsettling to someone who deals in information like I do.

The entire time we’ve been in this room, while our family’s lawyers have worked out the details of our marriage contract, January has sat beside her mother, silent and still, her gaze fixed firmly on her feet. But it’s the lack of emotion that piques my attention. Because who just sits there while they’re essentially being sold to a stranger? At the last moment, when the ink is dry and our fathers are shaking hands, bright fake smiles etched across their faces, she finally looks up, and her wide innocent eyes bore into mine as if she’s desperately searching for a lifeline.

A wry scoff falls from my lips.

First mistake, my poisonous one.

I’m not a lifeline.

I won’t save you.

I’m more likely to stand by and watch you drown.

1

JANUARY

W hite. So much white as far as the eye can see. For the hundredth time since Mother frog-marched me in here, forced me into the dressing room, and into this frothy white monstrosity, the dressmaker scowls at me.

“Miss Burke, if you don’t stand up straight and remain still, the silhouette will be ruined,” she scolds.

“Perhaps that’s for the best,” I mutter, glaring down at the layers and layers of ridiculous ruffled tulle and netting.

“January,” Mother’s sharp voice reprimands me.

My spine snaps straighter, and I unfold my arms and exhale silently, making sure the sounds of my annoyance and frustration can’t be heard.

“Is there a problem, young lady?” Mother asks slowly.

“No, ma’am. I just wondered if perhaps this dress is a little.” I search for the word carefully. “Much.”

“Excuse me?” Mother snaps. “You are a Burke, and you’re marrying a Jansen. This is high society at its finest. Perhaps you’d prefer a dress off the rack at Target. Do you think that might be more appropriate?” She sneers.

“No,” I sigh. There’s no point in arguing with her. No matter what I say, she’ll disagree. “I just thought something a little more demure might be more suitable, given this isn’t a love match. Don’t you think all these ruffles are just a little too romantic—for a wedding like ours?” Each word out of my mouth is carefully chosen not to aggravate my mother. Marilyn Burke is a difficult woman, and being her daughter only serves to make me more of a target, not less of one.

I’m expecting her sharp tongue to lash out and inform me how wrong I am. So, when she purses her lips and stares at me assessingly, I’m shocked.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Mother has never said those words to me before in my entire life. I’m never right. In fact, I’m wrong. I’m always wrong and have been since the moment she gave birth to me and the doctor informed her I was a girl.

According to my grandmother, the first words Mother said right after she pushed me out of her vagina and the nurse said, “it’s a girl,” were, “you’re wrong.”

I’m pretty sure she started hating me the moment the doctor advised her I was, in fact, female. The Burkes only place value on babies born with a penis, and as the first Burke born with the wrong equipment, I instantly became wrong, and I have been ever since.

The Burkes haven’t produced a female in five generations. Every baby born into the family has been male for so long that I’m practically an abomination. My father is one of five strapping Burke males. My grandpa, one of twelve. My great-grandpa, one of seven. All of them boys, all of them full of Burke brilliance, and then there’s me.

In fact, the last Burke girl born was so long ago that her name is nothing more than an offensive line in the family’s archives. Nothing else is known about her.

My father was so shocked by my gender he immediately insisted on a paternity test—because he’s a Burke, and Burkes don’t produce girls. When it was confirmed that I was, in fact, my father’s daughter, he took one look at me, curled his lip, and proceeded to impregnate Mother again before I was three months old. My brother Lucius is my father’s pride and joy; so is my brother Gabriel and my brother Holden. I remain the black sheep, the child that should never have been. The one barely even whispered about in the family’s history books.

“Get rid of the ruffles,” Mother tells the dressmaker. Then she turns away and strides out of the dressing room.

I’m stabbed with several pins as the woman unpicks the layers of tulle, muttering under her breath, as the dress becomes less monstrosity and instead just a beautiful representation of everything that’s wrong in my life.

The issue with being the only girl born into a family of boys is that no one really knew what to do with me. Burke boys leave for St. Helacious Academy at the age of five. The all-boys boarding school has taught every Burke for a hundred years. But a girl can’t go to an all-boys boarding school. So instead, Mother found me a tutor, and I was homeschooled because a Burke, even a girl, cannot attend a school where our family isn’t alumni.

Burke boys play lacrosse and join the rowing team. But a Burke girl can’t be seen to be doing that kind of activity because Burkes don’t lose, and a girl could never compete in a man’s sport.

In fact, it turns out Burke girls don’t have any value in a male world. So, my parents decided my only worth was as a bargaining chip to be given away in exchange for power and an alliance by marriage.

I’m eighteen years old. I’ve never set foot inside a real school. I don’t have a single friend in the world. My family can’t stand me, and I’m being forced to marry a stranger. Awesome.

I always knew this was probably what my future held, but a part of me wondered if I’d be able to escape. For years I dreamed that on my eighteenth birthday, I’d open the door to the house that’s been a prison my entire life and just walk away. But instead, on freedom day, my parents informed me they’d started talks to find me a suitable husband. Because apparently, this is the Dark Ages instead of the twenty-first century.

Stupidly, I thought I might be a part of the selection process. But again, I was wrong. Three weeks ago, Mother marched into my bedroom, forced me into a white dress more suited to a thirteen-year-old, and took me to a lawyer’s office. She insisted I sit mute, with my eyes downcast, while my father signed my life away without ever asking how I felt about an arranged marriage to a man I don’t know. I’m going to be a wife and then apparently a mother—nothing more than a broodmare. Who knew that the going rate for an eighteen-year-old virgin is the weight and backing of the Jansen family name and all the might it wields.

That meeting is the one and only time I’ve seen my fiancé. I caught the briefest of glances of him as I was being ushered from the room, and Clay Jansen looked as furious about this agreement as I felt.

Two hours later and the dressmaker is still fussing with this nightmare of a dress. My feet hurt and my back aches from standing in this same position without moving for so long. But I haven’t been offered a chance to sit down or even a drink.

“Much better,” Mother says, sashaying back into the dressing room and running her assessing eyes over me.

Instead of all the fluff, the dress is much simpler now. A silk sheath fitted to my slight frame, with an overlay of delicate chiffon that flows out behind me like water. On a personal level, I hate it, but from an objective point of view, I’m aware that it’s a beautiful dress.

For any other girl getting ready for her wedding, I’m sure it’d be enough to bring tears to her eyes. But I’m unmoved, numb. Perhaps if it were black, it’d match my mood a little better, a funeral shroud rather than a celebration dress.

Circling me, Mother lifts my long black hair off my back and twists it into a bun at the base of my neck. Directing an attendant to pin a veil in place, she steps back and assesses the final image. “Hmm, yes,” she hums, tapping her front tooth with the tip of her fingernail. “Yes, much better. You can wear your grandmother’s diamonds.” With that, she turns and leaves again, and the dressmaker looks up at me as if she’s expecting me to say something. I shrug. What is there to say? The only person with an opinion that matters just left the room.

“Thank you,” I mutter, trying not to let the embarrassment of being completely dismissed by my own mother heat my cheeks.

Once I’m free of the dress and back in my mother-approved outfit of black fitted slacks and a pale-pink silk shirt with a black knit peacoat over the top, I step out into the front of the store.

“Finally. Come. I’m meeting with the wedding planner, and if we don’t hurry, we’ll be late,” Mother says, snapping her fingers at me like I’m a dog she’s commanding to heel.

Following her out of the shop, I glance at the busy stream of traffic. What would happen if I stepped in front of a car? If I’m in a coma or have a broken leg, would the wedding still go ahead? I’m pretty sure my parents would still marry me off, even if I was unconscious.

2

CLAY

“H ere,” I say, lifting a cream envelope from the table and holding it out to Sebastian.

“What’s that?” Starling asks, trying to peer around Bastian to see what it is.

“It’s an invitation,” he tells her, glancing at me with a slight smirk.

“Oh. To what?”

“A wedding.”

Glancing up at Sebastian, she furrows her brow. “Whose wedding?”

“Mine,” I say, with zero emotion in my voice.

“What?” she shrieks.

“Clay’s getting married,” Sebastian says as he leads her away from the kitchen. The sound of them talking, and Starling’s outrage, echo through the house as they climb the stairs to the room they now share on the third floor.

Starling isn’t from our world, and even though we’ve all explained our families expect us to marry advantageously, this is going to be hard for her to understand. Because even after everything Bastian’s put her through in his pursuit of her, she still believes in love.

“Do you think this is going to upset her?” Hunter asks from where he’s cooking something on the stove.

“Bastian will explain. If he hadn’t laid claim to Starling in high school, this could have been him instead of me.”

“I can’t believe you’re getting married in two weeks.” He laughs. “Where are you going to live? Is she in school?”

“We’ll live here. Bastian isn’t going to leave without Starling, and she isn’t leaving without a degree,” I say.

“That doesn’t mean you have to stay. You’re going to have a wife. I know we always said we’d stick together, but we’ll understand if your plans change once you and January get married.”

“Nothing’s changing. I could have graduated high school and college years ago, but I didn’t because we have a plan. We stay together. We graduate college together and then we take over the family businesses, and we dominate. Together. I’m not going to let a little poison change anything.”

“She’s only eighteen. What if she’s been accepted into a different school?” he asks, tipping a perfect yellow, fluffy-looking omelet out onto a plate.

“She hasn’t applied to any colleges? My father had to speak to the dean of admissions and call in a favor to get her a place here, especially partway through the academic year.”

“Where did she go to high school? Obviously, I’ve heard of the Burkes, and I’ve met Lucius and the other younger ones, but I didn’t even know there was a sister.”

“Homeschooled,” I say, grabbing the plate and stabbing the omelet with a fork.

“Hey asshole, that was mine,” he growls.

“Mine now,” I say through a mouthful of egg.

Rolling his eyes, he turns back to the stove and starts making another omelet. Despite his protest, he must have anticipated me stealing this one because he has the egg mixture ready to pour back into the pan. “When do we get to meet her?”

“Wedding,” I say with a shrug.

“What? Why not before? Invite her round for dinner. She needs to at least meet us all before she moves in. What’s she like?”

I shrug again, and he turns fully toward me.

“What does that mean? Is she a bitch? Are we all going to like her, or is Bastian going to want to kill her?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never spoken to her,” I tell him glibly.

“What? What about when the contracts were drawn up?”

“Nope. She sat by her mother, staring at the ground, and never uttered a word. She only looked up once the whole meeting.”

“Well, what does she look like?”

“I don’t know. I barely looked at her. I was supposed to marry Melody La Mar or Serena Hamilton or one of the Kostas girls. The only reason I’m stuck with the Burke girl is because they threatened to go to the press about that issue we had with that oil spill twenty years ago. Apparently, there was an incident, and then there was a cover-up or something. According to my dad, we didn’t do anything wrong. But the way the paperwork was filled out and filed makes it look like we did. The Burkes got wind of it and wouldn’t shut up until we agreed to this alliance. They’re rich, but their name stands for shit. They need the backing and power of all our names to regain their place in the upper tier of society.”

“Well, you must have noticed something about her. Is she pretty? Tall? Short? Slim? Curvy? Redhead, brunette, blonde?” Hunter pushes, ignoring all the important facts about her family being a bunch of blackmailing snakes.

“From what I saw—which isn’t much given the old-fashioned virginal dress she had on—she’s slim, plain looking, with black hair.”

“Bro,” Hunter hisses. “You’re marrying this girl. Don’t you think you should at least have a conversation with her? Maybe get to know the future mother of your kids.”

“I’m not having kids with a poisonous fucking Burke. I’ll have an affair and get a kid that way. Fidelity isn’t a clause in the contract.”

“Cold,” Evan says with a laugh as he strides into the kitchen. He’s shirtless, his hair still wet like he just came out of the shower.

Grabbing the two remaining envelopes on the table, I fling one each in both Hunter’s and Evan’s directions, sniggering when they struggle to catch them. “Wedding invites.”

“Fuck. You know this steps up the time line for all of us now, right? Once you get married, all our folks are going to start looking at us to sign contracts too,” Evan says with a scowl.

“I thought Cassidy had convinced your dad not to arrange a match for you. And you know I wasn’t given much choice about this. The girl just turned eighteen last month, and days later, the Burkes started making accusations about the oil stuff.”

“Has she even graduated high school?” Evan asks.

“Homeschooled,” I tell him. “I did some digging and looked into her. No social media. No personal email. No cell phone and no friends I can find. She did online school and graduated at the same time as Starling, only she must have skipped a grade at some point because she only just turned eighteen.”

“So, she’s a mouse?” Hunter asks.

“No, she’s a snake. Just like the rest of her family,” I growl angrily.

“Fuck, with Starling, Sammy, and soon January, we’re going to be overrun with girly shit and hormones.” Evan laughs, but I can see that just the mention of Sammy moving in has him practically bubbling with excitement. Although he’s obviously trying to hide it.

“Just because Sammy’s moving into Starling’s old room doesn’t mean she’s going to fuck you,” I tell him, not bothering to shift my attention from the screen of my laptop.

I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I could have graduated high school years ago. Hell, I could have been finished with grad school by now if I’d put real effort into it. I’m a genius—that’s not boasting. My IQ is legitimately at a genius level. I was testing out of advanced placement high school classes at eight.

But I’ve never had any aspirations to be a wunderkind or to be separated from my friends and brothers. So instead of leaving, I stayed at Green Acres Academy with my friends and took the same classes as everyone else and I got my first college degree at the same time.

My first love is tech, and with enough time and server space, I could take over the world from my bedroom, with just my laptop as my weapon. I started designing computer programs when I was bored during my last year at elementary school and by the time I started my junior year at Green Acres Academy, I’d already patented and started distributing my most successful software packages.

My family is rich—Rockefeller rich—but I make enough money from the computer programs I’ve designed and the apps I’ve developed that I could disown my family’s heritage, my extensive trust fund and the companies I stand to inherit and still be a very wealthy guy.

Right now, I’m studying for my second degree and working on a master’s at the same time. Really though, I’m just wasting time until my brothers are done with school, and the absolute last thing I want or need is a wife. But I love my family more than my single status, and by marrying this girl, I’m taking one for the team and protecting my name. So, in two weeks’ time, I’ll do what’s expected of me and wait at the top of the aisle to marry a snake in a pretty white dress and pretend like I don’t hate it.

3

JANUARY

T oday’s the day. My hair is done, my makeup is flawless, and the dress is perfection, but all I feel is numb. A part of me thought that this whole farce would have been called off before we got to this point. That my parents would come to their senses; or develop a conscience and put a stop to this madness. I guess I really thought that the people who gave me life, who are supposed to love me and want what’s best for me, wouldn’t actually force me to marry a stranger.

But as the days passed and the wedding dates got closer, they didn’t call it off. They didn’t burst out laughing and shout “Bazinga!” at me. Instead, they forced me to sit in on meeting after meeting with the wedding coordinator, ignoring every opinion I offered. The one time I expressed I wasn’t sure I wanted to get married, Mother acted like I hadn’t spoken. No matter what I want, it’s full steam ahead on this contracted alliance between me and a boy who has never spoken a word to me.

I’ve watched hundreds of films where the bride and her mom have a special moment as they get ready together. The mom tearing up as she helps her daughter into her dress. That’s not what’s happening here. My mother employed a stranger to help me get dressed today. Esther—my dresser—steadies me as I slide my feet into white satin Manolo Blahnik slingbacks. Her smile is reassuring as she smooths the wrinkles from my dress and clips my veil into place while I wait to be escorted to the front of the church.

The door to the antechamber room I’m waiting in opens, and Father steps inside. I’m not expecting gushing sentiments or declarations of love, but I was hoping for more than him looking me up and down, nodding and stepping back out of the door. “Come,” he demands, calling me to heel like a well-trained dog.

My heart starts to beat uncontrollably fast as Esther fusses over me one last time, readjusting my veil and handing me a bouquet of crisp, personality-less white roses tied with a piece of the silk my dress is made of.

The flowers, just like every other detail of this wedding, have absolutely nothing to do with what I like and everything to do with Mother showing off our wealth and status.

It doesn’t matter to her that I hate roses or that I’d have loved to carry a quirky bunch of dahlias or a scented ball of lavender. She doesn’t even care that I’m allergic to the strawberries she insisted be in the cake. The only thing in this wedding that’s about me is the fact that I’ll be the one legally binding myself to a man I don’t know in five minutes’ time.

“January,” Father snaps from the corridor.

Pulling in a deep, shaky breath, I exhale slowly, then put one foot in front of the other. As much as I wish things were different, I know there’s no way I’m getting out of this wedding—least of all, running away. I’m eighteen years old, with an online high school diploma and not a single penny of my own money to my name. A week ago, I plucked up the courage to raise an objection to being sold into marriage to my father. I’m not stupid, I made sure I was out of reach of his fists and within running distance of the door. But he didn’t even dignify my objection with a response, he just looked to Mother, who coldly informed me that should I refuse to do as they wished, I would be kicked out of our family home and disowned.

My choices were marriage or homelessness.

I’m still not sure I’ve made the right choice.

Striding ahead, Father ignores me until we reach the doors that lead into the chapel, then he turns and offers me his arm, glaring at me impatiently until I take it. “Do not embarrass me,” he warns.

Then the doors open and the wedding march begins.

Each step closer to my groom feels longer than the one before until it feels like I’ve been walking to my doom for months rather than moments. When we finally reach the altar, Father slides his arm free from mine and sits down beside Mother without even acknowledging me.

Inhaling deeply, I fill my lungs with life-affirming oxygen and slowly exhale. Then I lift my chin and look up at my groom. Clay Jansen is beautiful. His hair is blond and just a little too long to be neat. His face is made up of aristocratic features that verge on severe but are softened by the olive tone of his skin and his beautiful full lips that are somehow perfectly proportioned for his face and yet almost feminine.

I’m not sure what I’m expecting to see in his expression, but it isn’t the harsh anger that’s reflected back at me. It was obvious he wasn’t happy at the contract meeting, but I guess I assumed he’d been given more of a choice about this wedding than I had. Given the way he’s looking at me like I’m the enemy, I’m guessing not.

The priest starts the ceremony, welcoming the church full of guests—most of which I’ve never met before—to this joyous day.

He asks the obligatory question. “Should anyone know of any reason why these two people should not be joined in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

I hold my breath, hoping and praying that someone will say something. My brothers and I aren’t close—it’s possible they hate me. But a tiny part of me thought someone might stop this. That someone might have the good sense to realize that an arranged marriage, in the twenty-first century, is so outdated a prospect that it’s barbaric.

But of course, no one speaks, and with an amused chuckle, the priest continues. I say “I do” in all the right places, and then Clay slides a diamond-encrusted wedding band onto my finger and the priest declares us man and wife.

I know this is all happening, but none of it feels real until Clay reaches out and pinches my chin between his fingers and thumb. Leaning down until his lips are a millimeter away from mine, he whispers, “You might be my wife, but you’re still nothing but poison.” His words are an angry snarl, but he closes the distance between us and presses his mouth to mine for a hard, punishing kiss.

I swallow my gasp as his tongue forces its way into my mouth, exploring aggressively, while his hold on me tightens until I’m sure he’ll leave a mark. Then he releases me and curls his arm around my waist, turning me toward the waiting congregation. His face is lit up with a wide smile, like he’s genuinely happy to be here, when I’m pretty sure he’s actually more pissed about this than I am.

I always imagined my first kiss would be sweeter, softer, but I can’t deny that I enjoyed the way he restrained me and took from me. Unable to speak, I force a fake smile to my lips and allow Clay to lead me down the aisle and out of the church to where a sleek black Rolls Royce is waiting for us.

Instead of opening the door for me, he climbs in first, leaving me standing on the sidewalk. For a long second, I wonder if he’d care if I just walked away. Somehow, I don’t think he would.

“Get in,” he snaps from inside the car.

Sighing wistfully, I look longingly down the street at freedom. I could run. But before I can make a break for it, the first few people start to exit the church, so instead of running, I lift my skirt and slide into the seat of the car, closing the door behind me.

We pull away from the curb a second later, and I risk a glance over to the man in the seat beside me, but his attention is on his cell and the messages he’s typing out. “We have to make an appearance at the reception, but after that, I have to get back to school. Have you packed?”

“School?” I ask dumbly.

“Kingsacre University,” he says, still typing on his cell. “Well? Have you?”

“Have I what?”

“Packed?” he snaps, lifting his chin and glaring at me angrily like this whole conversation is a waste of his time.

“Yes. I’ve packed. Mother didn’t mention you were still in school.”

His scoff is filled with so much derision, and I feel myself shrink back into my seat, scooting slowly closer to the door and away from him. “My dad called in a favor with the dean. They don’t normally let people start midway through the semester, but they’re making an exception for you given the… circumstances.”

I blink. Did he just imply that I’m going to be starting college? My heart skips a beat, then lurches into overtime, beating so fast I can feel it in my throat. “I’ll have to thank your father for his help,” I say, fighting to keep my voice calm when all I want to do is jump up and down in my seat and celebrate.

I begged my parents to allow me to apply to college, but they refused because, according to their outdated philosophy, women of good breeding don’t need a college degree. In this day and age, it’s a ridiculous notion. And I’ve come to the conclusion it’s just another bullshit excuse just to keep people from remembering that there was a Burke born with a vagina.

Clay scoffs derisively again, but I don’t care anymore. He can ignore me for the rest of our lives. I can deal with his silence and dismissal because, with a few words, my world just widened, and all of a sudden, my future became a hell of a lot brighter.

“My parents thought we might want to use the downtown condo tonight, but I’d rather get home. We can arrange for your things to be sent to our house on campus.”

“Okay,” I agree placidly. If he suggests skipping this whole farce of a wedding reception, I’d happily agree—even though it would drive my parents crazy if I did.

My mother has taken to the role of “mother of the bride” with gusto, and I’m sure she hopes to drag out her time in the spotlight for as long as possible. Instead of holding the reception at a hotel, she had a mammoth tent erected on the grounds of our family’s palatial home. Right now, I’m sure there are hundreds of servers and chefs preparing a banquet fit for royalty or at least the upper epsilon of high society.

Now that we’re aligned with the Jansens, praise will be heaped on her from every direction—which I’m sure she’ll lap up as she boasts about my brothers’ achievements, not sparing a word for the daughter she sold to gain her new elevated position in the wealthy elite.

The driver pulls through the gates of my home and the wedding coordinator has Clay’s car door open the moment the car slows to a complete stop. “The photographer is ready for you if you’d like to follow me. Mrs. Burke would like a series of posed photos to be issued as part of the wedding announcements. After that, we’ll do some family shots,” she says, speaking so quickly I can barely understand what she’s saying.

Nodding, Clay slides his cell into the pocket of his black tuxedo and emerges from the car gracefully, marching away without even glancing back at me. The dresser from the church appears at the car door, offering me a hand with a rueful, sympathetic smile. I take it, sliding across the seat and trying not to catch the train of my skirt with my heel as I step out onto the gravel driveway.

The woman offers me a single squeeze of support before she releases my hand and gestures for me to go ahead of her, heading toward the gardens at the rear of the house.

Neither Clay nor I speak as the photographer moves us to pose as Mother specifically requested, and after ten minutes, our parents join us and yet more pictures are taken of all of us with fake smiles and feigned intimacy.

Once the photographer tells us that he’s done, I cautiously move toward Clay’s father. “Excuse me, Mr. Jansen,” I say quietly.

An older version of Clay turns at the sound of my voice. “January, sweetheart, it’s Eric or Dad, whichever you prefer,” he says, smiling warmly at me.

“Sir, Clay mentioned that you’ve arranged for me to start classes at the college he’s attending, and well… I just wanted to say thank you. I really appreciate you doing that for me.” Emotion fills my throat, and I have to blink back hot tears as they threaten to spill from my eyes.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to thank me. If I can’t call in a favor for my new daughter-in-law, then who can?” He laughs lightly, a wide smile making wrinkles appear beside his eyes.

“I just wanted you to know how grateful I am,” I tell him, glancing around me, hoping neither of my parents can hear.

“Welcome to the family, sweetheart,” he gushes, pulling me into a tight hug.

I freeze. I don’t know what to do. My father has never hugged me, not even when I was a small child. He hugged my brothers. Even now, he’s always patting them on the back and applauding them for the tiniest of successes. But he’s never shown me any easy affection. Before I figure out how to react, he releases me, and Clay’s mother appears beside him.

“Hello, Mrs. Jansen,” I say politely.

“It’s Heather, dear,” she says, her tone polite but not as friendly as her husband’s.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you both, officially,” I say, not wanting to mention that they were both at the contract meeting, and neither bothered to speak to me.

“January, you and Clay have guests to greet,” Mother says in her cold, efficient tone.

“Of course,” I answer, glancing back to the Jansens. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Mother already has her arm hooked through Clay’s and she flashes me a cold look as she strides away while I follow behind.

The next hour is a blur of shaking hands and offering polite thank-yous to people I’ve never met before. Food is served, but I barely eat. The numerous courses that are placed in front of me are tasteless, and Mother’s warning glare every time I reach for my fork makes my appetite disappear completely.

The photographer reappears to take a picture of us cutting the cake, but when he suggests Clay feed me a piece, both men flash me disbelieving, annoyed looks when I tell them I’m allergic.

By the time the band starts to play, my feet are killing me, and I just want to leave. I’d rather go to a place I’ve never been, with a man I don’t know, who has barely muttered a word to me all day, than stay here for a minute longer.

When the singer announces that it’s time for our first dance, I could cry at the prospect of having to waltz in these torturous heels.

“I don’t dance,” Clay announces, dragging me roughly into his chest. Holding me close, he sways us from side to side, giving our audience the appearance that we’re too busy whispering sweet nothings to actually move. I’m so grateful that I just rest my cheek against his lapel and try to appear relaxed.

When the song finishes and other couples start to move to the dance floor, Clay releases my waist and takes my arm, steering me toward the tent’s exit. “Do you have a bag packed for the next couple of days until we can get your stuff?”

I nod, and he gestures for me to go and get it, but before I can move, my parents appear.

“Clay, sweetheart, you owe me a dance,” Mother croons.

“Actually, Marilyn, I was hoping to steal January and head home. It’s a long drive, and I have an early class on Monday morning.”

It’s the most I’ve heard Clay speak all day, and he’s so cordial and charming. I actually blink in surprise as I turn to look at him.

“Oh, of course. I’m sure you’re eager to spend some time alone together,” Mother says. Her voice is pleasant, but beneath the veneer of politeness, she’s not happy at all. It’s barely nine p.m. and I’m sure she was hoping to show off her new son-in-law for the rest of the evening.

“January was just going to go and collect her bag,” Clay says, pushing me forward with a hand on the base of my spine.

“Do you have a car here? I’ll arrange for one of the staff to fetch it,” Mother says, always the perfect hostess.

“Yes, my friends drove my car here for us to drive home in. January will get you our address on campus tomorrow, and I’ll arrange for the rest of her things to be shipped.”

“Of course. But on campus? I didn’t realize you were planning for January to join you at school?”

“I thought it would be more practical,” Clay says, eyeing my mother skeptically.

“Marilyn, perhaps you should see about January’s bags,” Father says, stepping forward and holding his hand out to Clay. “Congratulations, happy to have you as part of the family.”

“Thank you, Cliff,” Clay says, addressing my father by his first name without an ounce of deference.

Father asks Clay about his studies, and they chat for a moment until Mother returns. “The staff is bringing your car around,” she says.

“Thank you.” Clay smiles, offering my father his hand, before looking to me. “I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye.”

He’s gone before I can tell him that’s not necessary. For a second, my parents and I just stare at each other. Then my father turns and walks away without saying a word. Mother watches him go. “Let the housekeeper know where to send the rest of your clothes. We’ll expect to see you both at family dinner next week. I’ll contact Clay for his availability and book a restaurant.” Not waiting for an answer, she turns and leaves as well.

Unsure what to do, I just stand still, frozen to the spot. The thought of going back inside and having to smile and pretend I’m happy is so abhorrent I just can’t do it. Instead, I decide to circumnavigate the tent and head for the valet point, where I’m assuming Clay’s car will be waiting. My feet ache as my heels sink into the grass of the lawn, and for a moment, I consider taking my shoes off. But I don’t dare. Not yet. Not until I’m away from here and safe from my mother’s wrath.

There’s a small group of people, three men and two women, all standing by the valet station. They look to be around my age, but I don’t know them—I barely know anyone who attended my own wedding. So instead of making polite conversation, I stand self-consciously, trying not to fidget as I wait for Clay to appear.

One of the girls in the group keeps glancing in my direction. She’s beautiful in a pale-blue silk dress that falls to the floor in an elegant swoop. The man she’s with is equally gorgeous, but there’s a darkness that radiates from him. His hold on her is possessive, boarding on aggressive, but she doesn’t seem uncomfortable, in fact, quite the opposite. Her body is pressed close into him as he holds her at the back of her neck.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Clay demands, storming toward me from the entrance to the tent.

I glance around, expecting to find him talking to someone else, but when it’s clear his ire is aimed at me, I furrow my brow and look around me like I’m searching for the answer. “Here.”

“I left you with your parents. When I came back for you, you’d gone.”

“I assumed the car was being brought to the valet point, so I came here to wait for you.”

“Don’t you want to say goodbye to your guests?” he asks angrily.

“I’ve never met any of them before, so I doubt they’ll be expecting me to,” I say with a shrug.

He blinks like he wasn’t expecting me to say that, but I’m not sure why. “If you think I should go and say goodbye to your parents, I can.”

“No, I already told them we were leaving. Let’s go.” Turning, he strides toward the small group of people, but instead of going around them, he slaps one of the guys on the back and they all move forward as a group. Only the girl in the blue dress turns and glances back to me again.

When she taps Clay on the shoulder, motioning to me, he pauses his stride and looks back at me with a scowl. “Poison, this is Evan Morris, Samantha Hartley, Hunter Rossberg, Sebastian Lockwood and his fiancée Starling Kennedy.”

“Nice to meet you all,” I say politely.

“Guys, this is my poisonous new bride, January.”

“Clay,” both girls scold.

“What?” Clay laughs, smiling at the girls with a familiarity that makes a hollow ball form in my stomach.

The girl in the blue dress opens her mouth to speak just as three cars arrive at the curb. The first is sleek, matte black, low to the ground and impressively expensive looking. The second is a silver color that appears almost liquid. A third car pulls in behind the first two, only this one is bright yellow and ostentatious in comparison to the others.

“I’m driving,” the girl in the blue dress shouts, rushing forward to take the keys to the silver car from the valet as he climbs out of the driver’s seat.

“Not a chance, Little Bird,” the guy says. Flashing the girl a wolfish grin before scooping her off her feet and throwing her over his shoulder, depositing her into the passenger seat as she giggles.

“Let’s go,” Clay demands, glaring at me before he takes the keys to the black car from the valet and strides toward it as the other two men and the remaining girl from the group head for the yellow car.

Clay doesn’t bother to open my door, but the valet rushes around and opens it for me, waiting until I’m settled inside before closing it. Reaching over, Clay pushes a button and the car roars to life. He hands a tip to the valet, who smiles widely and takes it, eyeing the car with something that looks akin to admiration.

“Evan, Hunter, Sammy, Sebastian, Starling, and I all share a house.”

“Okay.” I nod. I probably sound like an idiot or a heartless, emotionless robot, but really what else can I say? I haven’t had any choice in all the ways my life is changing, so I have no other option than to just accept it.

Clay and I might be married, he might be my husband, but he’s a total stranger, and he’s made it pretty obvious that he’s not any happier about this than I am. Right now, being emotionless is the only way I can deal with all this.

He’s called me Poison more than once tonight, so it’s clear he’s not my biggest fan. But for better or worse, we’re tied to each other. We don’t have to like it, but we do have to find a way to deal with it.

4

CLAY

W hat the fuck is wrong with her? I’m an emotionless bastard a lot of the time, but it’s a choice I make, depending on the person I’m dealing with. My friends and family all know the real me, the one who cares. But to the outside world, I’m nothing more than a heartless void, the cold genius capable of ruining your life in ten minutes with nothing more than my cell phone at my disposal.

But this girl—my wife—is so stoic I’m genuinely starting to wonder if she’s heavily medicated or possibly just dead inside. When she walked down the aisle, I tried not to look, tried not to care who the girl I was about to marry was. But then I turned and saw the beautiful waif in the white gown gliding toward me on her father’s arm.

She looked nothing like the girl at the contract meeting, who’d been dressed to appear half her age. Today, her gown clung to every barely there curve. Despite her waiflike appearance, she’s all woman; high breasts, an hourglass waist, and a pert ass that begs to be grabbed.

No. I refuse to be sexually attracted to a venomous little snake. I refuse to want my wife.

Marilyn Burke has been playing the mother-of-the-bride role like she’s going for an Oscar. All I’ve heard from her all day is how this wedding is a blessing and that we’re joining two great families. To listen to her, you’d think this was a love match, not a coerced marriage to save face.

I guess I expected a certain amount of smugness from January too. She’s the girl who snagged the golden goose. But except for smiling for the photographer and greeting guests, she’s been expressionless. Marilyn, Cliff, and January’s brothers have all been an obnoxiously loud presence in today’s proceedings, but her family treated January like they barely knew her. Her father escorted her down the aisle, but he didn’t kiss her cheek or offer her a single concerned glance when he moved to take his seat beside his wife.

And Marilyn Burke was more interested in me than her daughter. She took every opportunity to curl her arm through mine, showering me with lavish attention while she barely spared a glance to her oldest child.

January was silent through it all. The entire day she’s barely spared a glance for anyone, and no one has made any effort to come to her either. Not even her three younger brothers spoke to her, although all three sought me out. Even now, when I’m driving her away from her home and her family, she seems resigned and completely uncaring about how her new life will look. The only time I’ve gotten any kind of reaction from her was when I told her she would be starting classes at Kingsacre.

Her stoniness is driving me crazy. I want to force a reaction from her. I want to see the real person, not the emotionless robot she’s been pretending to be all day. Silently brooding, I don’t say another word to her as I drive us back to school. I imagine her mom expected me to whisk January away on a lavish honeymoon, but that was never going to happen. I was forced into this marriage, and I won’t miss time at school just to take my poisonous bride to the beach.

Glancing over at her, I expect her to be sleeping—it’s been a long day—but she’s awake, her eyes taking everything in as I drive through the gates to the school and slow to a stop at the valet station.

“We have to take a golf cart to get across campus to the house,” I say.

Climbing out of my car, I let the valet know that there are bags in the trunk, then I walk away. Should I take her bag from her rather than have her carry a suitcase in a full-length wedding gown? —absolutely. But I’m trying to push her buttons, and I want to see how she’ll react to not being treated like a princess.

Without saying a word or even looking at me like she’s expecting me to help, she lifts her dress with one hand and holds her case with the other. Sitting in the driver’s seat of the cart, I watch January place her bag on the rear seat and climb in beside me without even a huff of annoyance.

More frustrated than before, I quickly pull out of the space, traversing the winding paths with ease. Neither of us speaks, and a few moments later, I press a button on my cell and the gates that secure the entrance to our house swing open, allowing us entry.

Collinswood House is impressive for campus housing. It’s a Queen Ann Victorian-style home with a turret that towers from the roof and a wraparound porch complete with a wooden swing.

I glance at January and wait for her to show any emotion, but again she doesn’t say anything and when I stop, she slides from the cart and grabs her case. Angry at her lack of reaction, I stalk forward, unlocking the front door and throwing it open.

“My room is on the second floor,” I snap, climbing the stairs, not bothering to wait for her. I’m being an utter dick right now, but I just don’t seem to be able to help myself. “Come on,” I growl from halfway up the first flight when she doesn’t immediately follow.

A second later, the tap-tap of her heels on the wooden staircase echoes through the old house and I take pleasure in moving faster, hoping that she’ll struggle to keep up. Instead of rushing, she keeps climbing at the same speed until she eventually stops beside me as I open the door to my room.

Unlike a normal college dorm, Collinswood only has six rooms that are more like minisuites. When Bastian orchestrated for Starling to attend this year, he moved out of the larger room beside mine and took the room on the top floor so he could be next to the turret he had renovated for Starling.

We’ve all done some messed-up things to that poor girl over the years to help Sebastian keep her, and honestly, it’s amazing she still tolerates any of us; but however they got there, Sebastian and Starling are obsessively in love with each other. He’s a crazy motherfucker, but she’s his and it’s clear to anyone who meets them that he’s just as much hers.

Stepping into my room, I motion for January to follow me, and she shuffles into the space, her eyes taking in every detail. The suite has a bedroom, a small sitting room, and a bathroom. I’ve set up the sitting room as more of an office space, and computer equipment covers the walls and most surfaces.

The bedroom is large, with a huge bed dominating the space. I don’t do fussy, but I do enjoy being comfortable, so my bed is a California king with a thick comforter and more pillows than anyone could ever need.

January’s gaze snags on the bed, and her cheeks heat. It finally seems like my poisonous bride is reacting to something, and if I had to guess, I’d say she’s thinking about fucking me right now.

“What do you think, wife? Is my bed big enough for me to fuck you in? You belong to me. Your parents sold you to my family for privilege and influence. I can do whatever the fuck I want with you, and no one will say a word as long as I fill your cunt with cum and eventually make sure you’re good and bred with my heir. It won’t matter how used up and broken you are as long as your womb still works.” The words fall from my lips, each one a dagger intended to wound, and I see from her face that they’ve hit their mark. But she still stays silent, masking her emotions as best she can.

“How does it feel to know you’re nothing more than a broodmare? I could rip that dress off you now, force your face into my comforter and use you like a Fleshlight. Nothing more than a faceless hole to fill with my cum over and over. I could lock you in this room and make you my slave and not a single person in the world would stop me.”

5

JANUARY

I  thought I understood hate; I’ve lived with it my whole life. But the dismissive dislike I feel from my parents, the misplaced anger and physical pain, is nothing in comparison to the utter revulsion and loathing pouring from Clay as he glares down at me. He looks ravishing in his perfectly fitted black tuxedo, which accentuates his muscled forearms and chest. His thighs are so wide they look almost obscenely large in his tailored pants, and my body clenches a little at the thought of how it would feel to have my legs spread around them.

But after all the horrifyingly graphic things that just came out of his mouth, it’s clear he’s much unhappier about our situation than I believed, and apparently, he wants me to be the one to suffer for that.

He hates me. Although I’m not sure why. But regardless, he hates me enough to possibly hurt me just because he can. So, I do the only thing I can. I roll back my shoulders, lift my chin and whisper. “No.”

“Excuse me,” he splutters.

“No,” I say again. My voice is shaking, but I keep going, needing to get the words out. “You can hit me. You can beat me until I’m too broken down to stop you, but that’s the only way I’ll let you touch me like that.”

His brow lifts and he narrows his eyes at me even as he listens.

“I’ve been a punching bag for every male member of my family since I was a child. I will not become a victim for you too. I’m sure you won’t have any problems finding women willing to let you play out your sadistic little fantasies if that’s what makes you feel good. But you won’t touch me. When you or your family decide it’s time for you to become a father, I’m sure we can find a fertility clinic to artificially inseminate me.”

He takes a step toward me, and I flinch, unable to stop my reaction, but instead of raising his fists, his mouth goes slack, and he backs away from me.

“January,” he growls, his tone becoming an almost animalistic gruff.

“No,” I say again as decisively as I can, my entire body shaking as I take two steps back. Clay is one of the most handsome men I’ve ever seen. He’s beautiful. But the way he just spoke and the hatred in his tone, that’s not something I want to allow him to sate on my virgin body.

Clay is glaring at me with a mixture of hate and pity in his eyes. He can hate me all he wants; I refuse to allow him to use me like a faceless sex toy just because he’s pissed. I’ve lived with abuse my entire life, but unlike my brothers, who are kept in line by the limits Father thankfully never crossed, Clay has no one to stop him from taking things too far.

“They hit you?” he asks slowly.

“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if you try to touch me, I’ll scream this house down. Literally the only way I’ll have sex with you is if you hold me down and rape me. I will never be willing.” I force a strength I don’t feel into my voice, clenching my hands into fists to keep them at my sides.

“Why the fuck did you agree to marry me?” he yells, but his anger seems different than it did only moments ago.

“Were you given a choice?” I ask.

“No. Not really.”

“Neither was I.”

“Did your mom know?”

“Mother loves her husband and her sons,” I tell him, answering his question without actually telling him that my mother is more than aware of the way I’m treated.

His gaze drops to my feet, then slowly runs up my body, taking in my shapeless frame in the white dress. My shoulders are bare, and my arms are skinny. In my opinion, I look like a prepubescent boy, but Mother insists that men prefer skin and bone over curves. So, my chest is almost flat, my hip bones protrude, and my limbs are bony. I have no idea what he sees when he looks at me. Maybe he’s considering how easy I’ll be to subdue, or perhaps he’s wondering how my family can condone using physical violence against me. Maybe he doesn’t care either way.

“I⎯” I start.

“Shut up, Poison, just fucking shut up. You can sleep on the floor or on the couch for tonight. I need a fucking drink.” Storming to the door, he throws it open and slams it behind him.

Exhaling a ragged breath, I unclench my hands. My fingers are trembling so badly it feels like my whole body is shaking, but I grab my case from the floor and rush to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me. My back hits the door and I stifle a sob as all the fear and anxiety I’ve fought to tamp down all day rushes to the surface.

I’m married. Clay is my husband, and he hates me. He hates me so badly he threatened to rape me. To use me. But I said no. I stood up to him. I didn’t stay quiet and tolerate it like I had to at home. This might be my new prison and he might be my new jailer, but I’m no longer the same person. I have a voice and I used it.

I don’t know Clay Jansen, but from what I’ve seen so far, he’s a horrible person. A tiny, naive part of me thought this could be a fresh start. I was wrong. Now I just need to do whatever I have to do to survive until I can figure out a way to leave and run as far and as fast as I can. I’d hoped that maybe Clay and I could try to make the best of a bad situation, but after tonight it’s clear that’s not an option.

Glancing at myself in the mirror over the bathroom counter, the white wedding dress catches my eye. I need it off. I want to destroy it and shred it to pieces, to forget this day and this man and everything that I’ve had no choice about. Fumbling with the zipper, I push the sheath off my shoulders, kicking and stomping at the fabric until I hear the telltale sound of stitches ripping. Sinking to the floor, I yank off my shoes and throw them at the wall, reveling at the sound of them bouncing off the plaster.

The tile is cold against my bare feet and I’m naked except for this ridiculous underwear Mother picked out for me to lose my virginity in. Disgust mixes with despair and I need it off too. Reaching behind me with shaking fingers, I unclasp the bra and push my nails through the sheer mesh until holes form, slowly destroying the beautiful lingerie. Wriggling out of the tiny matching thong, I destroy that too.

Once I’m finished, and my wedding finery is ruined, a calm settles over me. This day was a mockery, and my husband is a monster, but I’m out of my parents’ hold and free of their judgmental condescension and painful rage.

Today was a win for me, it has to be. I said no. I stood up for myself in a way I’d never been able to before. I’m going to be a student at Kingsacre University and even if the foreseeable future includes Clay, it still holds the chance for an education—something I’ve never been free to pursue before.

The band on my finger is still a cage of sorts, but it’s a hell of a lot bigger than the one I’ve been kept in up until now. I can tolerate living with a man who hates me for a few years if it means I have options once we file for divorce. I won’t be a teenager with a high school diploma, I’ll be an adult divorcée with a degree. A definite win.

Resigned to my future being a little brighter than it was before, I turn on the shower and wash off the day. Dragging all the pins from my hair, I scrub at my scalp, glad that I remembered to bring my case into the bathroom with me so I don’t have to use Clay’s toiletries. Once I’m clean, I grab the towel from the rail and dry my skin. Opening my bag, I keep my fingers crossed that Mother didn’t find the real pajamas I hid beneath the lace teddies and borderline pornographic lingerie she picked out for me to wear for my new husband.

When I find them, I let out an audible sigh of relief, dragging out my soft black lounge pants and tank top and hugging them to me. Pulling them on, I brush the knots from my long hair and braid it so it hangs over one of my shoulders. The sound of the shower allowed me to forget that my seriously pissed husband might be waiting in the bedroom. Instead of opening the door, I press my ear against it, hoping to hear a TV or something to let me know if he’s out there, but there’s nothing.

Tentatively, I push open the door, peering around it and searching for him, but the room is still empty. Rushing out in bare feet, I pad silently across the hardwood floor and check the sitting room, but that’s empty too. Exhaling, I place my case on the floor by the side of the small couch and head back to the bathroom, scooping up the dress, underwear and shoes and shoving them into the trash can. The silk is spilling from the small can, but I don’t care. I don’t want to leave it on the floor, and I don’t plan to wander downstairs to find where they put the garbage, so where it is will have to do.

Eyeing the floor beside the bed and the couch in the sitting room, I decide to take the couch. There’s more room on the floor, but I don’t want to be in the bedroom with him, and even though the couch is probably too small for me to stretch out on, at least it’s in a different room.

There’re two small cushions and a throw draped over the back, so I fashion myself a bed and lie down, covering myself with the throw and curling into it until I’m burrito’d in the fabric and as protected as I can get.

I know I won’t sleep, not with Clay’s threats from earlier still clear in my thoughts, but at least if I’m lying down, I can pretend to be asleep when he comes back into the room. The thought that he might not come back jumps into my mind. His seeking out another woman to hurt instead of me shouldn’t make my stomach twist, but it does. He’s my husband. It doesn’t matter that we don’t know each other or that this is a business arrangement between our families. We still got married today. We stood in front of a priest and made promises to each other, and him having sex with someone else on our wedding night—even if it keeps him away from me—feels like a betrayal.

A moment later, the door flies open and Clay storms in, his jacket discarded, his bow tie hanging loose around his neck, the top button of his shirt unfastened. He looks unbelievably sexy and the heat between my legs pulses and warms without my consent.

His gaze flashes to me before I can remember that I’d planned to pretend to be asleep when he came in. His eyes rake over me, running from my wet hair to my makeup-free face and where I’m wrapped up in the blanket.

I stiffen as he sways toward me, a sneer lifting one side of his lips before a disbelieving scoff slips from his mouth, the sound filling the thick silence between us. Our gazes lock and he stares at me. I stare back, unable to look away.

My body’s affected by his potent aggression, although I wish it wasn’t. I might be a virgin, but I’m aware of my sexuality—even if I don’t really know what to do with it—I’m one-hundred-percent attracted to my husband, but I’m equally as frightened of him, and judging by the heat of his anger, I think he might be attracted to me too. Maybe if he was just angry at the arranged marriage we’ve been forced into, we could have acted on our mutual physical connection. But the way he spoke to me, the things he described doing to me and the fury behind his words, that’s more than anger and annoyance, it’s hate.

A laugh slips free from his mouth and a sly smirk curls at the corner of his lips. “I thought venomous snakes were supposed to be brave. I saw it earlier, that bite, but it’s gone now, so maybe you’re not a snake at all, maybe you’re really a mouse.”

With a last, victorious smile, he turns his back on me and stomps into the bedroom.

6

CLAY

F uck, fuck, fuck. Fuck. Today has been a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

I’m married. Married to a fucking Burke. But the woman who walked down the aisle to me wasn’t what I expected. She’s beautiful, in a fragile way. January is broken. I recognize it from how Starling looked when she first came to Kingsacre. The only difference is that Sebastian and the rest of us were the cause of Starling's pain, but if what January said is true, her family is the cause of hers.

Pushing through the door of my room, anger, like nothing I’ve ever felt, surges through my body as I storm down the stairs and into the kitchen. Pulling down a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, I drink straight from the bottle until the liquor turns to a sour burn in my stomach.

I’d intended to hate January simply because of who her family is, but even hating her, I’d still planned to get my dick wet on my wedding night, poisonous cunt or not.

This is so fucked! I thought she wanted me too. She might not have wanted to feel that way, but I swear she did. There was heat in her eyes, or at least I thought there was. But maybe not. Maybe I just wanted her to want me because, despite all my better judgment, I want her. Maybe what I thought was desire was actually fear.

Fuck, I’m a monster. While I was taunting her with all the depraved things I wanted to do to her, she was trying to decide if I was going to beat the shit out of her or just rape her.

My thoughts make my fury spark even brighter. My beautiful, broken, sexy, sad, stunningly silent wife isn’t attracted to me, she’s fucking terrified of me.

But I still want her—I don’t want to. She’s from that fucking family, a Burke. She shares DNA with that den of vipers, but I still want her. I want to do all the messed-up, disgusting things I told her I did. I want to hold her down, push her face into the comforter and fuck her until she’s screaming and begging for me to stop and keep going all at the same time. I want to push her to her knees and choke her with my dick. I want to fill her with my cum, then keep her bent over so I can watch it drip out of her, then fuck her again and again until she’s pregnant with my kid.

But I want her to want it too. I want lust and need in her eyes when I’m using her like a fuck toy. Only she doesn’t want me. I was wrong. She wasn’t checking me out when she stood beside me at the altar, she was fucking terrified to find out if the monster her parents sold her to is as evil as the monsters she’s lived with her entire life.

The front door opens and my friends come in, but I don’t call out to them, hoping they’ll all head upstairs so I don’t have to admit the truth—that I married a snake who might not be a snake. Her family is scum, but did she help them blackmail my family into this alliance, or is she just a pawn moved for their advantage? I’d planned to hate my new bride, but is she just a victim of circumstance?

The liquor burns as I take another swig from the bottle. Despite how pissed I am, my dick is still as hard as a fucking rock for her. But now, after everything she said upstairs, it’s nothing but blue balls in my foreseeable future.

I shouldn’t still be turned on, but something about her brokenness calls to me. She’s mine, even if she turns out to be the viper I think she is. But even while a part of me hates her, the rest of me needs to figure her out. She’s awoken something inside of me, a crazy brand of obsession I can already feel thumping in my veins. Snake or mouse, victim or perpetrator, I need to know because January Burke is mine until I decide she’s not.

When the whiskey bottle is half-empty and my stomach is churning with a mix of guilt and anger, I stomp back up to my room, throwing open the door and trying not to sway as I walk inside.

I told her she could sleep on the floor or the couch, but a part of me expects I’ll find her in my bed. That she’ll assume I’d give it up for her because she’s a woman, which is exactly what I should do. But instead, she’s on the couch, her tiny, skinny body wrapped from neck to toe in the blanket I keep on there for when I don’t want to fuck in bed and have to change the sheets.

Her eyes are wary, staring me down as if she can see into my mind and find out who I am and if I’ll hurt her just by looking hard enough. I’m an asshole, but I’d never raise my fists to a woman, ever. But she doesn’t know that.

When I sway in her direction, her eyes widen and she stiffens almost imperceptibly. Sneering, I scowl at her. How fucking dare she assume I’m a wife beater and rapist. She doesn’t know me. Maybe I suggested that I wasn’t overly concerned with how consenting she was earlier, and the way I described fucking her wasn’t exactly hearts and flowers. But beyond the poses the photographer placed us in and the kiss at the altar, I haven’t touched her. I haven’t done anything to cause this fear.

I fucking hate her making assumptions about me almost as much as I hate her for making me crave her. “I thought venomous snakes were supposed to be brave. I saw it earlier, that bite, but it’s gone now, so maybe you’re not a snake at all, maybe you’re really a mouse,” I taunt her, smirking, as I turn away and head for my bed, stripping out of my clothes and turning off the light before I fall face-first into my pillows and pass the fuck out.

The sun is fucking evil as it glares at me through the blinds I forgot to close before I fell asleep last night. I don’t know what time it is, I don’t even know where my cell is, but it’s bright as fuck, so it must be pretty late.

Wincing, I roll to the side and spot my tux on the floor. The day before comes back to me in a rush. Yesterday was my wedding day, and today, I’m waking up alone. Fucking great. I thought having a wife guaranteed me morning sex or at least a blow job, but apparently that only applies when you pick the woman you marry. Otherwise, you end up with a terrified mouse in snakeskin who’s scared of you and would rather sleep on a small uncomfortable couch than share a bed.

The image of her wrapped up in my blanket fills my mind. I never considered what she was wearing beneath the covers and Marilyn Burke isn’t the type of woman who’d send her daughter to her wedding night with flannel pj’s. Was she in lace, or silk, or maybe nothing at all? Was my timid new wife naked on the couch all night? Fuck, the thought makes my dick hard, even though there’s nothing sexy about her choosing to sleep out there or about anything that happened between us last night when we got back here.

But at least I know more about her now than I did before. She’s strong enough to tell me no. But not strong enough to stand up to her family or get herself out of an abusive home situation. Fuck, she had an abusive homelife. That’s not her fault, and I won’t be the asshole she thinks I am by blaming her for not getting out when I know that, coming from families like ours, it’s not as simple as just leaving.

I always knew the Burkes were ruthless, underhanded fuckers, but knowing that her dad and probably her younger brothers were violent toward her, makes me hate them all that much more.

If I was a better person, if I could see past my anger at them, I’d probably feel fucking awful for January. But I don’t know her, and I don’t trust her. This could all just be a lie and she could be just as poisonous as them, even if she’s their victim too.

Remembering the way she said no to me last night makes my dick twitch. I have no idea why her rebuttal is turning me on. Maybe it’s the rebellious but fearful look in her eyes when she said it. Or maybe it’s that she’s just sexy and so fucking innocent that I want to coddle her, curse her and dirty her up all at once. Reaching down, I palm my cock, using the precum that’s dripping from the tip as lube as I run my hand up and down my length.

Closing my eyes, an image of the way she looked walking down the aisle to me in that white dress pops into my mind. She was so pure and so guileless as she stood up to me, trying not to flinch while I described all the sick, fucked-up ways I wanted to use her body. Her defiance was like a siren’s call. I imagine her smirking as she fights me. Begging me not to touch her, even as she strips off her clothes and presents her pussy for me to fuck.

My mind envisages how she’d look on all fours, her tiny breasts high and tight, her nipples pebbled as she watches me crawl onto the bed behind her. How she’d sway her ass, putting herself on display for me while telling me no.

Then how she’d scream out my name and beg for more the moment I slammed my dick into her tight, wet hole. How she’d pant and gasp and urge me on, asking me to fill her with my cum, to make her mine, own her and claim her.

My balls tighten and my dick explodes, thick lines of cum pulsing from the slit, coating my hand, stomach, and sheets. I have no idea if she’s still on the couch, but a part of me hopes that she is, that she heard me jacking off and that she knows I just made myself come in the bed only feet from her.

It’s messed up that I feel guilty for wanting my wife, but I do. If she’s as bad as the rest of her family, then it’s a good thing my dick is in my hand and not inside of her. But I need to know first. I need to decide if she’s just a victim of birth and circumstances or if she’s the snake I thought she was until last night.

Sliding from beneath the covers, I pad naked and unashamed into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door as I step into the shower and turn on the water. A torrent of cold liquid hits my head and my breath hitches, but I enjoy the blast of iciness, it just makes me appreciate the warmth even more when it comes.

When I’m clean, I step out and grab a towel, smelling her on it the moment I bring it to my face. Her hair was different last night, and she’d washed off all her makeup. She must have had a shower while I was downstairs trying to drown myself in whiskey. Instead of putting the towel in the hamper, I use it, smearing myself with her scent until the faint smell of flowers fills my nose every time I move.

Yesterday I was too blinded by anger to think rationally and that’s not me. I’m not an act first, think later kind of guy. I’m a genius, for fuck’s sake. I think first, second and third, then act when I’ve thought out every eventuality. I need to do that now. I need to figure out exactly who January is, and now that she’s away from her family, it’ll be easier to see the real her.

I need to know who she speaks to, where she goes and what she does. I need to know everything there is to know about my dear wife and then, only then, will I be able to decide what to do with her.

A plan starts to come together in my mind the moment I think rationally, my heartbeat slowing as I feel myself calming. First, I need to put on some pants and feed her. She barely ate at the reception, but I don’t blame her. The overly fussy Michelin-starred chef’s food was fucking terrible.

Grabbing some sweats from my dresser, I push my feet into them and pull them up over my still semihard dick. Wearing boxers would probably hide my arousal, but I want her to see it. I’m not going to hide how attracted to her I am, and last night was her one and only night on that fucking couch. Tonight, she sleeps with me, assuming she hasn’t run while I’ve been asleep.

Fuck. Until now, I hadn’t considered her running away. That isn’t an option. Regardless of how I feel about her, we’re married and we’re staying married. Unions like ours don’t end because the bride leaves. They end because a more advantageous connection is forged or because someone cheats publicly. Appearance is everything in the world we live in, and like it or not, both me and January have to give the appearance of a happily married couple, even if things couldn’t be further from the truth.

Paging my cell from my watch, I find it plugged in and on the charger. I must have been sober enough to have remembered to bring it upstairs with me at least. Swiping to bring the screen to life, I click into the app and lock the gates around the property; then I check the cameras on the front of the house, fast-forwarding from the moment the others got home last night right through to the present. No one went outside until early this morning when Starling went for her run.

For a moment, I wonder if Bastian knows she left their bed this morning, but of course he does. He knows everything she does. He controls everything, so he’ll have known the moment she blinked her eyes open and the security team he has monitoring her will have updated him with the route she ran and if she saw or spoke to anyone while she was out.

Starling may think she’s free, but it’s nothing more than an illusion Bastian allows her to believe. Sebastian Lockwood is a fucking psycho when it comes to her. I supported his obsession until Starling gave me a bitch slap with her words and made me realize how messed up what he was doing was. Before that, I never really gave his control issues much thought, but since they’ve reconnected, I’ve tried to encourage him to chill the fuck out. With January here, I’m starting to reconsider my stance because maybe he’s exactly right. Maybe he’s been right all along.

With that thought in mind, I open my text app and type out a message.

Me: I need Dr. Harris to come to Collinswood this afternoon to install January’s tracker.

My dad’s reply is almost instant.

Dad: Of course, I’ll give him a call.

Me: Thanks. Can you ask him to request her medical history too? She mentioned she has an allergy I want him made aware of.

Dad: Absolutely.

When Bastian, Evan, Hunter, and I were kids, there were several kidnapping attempts against us, so our parents had tracker chips installed in our necks. That way, if anyone succeeded in taking us, they would be able to find us.

The first time Sebastian brought Starling home, he had a tracker implanted in her too. The difference was, unlike us, she had no idea, not until he had to use it a few months ago when she went missing and some asshole tried to attack her.

If January and I were on better terms, I’d sit her down and explain the need for the tracker for her own safety, but right now, I don’t want her to know about it. I don’t want her aware that I’ll be able to track her every move.

Typing out another text, I feel the weight of sudden clarity and understanding settle on my chest.

Me: Can you get everyone out of the house this afternoon for a couple of hours?

Bastian: Why?

Me: Dr. Harris is coming to install January’s tracker.

Bastian: So why do you need everyone gone?

Me: Because January won’t be conscious while it’s being done.

I can already picture his smug, knowing grin.

Bastian: Do you have a sedative?

Me: Not yet.

Bastian: I have some in our room, I’ll get it for you, then arrange for everyone to be occupied.

This is why I love this man like a brother. Instead of telling me it’s wrong to drug and then take advantage of my wife’s unconsciousness, he’s offering me the drugs and making sure no one else knows what I’m doing.

I love Starling like a sister, but if she found out what I have planned, she’d lose her fucking mind. She might have learned to tolerate Bastian’s crazy ass, but she wouldn’t find it as endearing a trait in me. Her not knowing is the best way not to risk our relationship.

Feeling better now that I have a plan, I stand up and pad into the sitting room. I startle when I find January sitting on the couch, fully dressed, in a pale-blue dress that’s far too formal to lounge around the house in. She’s reading a book. Not on her phone or Kindle, but an actual paperback that’s old and well read, judging by the creased yellowing pages and scuffed cover.

“Have you eaten?” I ask.

Jolting with shock, the book falls from her hands, hitting the floor with a thud. Spinning to face me, her wide eyes look even wider, almost doll-like in appearance. “You scared me. I didn’t hear you,” she whispers.

“I asked if you’ve eaten?”

“Oh, no. I wasn’t sure where the kitchen was, and I didn’t want to look like I was snooping around.”

I glance at my watch, it’s after one in the afternoon and she barely ate yesterday. She must be starving.

“Let’s go.”

Instead of jumping up, she seems to rise almost effortlessly from the couch. She has the kind of grace I’m not used to, like old Hollywood glamour, but it’s natural instead of practiced.

Her feet are bare, but now she’s standing, I can see just how out of place her dress is. It’s modest but sexy at the same time, almost like something you’d see on a sexy secretary or schoolteacher. It doesn’t strike me as something she’d pick for herself, but what do I know?

“You don’t need to dress like that here,” I tell her.

Her eyes drop to her dress, then back to me. “I only have what was in my overnight case. This is what was packed in it.”

“You didn’t bring any jeans?”

“Mother doesn’t allow me to wear jeans, she doesn’t think they’re very becoming,” she says quietly, without even a hint of humor.

“You call your mom Mother?”

“My parents appreciate formalities.”

Something tightens in my chest, but I push it away. She could just be a good actress and this beat-down little mouse thing she has going on is nothing more than an elaborate act.

But why? my inner voice asks me.

“Do you have anything more casual in the stuff that’s being delivered?”

“Not really,” she admits.

“For fuck’s sake, order some stuff,” I snap. “You can’t dress like you’re ready for tea with the king of fucking England here.”

Stepping around her, I open the bedroom door and start to descend the stairs, refusing to wait for her, even though I know she doesn’t know where she’s going.

“I’m sure I can make my clothes more casual,” she says, appearing at my side.

“Just go online and buy some normal clothes.”

“I can’t.”

Sliding to a stop, I narrow my eyes and turn to face her. She stops too, throwing her arms out to the side to steady herself.

“Why the fuck not?” I demand.

“Because I don’t have a bank account or a credit card, and I don’t have access to my trust fund because my parents gave you control of it, not me.”

“What?” I snap, my brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean your parents gave me control of your trust fund?”

“Technically, I got access when I turned eighteen, but as soon as the marriage contracts were signed, my parents put you as the trustee. I can’t get a penny unless you allow it.”

“Those motherfuckers,” I say under my breath. “So, who pays for your cell? Your car? Your other expenses?”

“I don’t have a cell and I can’t drive. Until yesterday I lived at home. I don’t have any other expenses,” she says with a shrug like she’s resigned to the situation no matter how messed up it is.

“Bullshit. Everyone has a cell phone. My great-grandpa is ninety-two and he has a cell phone.”

“I don’t have anyone to call,” she says honestly.

Well fuck. “How do you pay for things when you go out? With cash?”

“If I’m with my parents or brothers, they pay. If I’m alone, I’m usually with a driver and they pay.”

“I’ll get the trust altered, so you can get access,” I mutter, my teeth grinding with anger. This girl is either going for an Oscar or she’s practically Amish.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her eyes lowered like she’s afraid if she looks at me, I’ll take it back.

Ignoring her, I stomp down the last few stairs and into the kitchen. Hunter loves to cook and when he’s not at class, he’s usually messing around in here, making something or other. So, it’s not a surprise to find him pulling something out of the oven, the scent of cheese hitting me the moment I step into the room.

What I’m not expecting is the rest of my friends to be sitting around the big table, staring up at us.

“Should have expected this,” I mutter with a sigh. “Guys, I introduced you last night, but I’ll do it again. This is January. January, you already met them, but this is Evan, Hunter, Sammy, Sebastian, and Starling.”

Everyone smiles or waves as I introduce them, but only Sammy jumps up out of her seat and rushes to hug January, who stiffens so quickly in reaction to being touched that I know it can’t have been a deliberate move.

“Sorry, I’m a hugger,” Sammy says, releasing her and taking a step back.

“That’s okay, I just wasn’t expecting it,” January says quietly.

“What are you cooking?” I call to Hunter.

“Just pulled a batch of cheese scones out of the oven, there’s some cream cheese and smoked salmon in the refrigerator,” Hunter says, moving to grab some plates. “January, is there anything you don’t eat?”

“I’m vegetarian, but I’m used to eating around meat, so please don’t go to any trouble.”

No wonder she barely ate anything at the wedding. I don’t think there was a single dish that didn’t have some kind of meat on it, not even the salad. “She’s allergic to strawberries,” I tell him, unsure why I’m mentioning it, although I get the impression if I hadn’t, she wouldn’t have either.

“Weren’t there strawberries in the cake at the wedding?” Evan asks, as blunt as always.

“Oh, yes, there was,” January says politely.

“Why would you put something you were allergic to in your wedding cake?” he asks sardonically.

“Mother loves strawberries, so she and the wedding coordinator thought it was the best choice,” she says and doesn’t even look pissed about it.

Sebastian’s gaze turns to me, his eyes glittering with something that I can’t fully decipher.

“Is it just fresh strawberries, or processed too? What about cross-contamination? We have strawberries in the refrigerator. Can you eat the food if it’s been stored with strawberries, or do we need to keep them completely out of the house?” Hunter asks, his expression furrowed with concern.

“Please, don’t go to any trouble for me. It’s all strawberry products, even flavoring if it’s natural. But I have an EpiPen in my purse, and it’s been years since I had a really bad reaction,” January says calmly.

“Where is it?” I demand.

“What?” she asks, turning to look at me.

“Your EpiPen, where is it?”

“It’s in my toiletry bag, and I have a spare in my purse. But I know how to administer it to myself, so no one needs to concern themselves with it.”

She’s serious, she’s fucking serious. This isn’t her acting or playing the martyr. She really, genuinely thinks that if she were to have an allergic reaction, we’d all just stand by and let her go and search for her EpiPen while she was struggling to breathe. I thought I hated her family before, but now I’m starting to see the depths of how fucking terrible they truly are. Did they just sit back and watch her turn blue, gasping and wheezing while she went to find her medicine? Somehow, I think they probably did.

“I’ll order some extras so we can keep them around the house,” I hiss angrily.

“You really don’t—”

“I’ll get rid of everything with strawberries and anything that’s come into close contact with them,” Hunter says, grabbing a trash bag before determinedly opening the refrigerator door and pulling things out one by one, placing them straight in the bag before tying the top tight.

“No, don’t⎯” January tries to argue, but we all ignore her as we rid the house of everything made of or containing strawberries.

“Any other allergies?” I demand.

She shakes her head, her skin pale, her hands twisted together, her thumb absentmindedly picking at her nails.

“Sit,” I tell her, pointing to the empty seat beside Sammy and she slumps down into it, still graceful despite her obvious discomfort. “Coffee?” I ask her.

Shaking her head, she glances around her to the mugs in front of everyone else.

“Juice?”

She shakes her head again and I pour her a glass of water, placing it on the table in front of her. Taking the plates of food Hunter pulled together for us, I carry them to the table and slide into the seat beside my wife.

Instead of the usual chatter, my friends are all quiet as they stare at January without trying to make it obvious they’re staring at her.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah,” she says, looking to me.

“January needs some casual, college-appropriate clothes. Can you help her with some websites she can pick from?”

“Yay, shopping,” Sammy shouts, clapping her hands enthusiastically. Pulling her cell out, she swivels in her chair so she’s facing January. “Okay, so who are your favorite labels? Personally, I like a mix of vintage and latest season, but Starling is all about the high street chic unless it’s the things Sebastian picks for her. Where do you fall?”

“Err,” January flounders. “My parents have very particular opinions of what clothes are suitable.”

Sammy nods, taking the unspoken hint and rolling with it. “Blank canvas, I can work with that,” she says without missing a beat.

When Starling and Sammy got friendly at the start of the semester, I wasn’t sure how she’d fit into our group. Her parents are wealthy but not on the same level as any of our families. But somehow, she’s blended with us seamlessly. She’s funny, smart and a great friend to Starling, even if she helps Starling cause shit when she wants to piss Sebastian off. Right now, I’m grateful for how casually she’s just reacted to the way January admitted in not so many words that she doesn’t pick her own clothes.

“College casual is a mix of workout, beach and nightclub. So, you need yoga pants, jean shorts, jeans, dresses, then tanks, T-shirts, and sweaters, as well as things you can dress up or down depending on the party we’re going to.”

“I—” January starts, glancing to me.

“Here.” Taking out my credit card, I slide it across the table.

“No.” January shakes her head.

“Perfect,” Sammy says, grabbing the credit card and pushing her cell in front of January’s face, scrolling up and down as she shows her clothes.

When my plate is empty, I stand up, take both of our plates and load them into the dishwasher, flashing my brothers a knowing look.

“January, do you mind if we steal Clay away for a moment, he’s our resident tech specialist and I need his help,” Evan says smoothly, his charming smile fixed in place.

“Oh, of course. Please don’t let me stop you from doing what you normally do,” January says politely, not even glancing at me.

Following Evan out of the kitchen, we head for the small den on the other side of the house, closing the door once we’re all inside.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hunter demands. “That girl.”

Hunter is a bleeding heart. He feels things more deeply than Sebastian and me and more seriously than Evan, so I knew he’d be the most affected by her beautiful venom.

“Clay?” Bastian says, looking at me carefully.

Sighing, I let my head fall forward into my hands. “She’s either a really fucking good actress, or the Burkes are much bigger snakes than I realized.”

“What happened?” Bastian asks.

“The whole day, it was like she was a fucking robot, completely unemotional, just nothing. Then we got upstairs last night, and I was being a dick, but she basically told me that her dad and maybe the brothers too, are all physically abusive to her. She flinches, then steels herself, like she’s bracing for a hit. She says she doesn’t have a cell, a bank account or a credit card and according to her, her parents have appointed me as trustee of her trust fund. When I asked her how she paid for things, she said that on the times when she goes out without a member of her family, she has a driver who pays. Says she doesn’t have a cell because she’s got no one to call and from what I can gather, all her clothes have been chosen by her bitch of a mother.”

“That’s messed up,” Hunter rasps.

“Do you believe her?” Bastian asks bluntly.

Exhaling, I shrug. “Honestly, I don’t know. Who doesn’t have a cell in this day and age?”

“What about the trust?” Evan asks.

“No one’s mentioned it, but I’m going to call my dad later and see if he knows. The background search I did on her made her seem like a bit of a shut-in, but if she’s not lying, then it might not have been her choice. If I find out the Burkes have been using her as a fucking punching bag, it’s even more reason to hate those motherfuckers,” I snarl.

“So, what are you going to do?” Bastian asks, even though he already knows part of my plan.

“What I do best. I’m going to watch her and see what she does.”

“Fuck, is this like Starling back in high school all over again?” Hunter groans.

Bastian laughs, and I can’t fucking help it, I laugh too.

7

JANUARY

S ammy’s scrolling between clothes so quickly I can barely keep up, adding things to the basket as she talks incessantly. The other girl, Starling, is cradling a mug of coffee, watching Sammy with an amusement that screams familiarity.

These women are confident and relaxed and I’m the interloper. I’m used to feeling unwanted, but I’ve never felt more out of place than I do right now. Apparently, this is my home for the foreseeable future, but I don’t know if I’ll ever fit in here.

Until now, my life has been controlled and orchestrated by my parents. I did what I was told because I didn’t have another option. I thought if I did what they wanted, they’d allow me some control over my own life once I turned eighteen, but instead, they gave the authority of my trust fund to someone else. That money is my only way out of this godforsaken life, but now I don’t even have that.

How do I learn how to be a normal teenager when there’s nothing normal about my situation?

I’m not sure where Clay and the others went, but I saw the looks that passed between them before they left. They all know that we didn’t get married by choice. They all know that my parents gifted me to the Jansen’s to gain the backing and influence of his family’s name and those they are associated with. They all know I’m nothing more than a commodity. Shame almost swallows me whole and the urge to run presses down on me so hard it takes everything I have just to stay in my seat.

“What about this?” Sammy says, pulling my attention back to the dress she’s showing me on her cell.

“I’m not sure I could wear that,” I tell her, my voice tight as I stare at the tiny, formfitting white dress the model is wearing. Unlike me, she has full breasts and enough curves to fill the design.

“I think you’d look hot. Let’s order it anyway, you can send back anything that doesn’t fit.”

I nod, but I have no idea if that’s okay or not. I’m not an idiot, I get how these things work, but Mother bought my clothes, and I had no say in it. Sometimes things would just appear in my closet, other times, we’d go to shops, and she’d have me try on outfit after outfit until she was satisfied. But I’ve never had money available to go online and pick out whatever I wanted and there’s no way Mother would ever allow me to be seen in athletic wear or jean shorts.

The rebellion is liberating, although I’m sure it would feel better if I could pay for these things with my own money rather than having Clay pay for them.

I expected him to be angrier this morning. He slept alone on his wedding night and I’m sure that’s not exactly how he saw the night going. But surprisingly, he respected my rejection and despite the depraved things he said, he didn’t hurt me, even though he’s so much bigger than me and easily could have.

I’m not sure what to make of him this morning. There was a flash of concern when he realized I hadn’t eaten, then anger when I told him about my trust. I was shocked he hadn’t already known because my parents informed me, right after the contracts were signed, like them giving him my money was nothing important.

So far, his behavior has been confusing. One moment his anger and dislike is so obvious to see, his hatred is almost palpable, then in the next, he’s sad and there’s pity in his eyes. I think I’d rather have his hate.

Sammy keeps showing me clothes and I keep nodding like it’s normal to order thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes on a whim on a Sunday morning. But maybe it is. Maybe this is what Starling and Sammy do every weekend.

“Have you signed up for classes?” Starling asks.

“Not yet. I didn’t even know I was coming here until yesterday. Apparently, Clay’s father had to pull some strings to get me in.”

“Where were you planning on going to school?” Starling asks.

“I wasn’t. My parents…” I trail off because how do I tell these women that my parents didn’t feel it was necessary for me to have anything more than a high school diploma? Because I’m just a woman, and my only value to them was as a possession to sell or barter with.

“Rich people are so jacked,” Starling says with a giggle, drinking the last of her drink, then staring down at her empty mug like the lack of coffee in it has offended her.

“You’re not…” Slapping my hand over my mouth, I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment.

“Rich? No.” Starling laughs. “I’m from regular old suburbia. Then I caught the interest of a psycho, and the rest is history.”

“I don’t,” I start, unsure what to say.

“She means she caught my interest. But you like being caught, don’t you, Little Bird,” Sebastian drawls, lifting Starling from her seat and sitting back down with her on his lap.

“It’s okay, I guess.” She giggles, lifting her chin as he grabs her and kisses her in a way I’ve never seen in real life before.

“Urgh, the PDA,” Sammy groans dramatically. “Go fuck already. You promised me cocktails and nachos this afternoon, and I’m not staying home just because you can’t put each other down.”

Sebastian lifts his head, flashing a feral glare at Sammy, and I flinch in response, reaching for her to pull her back before I can even process what I’m doing.

His gaze moves to me, and I freeze like a deer in the eyes of a mountain lion. Sebastian is a predator, and I know what it feels like to be prey. I’ve lived it for the last eighteen years and my flight instinct kicks in and I prepare to run. Then his eyes soften, and he leans back, cupping the back of Starling’s head with so much gentle reverence that my heartbeat quickens even when he no longer feels like a threat.

The entire exchange only lasts seconds, but I suddenly feel exhausted, like I’ve survived something traumatic. But I should be used to it, I’ve lived on edge most of my life. The violence wasn’t daily. Sometimes, it’d be weeks between incidents, especially when my brothers were all away at boarding school. The older I get, the better I’ve become at anticipating my father’s moods and learning what not to say to provoke him. But some days, all it took was him seeing me.

“You okay?” Sammy questions, completely oblivious to everything that just passed between me and one of the most intensely scary people I’ve ever been around.

“Yes, thank you, I’m fine,” I say as casually as I can manage.

“What about this shirt? That would be so cute on you.”

Sebastian rises slowly from his seat, with a giggling Starling still held against his chest, her legs wrapped around his waist. His eyes stay on me the whole time, but it’s not an aggressive look. It’s like he’s making sure I know he’s not going to hurt me or her, like he gets it.

I spend the next hour shopping for clothes Mother would die if she saw me wear, and then I let Sammy pay for them with Clay’s credit card. It feels wrong to let him pay, but if he gives me access to my trust like he said he would, I’ll pay him back.

By the time we’ve finished, Sebastian and Starling have reappeared, along with Hunter, who is messing around in the kitchen again, and Evan, who is pretending to do something on his cell while actually staring at Sammy.

Clay is nowhere to be found, but I don’t ask them if they know where he is. Instead, I smile and say goodbye as they all leave, waving off Starling’s suggestion that I join them when Sebastian glares at her meaningfully. I might be here because Clay and I got married, but I’m not one of them.

Unsure of what to do now that I’m alone, I exhale and take in the surprisingly homey space. The kitchen is big and clearly well equipped, although I have no idea how to use any of it. Mother employs a full team of staff at home, and entering the kitchen for anything other than to speak to the chef or house manager was strictly forbidden.

My hands itch for something to do and I consider making myself a cup of tea, but I don’t know if the food in the refrigerator and cabinets is for everyone or if I’d be unknowingly stealing from someone.

When Clay finally returns, he marches into the room, his stride confident and assured as he heads for the refrigerator. “Drink?”

“Do you have any tea?”

“Hunter keeps some peppermint here, I think.”

“Thanks, that would be great. I can make it if you point me to where everything is.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” he assures me, grabbing things down from a high cabinet as the sound of a kettle whistling fills the otherwise quiet space. “Here you go,” he says, placing a pretty china teacup in front of me, then sliding into the chair opposite me.

“Thank you.” Cradling the cup in my hands, I lift it to my lips and inhale the rich, minty aroma.

“I spoke to my dad, he confirmed that I’ve been made the trustee of your trust fund. He said he thought it was a bit odd but assumed your parents had their reasons. I asked him about getting myself removed and signing it over to you without exception, but apparently there’s a clause in place that says it will always have to have either me as your husband or a relative as trustee. There are restrictions on how much can be spent and on what, as well. Dad said his lawyers had never seen a trust with so many loopholes on it before.”

My heart sinks as I take in his words. My family has made it so I’ll never be able to get enough money from my trust to actually escape. I don’t know why I’m surprised; God forbid the Burkes deem a woman sensible enough to look after their own money. Even Mother only has a checking account for household expenses, anything else she has to ask Father for.

“We can get a bank account and credit card set up for you, I just have to approve any purchase above a thousand dollars.”

Scoffing lightly, I nod. My leash may have lengthened slightly, but I’m still collared and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. A wave of exhaustion crashes into me and my vision blurs a little.

“I have a nine a.m. class tomorrow, but we can head over to the admissions office after that, and you can register for some classes. Any idea what you might be interested in studying?” he asks.

Blinking, I rub my eyes, shocked by just how tired I feel. I barely slept last night and staring at the cell phone for so long has made my eyes heavy. “I’m not sure. I’d like to take some English classes; I haven’t really thought about anything else.”

“There’s a course list upstairs if you want to go and have a look. Some of the classes will be full, but the electives aren’t as popular with freshmen at this time of year. They mainly try and get the required classes out of the way second semester.”

Nodding, I rub my eyes again, my lids feeling so heavy if I closed them, I’d be asleep in seconds.

“Are you okay?” Clay asks, sounding almost concerned.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I admit quickly, not wanting to remind him that I slept on the couch last night after telling him he’d have to rape me for me to ever let him touch me. Perhaps it might have been an overreaction, but it was as much his fault as mine after he said all those nasty, hurtful things. Today he seems different, only I’m not sure why. Nothing has changed between us. We’re still married, even though it’s not something either of us wants.

“I have some work to finish. Why don’t you go and lie down on the bed? I don’t want to disturb you if I’m working while you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Staring at him for a moment longer than is probably acceptable, I try to decide if this is a trick of some sort. My father and brothers were incredibly good at manipulating me into a corner. Like a penned rabbit, they loved to herd me until I was completely vulnerable to their vicious words and angry fists. Perhaps I should be grateful that they never tried to kill me. I think they just enjoyed reminding me that even as the firstborn Burke of this generation, I was still at the bottom of the pile because I was a girl.

“Go take a nap, January, before you fall asleep with your head on the kitchen table,” he says sternly.

Leaving the room, I climb the stairs, but my limbs are so heavy and my mind so close to sleep I have to stop twice on the way up the three flights of stairs to shake away the lethargy that’s settling over me.

By the time I make it to Clay’s room, I’m blinking hard to keep my eyes open and I’m asleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

8

CLAY

I  watch her stagger slightly as she makes her way through the kitchen door. Exhaling, I think about everything I’ve done and learned in the last few hours.

Hunter and Evan leave the sitting room to head back to the girls in the kitchen while Bastian hangs back, handing me a small white square.

“Thank you,” I say, carefully taking the sachet of dissolvable sedative from him and sliding it into my pocket. If I wasn’t distracted by the beautiful snake sitting in the kitchen, I’d probably ask him why he has sedatives on hand, but I file it away for another day. Right now, it’d be incredibly hypocritical of me to condemn him for potentially sedating Starling when it’s exactly what I plan to do to January.

My new wife has become an enigma that I’m struggling to resist the pull to understand. If her behavior and everything she’s told me since we got home is all an act, I’m impressed by her skill because the shock on her face when Hunter started to clear out the foods she’s allergic to was so genuine I doubt even the most talented of actresses could be so convincing.

I wonder how many times she gasped for breath, her throat closing and cutting off her airway before her family stopped trying to force the foods that could kill her onto her. I wonder how long she struggled to breathe before they did anything to help.

The more I learn about the woman I married, the angrier I am. Only the focus of my anger is starting to swing in another direction. I’m still not happy that I’m married to a Burke, but I’m getting the impression that January’s not happy about being a Burke either. Although I suppose she’s a Jansen now.

Instead of heading back to the kitchen, I step out onto the porch at the back of the house and pull out my cell to call my dad. Despite the situation my parents have forced me into, I get on well with my mom and dad. They’re great, albeit somewhat absent parents. What they themselves lack on the parenting front, my friends’ parents picked up the slack on. Our families are so close that Bastian, Evan, Hunter, and I were raised as closely as if we were actually brothers, so instead of getting just one set of parents, we all had four.

“Son,” Dad answers.

“Hi Dad.”

“Everything okay? I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”

I could tell him about January. He’d be furious to think we’d tied ourselves to the type of family who thinks it’s acceptable to use physical violence in any persuasion toward a woman. But I don’t want to mention anything until I’m one-hundred-percent sure of the facts and that January isn’t playing some kind of game with us all. “Everything’s fine, but I wanted to get something cleared up about January’s trust. She seems to think her parents have made me trustee of it instead of just signing over access to her.”

“It was part of the contract. Complete financial control of all her assets, which at the moment is just her trust, passing from them to you. I expected stocks and shares, but from what Cliff said, she declared no interest in the company and what would have been her shares were distributed between her brothers.”

A wry scoff threatens to fall from my lips, but I swallow it down. I wonder if January knows they dissolved her stock interests or if she even knows she should have had stock at all? “What’s the value of the trust?”

“Well, that was a surprise too. It’s only just over a million dollars. Given the family’s position in terms of wealth, I would have expected substantially more than that. Especially considering Cliff was boasting about getting Lucius a car worth nearly a million dollars for his birthday.”

Again, I bite my tongue and don’t tell him that I’m not at all surprised. When I don’t speak, he fills me in on the terms of my trusteeship and how her parents essentially made me her keeper when we got married. Without a bank account or a credit card linked to her trust, she’s essentially left having to ask me for everything and completely dependent on me agreeing.

As much as I hate to admit it, her being solely reliant on me isn’t as reprehensible a thought as it should be. There’s a naivety about my Poison that’s as enticing as it is deadly, and the urge to take over her life heats my gut and makes my dick twitch in excitement.

Once Dad has filled me in on all the messed-up measures her family has put in place to keep January under control, I head back up to my room and instead of searching for information about my new bride, I start to dig into the rest of her family, including her brothers.

An hour later, there’s a knock on the door, and I turn to find Evan standing with his arms braced on either side of the frame. I never bother to shut my door unless I’m sleeping or fucking, because I get so engrossed in my work that sometimes the only way to get my attention is to literally slap me around the head.

“We’re heading out,” he says. “You sure you guys don’t want to come with us?”

“Nah, thanks. I’m busy and I need to talk to January about classes and things.” I’m lying. I need them out of the house so I can drug my wife and have a tracker fitted beneath her skin without her knowledge, but I don’t mention that.

If he knew what I was planning, Evan definitely wouldn’t approve. He took it really hard when Starling left and refused to have anything to do with us. He was as complicit as the rest of us were in the messed-up stuff we helped Bastian do to her, but when his dad and Starling’s mom got together, it wasn’t just his best friend’s girl who left, but his new stepsister too.

When Starling ran to her dad’s place and refused to come home, Bastian acted out and caused irreparable damage to her and her mom’s relationship, which has never really recovered. Evan calls Starling his sister, but I know she doesn’t feel the same way, and that’s hard for him, even though he and Starling get along pretty well now.

“Okay, bro, I get it. Just…” He pauses, swallowing visibly. “Don’t be too much of a dick to her.”

Without realizing I’m doing it, I push up from my seat and stalk to the door until I’m in front of him, cold awareness prickling across my skin. “I love you, bro, but what happens between me and my wife is none of your fucking business.”

“I agree,” he says, shocking me and quelling some of the anger that has rushed to the surface. “But we all stood by and watched what Bastian did to Starling, fuck, we helped him. He broke her, and that’s as much our fault as it is his. It’s a fucking miracle that she’s as okay as she is, and it’s a one-in-a-billion chance that she’s forgiven him when she won’t even forgive her own mom. I won’t stand by and watch us ruin another girl.”

“Starling’s not ruined.”

“Isn’t she? She’s not the same girl we met that first day in the diner. She’s not the girl we followed and watched for a full year before Bastian fucking Lockwood forced his way into her life. She’s been fundamentally changed because of us and what we did to her. Better, worse, I’m not sure. But all that pain and hurt and sorrow, we helped cause that, all because she rejected our brother. We’re spoiled assholes, and back then, her not wanting him when he was so fucking sure was reason enough for us to help him torture her. But now, even knowing how happy they are, some days I wonder if we should have just left her alone, if she and her mom would have been better off if they never knew any of us.”

I’m shocked to hear Evan talk so candidly and some of what he says is true. We destroyed Starling’s life, all because Bastian couldn’t live in a world where she wasn’t his. Most teenage boys would walk away, lick their wounds, then move on to the next girl. But we’ve never been average, so we helped Bastian change her world until all roads led back to him. It was cruel and selfish, but I didn’t realize Evan was still feeling so bad about it.

“Things are different between January and me,” I tell him.

“Maybe. But we haven’t changed. We’re still the same people, still capable of the same behavior, and I just want you to know I won’t be part of ruining her, and if you give me no choice, I’ll protect January from it too.”

My hackles rise and I open my mouth, ready to remind Evan again that my wife is none of his fucking concern. There’s a threat on the tip of my tongue, but before I can speak, he turns and darts down the stairs, leaving me with a pang in my gut that warns me that if I’m not careful, my brother might turn on me if he feels like he has no choice.

The moment the front door is opened, the sensor notification pops up on my computer screen. After I was sure January hadn’t run, I unlocked the gates, and now I watch as my friends all pile into our two golf carts and drive away. Triggering the lock on the front door and gate again, I make my way downstairs.

Blinking back to the present, I offer January a drink and mix the sedative into her tea, sitting back to watch while the drug takes effect. Her muscles become lax, and her eyelids start to droop, and it almost feels too easy when I suggest she go and take a nap. When she leaves the room, I flick into the camera app on my cell, and follow her progress upstairs on the internal security cameras, watching as she pauses more than once, rubbing her eyes as the sedative takes hold of her body. After what feels like an eternity, she makes it to my room and then collapses onto the bed. Once I’m sure she’s out of it and not going to wake up, I make my way upstairs, pausing in the doorway to my bedroom as my eyes rake over her body, collapsed on the bed.

In sleep, she seems even younger in the dress more suited to a woman of her mother’s age than her. Her legs are sprawled, and I can see a glimpse of white panties. I know I shouldn’t, but I step into the room and move closer to the bed. She’s in an awkward position, so I lift her and place her head on the pillow, dragging the comforter from beneath her.

Unable to resist, I gather the fabric of her skirt into my fingers and pull it up until her underwear is revealed. It’s white, but it’s not cotton like I thought, it’s made of a sheer netting fabric and edged with lace. The panties are pretty, demure, and virginal but so sheer I can make out the lips of her sex and the fact that she’s hairless.

I don’t know why the sight of her bare pussy makes me angry, but it does. I wonder who told her she needed to shave all her hair off? Was it her mother? Did she buy these sexy little panties too?

My fingers itch with the need to touch, and I hover my hand over her, daring myself to just reach out and stroke a line across her mound. My dick is so hard, my balls ache. I could relieve myself, peel these delectably tempting panties off her, slide my fingers into her cunt and get her body ready to take my cock.

It’s so fucking wrong, but the idea of touching her when she has no idea is tantalizing and my dick twitches, eager to push into her virgin cunt. It’s mine now anyway and if she doesn’t turn out to be the snake I assumed she was, then it’s only a matter of time before I’m unable to resist her any longer.

But when I take her virginity, I want her to be awake, to feel it, and know it’s me who’s taking it. I want to watch her full lips part when I fill her with my cock, force her to feel it as I split her in two and impale her on my dick.

She said the only way she’d fuck me was if I took her by force, but I’d never do that. When I fuck her, she’ll be more than willing, she’ll be desperate, and I’ll make her beg.

Running a finger from the waist of her panties, I stroke down, barely touching but still taking what’s mine. I want her and I’ve never had great impulse control, so instead of covering her with the comforter and walking away, I push the skirt of her dress all the way up until it’s bunched beneath her tits and then I pull my dick out of my sweats. I jerk my cock over my unconscious wife until my hand is covered in my own cum and there are splashes of my release on her legs, panties, and the sheet beneath her.

Chest heaving, I clean myself up in the bathroom and wipe the cum off my sheets with a tissue. There are still pearls of my release on her, so I rub it in, smearing it into her skin until it disappears. Fuck, knowing she’s covered in my cum is so fucking hot, and my dick twitches back to life again, ready for round two. Palming my cock through my pants, I consider working my dick again. Only instead of focusing between her legs, I’ll pull down the ugly dress and coat her face, neck, and tits in me.

The front gate buzzer sounds, and I reluctantly pull her skirt back over her panties and drape the comforter over her so she’s covered, although it’s obvious she’s still dressed. Then I pull up the camera on the gate and speak into the intercom app on my cell.

“Dr. Harris, come on in. I’ll be down in just a moment.” Then I open the gate and head down the stairs, meeting the doctor at the front door. “Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. Since January and I are married now, I didn’t want to wait to get the tracker implanted just in case someone tried to take her now that she’s a part of the family.” Everything I’m saying is total bullshit. The risk of abduction is practically nothing, we’re no longer children and there haven’t been any threats against any of our families in years. But obviously I can’t tell him the truth about why I want to tag my wife like a dog, so I’m using the same reasoning as when ours were implanted all those years ago as the perfect excuse.

“Congratulations on the wedding. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.”

“Thank you, Dr. Harris, that’s so kind of you. January is upstairs in our room; she has a severe phobia of needles, so she took a sedative to help with her nerves. Unfortunately, it’s hit her a little harder than we expected, and she’s fast asleep,” I say, rolling my eyes, flashing the good doctor a “what can you do” smile.

“Oh dear.” He chuckles. “Perhaps we could arrange another time.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary. She’s been in a panic all morning over this. I think it makes sense just to do it while she’s not aware. That way she won’t have to deal with the trauma of it,” I say breezily, moving to the stairs and smiling cordially as I start to climb.

“Well, I’d need her consent,” he says, clearing his throat.

“As her husband, I’ll consent for her,” I tell him with an air of authority that I know he won’t ignore.

Clearing his throat again, he’s silent for a moment, but he keeps following me as we round the corner to my bedroom. “Well, yes, well, I suppose.”

“Perfect,” I say confidently. “She’s just through here.” I lead him into the bedroom and take a seat beside her on the bed, reaching out to brush a strand of hair off her face while Dr. Harris takes her in.

“I collected the tracker from your father on my way over here, so I’ll just need to get set up.”

“Perfect. Did my dad mention her medical records?”

“He did. I got them sent over from her family doctor about an hour ago.”

“Great, she has an allergy to strawberries that she has an EpiPen for.”

“I’m sorry, Clay, I can’t discuss her medical history with anyone but her.”

“Actually, as part of our marriage contract, I now act as her trustee on all pertinent counts, including her health. I’m happy to have a copy of the contract signed by January sent over to you for your records.”

“Well, that’s unusual, but I know that these agreements between families can sometimes be a little archaic in places. I had a quick look at her medical history and the allergy seems to have started when she was a young child. She was admitted to the hospital on multiple occasions with shortness of breath and swelling of the face and extremities from the ages of five through ten. When she was eleven, an ambulance was called as she went into severe anaphylactic shock and her airways were almost completely closed. That was when an EpiPen was prescribed. There have been several more incidents since then, but nothing as serious as that.”

My anger spikes as I imagine those Burke assholes ignoring her as she struggled to breathe, only calling for help when they absolutely had to. “Any other health issues I should be aware of, any other hospital visits, or appointments for anything beyond routine?”

Dr. Harris sighs. “Nothing really. You might want to watch her with these stairs though. She’s broken several bones over the years. An arm, a wrist, a couple of ribs and multiple fingers, all from trips or falling over her own feet, according to the notes.”

January is one of the most poised women I’ve ever met. There’s no way she would fall over her own feet. Hell, even drugged up to her eyeballs on a sedative, she made it up three flights of stairs without even stumbling. “Is she currently on any medication other than the EpiPen?”

“No, nothing,” he confirms.

So, her family is happy to hurt her and possibly break her bones, but they’re not raping her. It’s nice to know they draw the line somewhere. They seem like the type that if they were violating her like that, they’d have her on birth control. Fucking assholes. “Can we order a few more EpiPens to keep in the house? She has one in her purse and a spare, but I’d like one to keep in the house and one for my car, and maybe some extras just in case something happens while we’re out somewhere.”

“I can write you a script for that,” he says, a soft smile gracing his lips. Turning, he opens a familiar-looking case. It holds several tracking chips about the same size as a grain of rice and the implantation device. “Am I implanting this in the same position as yours?” he asks.

“Yes, please.” Gathering her hair in my hands, I lift it off her neck so the doctor can get access to wipe the spot with an alcohol swab. Then he inserts the needle just below her hairline and depresses the syringe, inserting a tracker into my wife and ensuring she can run as fast as she wants, but she’ll never be able to get away from me.

9

JANUARY

W aking up slowly, I’m hit with a wave of confusion until I look around me and remember where I am. Which is in Clay’s bed, where I definitely am not welcome. My limbs feel heavy and lethargic as I push up to a sitting position, the comforter falling off my shoulders and pooling around my waist.

I don’t know what time it is, but judging by the dappled twilight that’s peeking through the blinds, I’ve slept most of the day. But I don’t feel refreshed. Instead, I feel groggy and stiff, like I’ve lain at an odd angle.

Glancing down at the covers, I wonder if I somehow pulled them over me during my epic nap because I don’t remember anything beyond getting to the bed and collapsing onto it. My stomach growls and my throat feels parched, but I’m not sure what they do about mealtimes here and I refuse to just assume I can eat whatever I want.

At home, anyone who wasn’t present when Father wanted to eat went hungry. I always wondered if everyone else’s family was the same, but I never had anyone to ask. My bladder starts to protest at being awake, so I climb out of the enormous bed and rush to the bathroom. When I’m done, I remake Clay’s bed, smoothing down the comforter so it doesn’t look like I’ve been asleep under it all day, and make my way into the sitting room.

I’m expecting it to be empty, but instead Clay is sitting at the desk, four screens lit up with lines of numbers and letters running across them. I know enough to understand that it’s computer code, but that’s it. The language is completely foreign and unreadable to me.

“You’re awake,” Clay says, swiveling around in his chair to face me and pushing the headphones off his ears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to sleep for so long. What time is it?”

“Just after seven. I was about to wake you to see what you wanted for dinner.”

“Oh, err, I…” I stumble over my words. I don’t remember the last time someone asked me what I wanted to eat. Our staff at home planned out weekly menus which Mother approved, and I rarely ate out with my family because Mother hated when I asked about there being strawberries in the food or sauces.

“How do you feel about Chinese food?”

“I…” I falter again. How do I tell him that I’ve made it to the age of eighteen without ever trying Chinese food? I asked Mother once if we could go to an Asian fusion restaurant, and I thought she was going to have a fit with how rigid her body went right before she informed me that rice and noodles were for homeless people who couldn’t afford high-quality food. I never asked again.

“Your parents don’t strike me as the type of people who enjoy more exotic cuisine,” Clay says, shocking me by not forcing me to admit I’ve never eaten it.

“No, they aren’t.”

“If you’re game, I’ll order us a selection and you can have a little of everything.”

When I nod, he graces me with half a smile that makes his already beautiful face become mesmerizing. It’s the first time he’s smiled at me, and I feel my body react. My nipples harden and my stomach clenches in awareness. If this is the way he affects me with only half a grin, I imagine I’d be a puddle of goo on the floor if he really smiled.

Turning off his computer screens, he pushes up from his chair and heads downstairs, not watching to see if I’m following. There’re rooms on the other side of the house, but as I haven’t been shown into them, I don’t want to pry and instead follow him into the kitchen again. While I stand awkwardly in the doorway, he pulls out a stack of menus from a drawer, then lifts his cell to his ear and orders our food.

“Where are the others?” I ask shyly.

“Still out at the bar, I’d guess, or maybe at a party.”

“Would you normally be with them?”

“Usually yes.”

“You don’t need to stay home because of me.”

“I didn’t know how you’d feel about going to a bar or if you have a fake ID.”

“A fake ID?” I squawk.

“Some of the bars don’t bother asking for it, it’s a college town after all, but it’s best to have one with you anyway.”

I shake my head. “I don’t. I don’t have a fake ID.”

“That’s okay, we can get you one. You need a cell phone too.”

“Why would I need a cell phone?” I ask stupidly. Of course, he’d think I need a cell. It’s an essential item to ninety-nine percent of the world. But who would I call… him? He doesn’t want to talk to me. Mother? I doubt I’ll speak to her between now and the next family dinner she contacts Clay to invite us to. Father? If I did know his number, he wouldn’t respond. My brothers? We have nothing to say to each other, now or likely ever again.

Clay’s eyes narrow and he looks at me as if he can’t figure me out, like there’s a deeper meaning behind my words. “I thought you said you didn’t have a cell?”

“I don’t. I don’t need one.”

“Of course, you need one. What if you needed to get hold of someone in an emergency? What if you needed to call 9-1-1?”

I open my mouth to explain why I don’t need a cell, but he interrupts, speaking over me. “You need a cell. End of discussion. There’s a shop in town that’s open late. We can go once we’ve eaten.”

Every conversation I have with Clay leaves me more and more confused. He was glacial, then graphically sexual, then angry. Now he’s almost being kind. I have no idea what’s real or which version of him I’ll get each time we speak. Right now, he’s being oddly attentive, maybe even nice, but in an hour’s time, will he be back to angry and hurtful?

The Chinese food arrives much faster than I expected, and Clay lays all the cartons out on the table and grabs us plates and silverware.

“I’m guessing you don’t know how to use chopsticks?”

I shake my head.

“Good, I’m terrible with them too, so silverware it is. I got the veggie version of everything I usually get. This is cashew and broccoli.”

Spooning a small portion onto my plate, he waits for me to try it, watching for my reaction before he moves on to the next. He does the same for each dish in turn, telling me what it is, serving me a small amount and waiting for me to try it before spooning food onto his own plate.

He’s watching me like a hawk, his observant eyes taking in my every move and it’s disquieting to be watched so intensely. I’m used to being overlooked for the most part. Any attention I got was usually a bad thing, so to be someone’s sole attention is unnerving.

My stomach twists into knots and even though the food is delicious, I find myself placing my silverware down before I’m even half-full.

“You’ve hardly eaten,” Clay snaps, his eyes narrowing as he takes in my mostly full plate.

“I don’t have a large appetite,” I lie. “I don’t know how, but I still feel exhausted even after sleeping most of the day.”

“I can go and pick you up a cell if you’d rather finish eating and have an early night,” he offers.

“I really don’t think I need a cell. I’ll be on campus most of the time.”

“I’m not arguing with you about this, Poison,” he snaps, his tone turning cold and stern.

My back straightens and I lean back in my seat, silently moving as far away from him as I can without actually getting up and running. Running from Father never saved me, but sometimes running from my brothers spared me from their cruelty. Part of me knows that it’s unlikely Clay will lash out physically, but I’m so programmed to react to the slightest change in mood that I can’t help glancing toward the door and wondering if I could get out before he could reach me.

Something flashes in Clay’s eyes as he looks at me, but he doesn’t move toward me. In fact, I think he might even be mirroring my own body language and actually moving away from me. “Having a cell phone on you is a safety requirement. It doesn’t matter if you’re in the house or out on campus. I want you to carry a cell with you at all times. It’s nonnegotiable.”

“Okay,” I concede a little too easily. I’m not stupid, and I’ve learned to pick my arguments. If he wants to waste money on a cell I’ll never use, I’ll let him.

“Good. Now eat. You’re so skinny it’s painful to look at you.”

His barb hits its target, and I have to stop myself from flinching. I’m more than aware of what I look like, but his commenting on it hurts. I can’t help being this thin. It certainly wasn’t my choice to have my appearance constantly commented on by my parents, like I was an object, not a person. But his softer attitude today has lulled me into lowering my guard a little. Now he’s reverted back to icy sneers and insults I’m not prepared for, and his barbs cut deep.

Lifting my fork, I manage to eat a few more bites, but the delicious food suddenly tastes like ash. “I can go and get a cell in the morning, please don’t trouble yourself tonight.”

“It’s fine,” he snaps coldly.

“Okay. Thank you for dinner. If you point me toward the dishwasher, I’ll—”

“Just leave it,” he dismisses.

Nodding, I push up from my chair and turn to leave. “Good night.”

Mouth set into a firm line, he nods, and I feel his eyes on me as I turn and leave.

10

CLAY

C limbing into the golf cart, I pull out my cell and unlock both the gate and the front door. If she decides to run, there’ll be nothing stopping her, but when I click into the camera feed for my room, she’s emerging from the bathroom, wearing pajamas that cover her from head to toe. Her feet are bare, and her hair is twisted up into a towel on top of her head. She doesn’t look like she’s planning an escape, she looks like she’s getting ready for bed, but I still open the tracker app and check that hers is active and her location is accurate.

My attention is diverted as I drive the cart to the valet by the main entrance and collect my car. By the time I get to the phone store that stays open late for all those cell phone emergencies in a college town, I’ve had to place my cell face down on the passenger seat so I can drive without crashing.

I don’t know why I’m so fascinated to see what she does. She doesn’t want to be married to me, that’s clear, but given her situation, I’m not sure she has any other options. If she tries to run right now, there has to be a reason because I’m confident she’s not homesick. I suppose she could be running to someone else, but I doubt it. Right now, she has no money, none of her belongings and no one else who seems to care about her. She’d be better off staying with me, but a part of me is still expecting her to try to flee.

Putting my car in park, I pick up my cell and check the map. She’s still at the house and a quick check of the cameras in my room show her wrapped up in the blanket on the couch again.

I don’t like her being on the couch instead of in the bed, but for now, I’ll let her think she calls the shots and gets to choose where she sleeps. When I get back, I’ll be putting her in bed beside me where I can keep a closer eye on her. Once I find out who she really is and how much like the rest of her family she is, I can decide if I’m moving her into the empty room next door to mine or keeping her chained to my side.

Comforted that she’s not going anywhere for the moment, I pocket my cell and head into the store. I could get her a crappy cell and I don’t think she’d care, but it’s a hell of a lot easier to monitor things on a newer version, so I buy her the latest model iPhone and add her to my service plan.

Once I’m home again, I grab a beer and head up to my room. At the sight of her asleep in the sitting room, I stop and stare at her. She’s braided her hair into a long rope and her face is makeup-free like last night. She’s fucking beautiful and my dick twinges remembering those sheer fucking panties hugging her cunt earlier.

Closing the door to the landing behind me, I twist the lock and head into the bedroom to set up her new cell. Once it’s turned on, I start installing apps that will monitor all her incoming and outgoing calls and texts, record all her calls, and even monitor her internet usage. It’s horribly invasive, but right now, I don’t care. I need to know I can trust her, and this will help.

When I’m finished, I strip out of my clothes and step back into the sitting room, staring down at her sleeping form again. She looks so peaceful, and I should leave her where she is, but the part of me that craves her is more persuasive than the part that thinks I should treat her as guilty until proven innocent.

Reaching down, I slowly unwrap her from the blanket and slide my hands beneath her. She stirs, blinking up at me and tensing when she realizes she’s no longer safe on the couch.

“Clay?” she says sleepily.

“Go back to sleep, Poison.”

Carrying her into the bedroom, I place her down on the bed and crawl in behind her. Curling my body around her tempting, venomous skin, I wrap my arm around her to keep her in place.

“What are you doing?” she pants, her heart drumming a staccato beat in her chest as her muscles go rigid.

“Going to sleep.”

“I was asleep,” she gasps, panic lacing her voice.

“You were in the wrong place. You sleep in the bed.”

“I’m not having sex with you,” she chokes, her voice breathy.

If she intends her words to be a deterrent, she really shouldn’t say it like I imagine she’ll sound when I’m licking her clit. “I didn’t ask you to have sex with me.”

A secret smile spreads across my face as I remember the way she looked, unconscious and covered in my cum earlier. I definitely should have changed the bedding, but for tonight at least, I wanted us both to sleep on the sheets I defiled while I dream of all the fucked-up things I want to do to my new wife.

I have never been so unwillingly attracted to anyone in my life. I don’t want to want her. Hell, my life would be a lot easier if I didn’t, but there’s something about her that’s caught my interest, and no matter how much I wish things were different, I’m more than a little obsessed with my sweet venomous wife.

Even with her in my arms, I still glance up at the tiny, practically invisible camera that’s hidden in the corner of the ceiling to check it’s still there. The doors and gates are locked, and she has a tracker hidden beneath her skin. She isn’t going anywhere. But I still like that the cameras are watching her while we sleep.

I’ve always enjoyed watching others without them realizing it. In high school, I hacked the security camera feed so I could watch anyone I wanted at any time, even the headmaster in his office. It definitely came in handy when I set it up so Bastian could watch Starling.

It’s amazing what you can learn about people when they think they’re unobserved. I have camera’s all over my parents’ home, my brothers’ homes, and all over this house. I can watch whatever I want whenever I want. I’m not a freak watching my brothers in their bedrooms or my parents getting frisky in their shower. But I like the feeling of control it gives me to be able to watch, should I need to.

The moment I came to Kingsacre, I hacked into their security systems and gave myself access, so literally nothing interesting can happen on this campus without me knowing about it. Until January, I’ve never been intrigued enough to focus my watching on just one person. Now I can’t look away.

I have class in the morning, and even though I could probably teach most of my classes better than the professors that are paid to be there, I can’t sit there with my cell out, scrolling through camera feeds to find her, when I’m supposed to be paying attention. But I’m not sure I can just let her wander around campus without having eyes on her either.

Still holding her with one arm, I grab my cell with my free hand and click into my text app, typing out a new message before hitting send.

Me: Can you give me the details for the security team you use for Starling, and would they wear body cams?

His reply is almost instantaneous.

Bastian: 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Me: Is that a yes?

Bastian: I’ll send them a text, we’ll have a team ready to go by the morning.

Me: Thanks, let them know where to send the bill.

Bastian: Will do. Welcome to the psycho club.

Me: I’m not psycho.

Bastian: Says the guy who so far has drugged, chipped and is now having his wife followed by a security team after twenty-four hours of marriage.

Fuck, how can I even argue? He’s right, I am behaving like a psycho, but it’s not the same as him. I’m not doing all of this because I’m obsessively in love with January. I’m doing it because I don’t trust her or her family, and I need to keep an eye on what she does. She’s a snake, born from a den of vipers, and I need to know how deep the Burke venom is buried in her. That’s the only reason. I repeat that to myself five more times and I still don’t believe it.

When my alarm goes off the next morning, my eyes move to the empty space in the bed beside me. Fuck, she ran. The couch is empty. The blanket I unfurled from around her before I brought her to my bed is folded neatly and draped over the arm like no one had moved it at all.

Sitting up, I click into the tracker app and exhale when it shows her location as in the house. I don’t look too deeply at the panic that’s spiked within me at the thought of her disappearing while I was asleep. Flipping through the camera feed, I find her in the kitchen sitting at the table reading a book. Once my heart has slowed to a normal rate, I run through my usual morning routine of checking my email and replying to anything important.

The most recent is from the security company Bastian uses. Typing out a reply, I send them January’s photo and confirm that I want eyes and video on her at all times when she’s outside of the house but that she is to have no idea she’s being monitored. Their response is almost immediate, confirming my directive and advising me that a second team is now in place outside the property. A link to the body cams they’re wearing comes in a second email a moment later. I add the link to my surveillance app and click into the live feed to find an image of our house from outside.

As I’m the only one in our group working on both a second degree and a master’s program, my classes tend to start earlier in the day than my housemates’. Climbing out of bed, I take a quick shower, then dress for the day in my usual choice of board shorts, flip-flops, and a faded T-shirt. I have years of boardrooms and business wear ahead of me, so for now, I choose to be as comfortable as possible whenever I can.

Grabbing my cell, I slide my laptop into my backpack and head downstairs. Entering the kitchen, I find Starling, Sammy, and a girl that looks like my wife but completely different at the same time, all sitting around the table.

Instead of a buttoned-up dress that’s more suited to a woman twice her age, January is dressed in a pretty red sundress that’s cut low enough that I can see a hint of cleavage. The thin shoulder straps show off her perfect alabaster skin, and her hair is pulled into a high ponytail on the top of her head.

She looks young and beautiful and so fucking innocent that I want to drag her back upstairs and lock her in my room. My dick hardens so quickly my head spins from the blood being diverted between my legs, and I have to widen my stance so my hard-on isn’t completely obvious.

“You look different,” I say.

Her lips drop into a frown. It shouldn’t matter to me that she looks sad, but it does.

“I like it,” I mutter grudgingly.

A shy smile tips at the corners of her lips. “Starling lent me this dress, and Sammy did my hair. I don’t know what the address is here. But I need it to give to my parents’ house manager so he can send my things.”

“I’ll deal with it. The new clothes you ordered should be here today, so you’ll be ditching most of the clothes he’d be sending anyway.”

“Mother—” she starts.

“Isn’t here,” I interrupt.

January’s lips press together in a firm line, and I expect her to argue, but she stays silent. It bugs me. I want her to fight back, to tell me or her fucking bitch of a mother to go fuck ourselves, but instead she just stays infuriatingly mute.

Stomping past her, I pour coffee into a thermal mug and grab a granola bar from the cabinet. “I have class till ten thirty a.m., so I’ll come back after that and take you over to the office to get registered.” Placing the new cell phone I got her onto the table, I nod at it. “That stays on you at all times. I call, you answer. I text, you reply. Got it?”

Glancing down at her, I wait for a response and eventually she nods and without another word, I stride from the room and toward the front door.

“Hey,” Starling calls, striding toward me.

“Hey,” I say, pausing with my hand on the door.

“Why are you being an asshole to her?”

“I’m not.”

“Yeah, you are. That poor girl—”

“Might not be the mouse she’s pretending to be. She could be a fucking snake, waiting for the right moment to strike.”

“She’s not—”

“You have no idea what she is,” I interrupt. “None of us do. Her family blackmailed mine into arranging this marriage between us. They threatened to reveal inaccurate and damning information about us to the press if I didn’t agree. I love you, Starling, but so far, the only thing you really know about our world is the privilege, but that’s the pretty, shiny side, the side most people are envious of. But being rich and powerful is about so much more than that. It’s a hell of a lot darker and endlessly ruthless. The Burkes sold January, their only daughter for social standing and influence, and from what I’ve seen, they don’t feel bad about it, not at all. I know you’re trying to be a good person, but don’t defend her. Because we know nothing about her, except who her blood is, and from what we know of them so far, that means she’ll do and say whatever she has to to get what she wants.”

Starling’s eyes widen, and she takes a step back. I’ve known her since her freshman year of high school, but we weren’t friends until recently—even if to me and the other guys it felt like we were. She was a part of our group for a few weeks, then she left, and all we saw for so long was the way her absence affected Bastian. We were all mad at her, and it wasn’t until I saw the way what he’d done had changed her that I realized how fucking wrong it all was. Since then, Evan, Hunter, and I have been trying to make up for the things we helped Bastian do. I’ve never spoken to her this way before because I don’t want to give her a reason to hate me again when it feels like we’re actually becoming friends for real. But I need her to understand what I’m doing with January and not condemn me for it.

“I,” she starts.

“Just…” I sigh. “I’m not saying don’t be nice to her. But be careful because she might not be who she’s pretending to be.”

“You’re looking out for me?” Starling questions.

“I’m looking out for all of us. I don’t know if I invited a viper into a bird’s nest, and until I know for sure, I just want you to be careful.”

She scoffs at my reference to Bastian’s nickname for her. “I’ve seen the way you watch her.”

“Never turn your back on the biggest predator in the room, even if they look like they couldn’t harm a mouse.”

“You don’t watch her like she’s dangerous. You watch her like you can’t look away,” she says, a glint in her eye. “You look at her like Sebastian looks at me. Like you can’t decide if you want to fuck her or kill her.”

I jolt, shocked by how accurate her words are. “I need to get to class.”

“Okay.” She nods, her brow arched knowingly.

“Goodbye, Starling.”

“Goodbye, Clay.”

She’s smirking as she watches me open the door and leave. Fuck, I don’t want Starling to get hurt if January turns out to be exactly who I expect her to be, but it seems almost inevitable. Sebastian isolated his girl until she was too conditioned to even attempt to try and make friends in case he used them against her. Sammy is the first person to get through her wall of defense.

As much as Bastian hates to admit that what he did was wrong, I know deep down, under his icy exterior, he feels bad for making her so withdrawn. He pretends only to tolerate Sammy, but I know he’s glad his girl has someone, even if he would rather keep her all to himself.

My beautifully broken wife would be lucky if the girls took her under their wing, but I don’t want to allow her to burrow her way into my world until I know who she really is.

Maybe Starling’s right. Maybe I’m not watching January like she’s a bomb waiting to explode. Maybe now I’m hoping she’s all hard shell without a dangerous core. But none of us should be letting our guard down until we know for sure.

11

JANUARY

S ammy winces as we listen to Starling and Clay’s conversation. I guess they must assume that they’re far enough away that we won’t be able to hear, but apparently sound echoes around this old house, and we both hear every word Clay says.

“Her family blackmailed mine into arranging this marriage between us. They threatened to reveal inaccurate and damning information about us to the press if I didn’t agree. So far, the only thing you really know about our world is the privilege, but that’s the pretty, shiny side, the side most people are envious of. But being rich and powerful is about so much more than that. It’s a hell of a lot darker and endlessly ruthless. The Burkes sold January, their only daughter for social standing and influence, and from what I’ve seen, they don’t feel bad about it, not at all. I know you’re trying to be a good person, but don’t defend her. Because we know nothing about her, except who her blood is, and from what we know of them so far, that means she’ll do and say whatever she has to to get what she wants.”

My family blackmailed his. That’s the reason we’re married. I assumed this was something my family had planned for a while and just not bothered to tell me about, but this makes so much more sense. I might not be as aware of the social standing of wealthy families as he is, but I know the Jansens are the upper tier. We’re all rich, but even in the wealthy, there’s rich, and there’s rich.

A knot forms in my stomach, and I swallow down the bile that starts to rise in my throat. Not only does my husband hate my family, but he was literally forced into an alliance with us because they threatened to expose something unsavory to the press. Arranged marriages are common in our world, but normally they’re decided when the children are really young. Then the kids grow up together, knowing they’re each other’s future. Or maybe that’s the romanticized version I’ve told myself so it doesn’t seem so barbaric.

Sammy’s hand covers mine, but I pull my fingers free, not wanting her comfort or sympathy. I don’t deserve it. My family has never deemed me worthy of knowing anything about our businesses, but I assumed we were relatively honest. Now that assumption seems stupid. Is this what the Burkes are known for? Being underhanded and dishonest?

The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach. As much as I wouldn’t have chosen to get married, I thought it was a chance for a fresh start. Now I know it’s not. Clay will always hate me, and he’ll always know that the only reason I’m here is because my family is despicable.

Clay and Starling are still speaking, but I’m not listening anymore. Pushing up from my seat, I put my mug into the dishwasher and when I hear the sound of the front door closing, I head for the stairs, pausing as Starling reenters the room.

“Thank you for the clothes and for your help this morning,” I say.

Not waiting for either of them to speak, I dart for the stairs and climb as fast as I can, closing the door to Clay’s room shut behind me. Sitting on the small couch, I pull my knees up and rest my cheek on them.

This is my life now. An unwanted wife from an evil family.

I refuse to look at the bed where Clay carried me to last night or think about the way he held me, like he wanted me, like he needed me close. It was all just about making sure his enemy was where he could keep an eye on her. He never said why he took me from the couch last night, but stupidly I’d assumed it was because he was attracted to me or as an apology.

How wrong can one person be?

While I throw myself a pretty epic pity party, the rest of the house comes to life and then leaves until I’m pretty sure I’m the only person left. Venturing downstairs, I slide my feet into the sandals Starling lent me and start to explore the house. Opposite the kitchen, there’s a small sitting room and a larger living room with a flat-screen TV and comfortable-looking couches. In the basement, there’s a laundry room and cleaning supplies. I don’t venture upstairs to the other floors, I’m pretty sure it’s just bedrooms up there and I don’t want anyone to have the opportunity to accuse me of snooping anywhere other than the communal spaces.

Opening the door that leads out into the garden, I’m surprised to find there’s a swimming pool out there. The water is crystal clear and dauntingly deep, and I skirt the edges, sitting down on one of the loungers that are lined up along one side. It seems bizarre that a dorm house would have a pool, but then I assumed college dorms would be like you see in movies, small rooms with two beds and zero privacy, not the huge private suite Clay has upstairs.

I’m still gripping the cell phone he gave me earlier. He said I should keep it with me, but I doubt he meant it needed to be on me while I’m in the house. I don’t know why I still have it, I just don’t seem to be able to put it down.

Maybe it’s because it’s shiny and brand new. I’m not inept; I know how to use a cell phone; I just haven’t ever had a need for one, and I doubt I’ll ever use this one either. Clay already thinks I’m a coldhearted villain, so if carrying this stupid cell with me gives him one less thing to hate me for, I’ll do it. Maybe, eventually, he’ll realize I’m as much a victim in this as he is.

As if thinking about him has subconsciously alerted him, the cell phone buzzes in my hand and a new text alert pops up.

Clay: I’ll be home in thirty mins.

His message isn’t a question, and his statement doesn’t lend itself to a reply, so I close the screen, placing the cell down beside me. The sun is warm, and the quiet is nice, and despite me being so incredibly out of place here, I find a moment of peace. Closing my eyes, I tip my head back and take a moment just to enjoy the heat. At home, I always had tasks to do, even if they were annoying and seemingly completely pointless. My parents didn’t feel it was necessary for me to have anything beyond a basic education, but they insisted that I be multilingual, so I had tutors in French, German, Italian, and Mandarin every week. I’m pretty much fluent in all those languages now, or as fluent as I can get without immersing myself in the language and speaking it full time. I also had a host of etiquette and finishing school classes. I can flower arrange like a boss and know how to greet dignitaries from all over the world.

Clay said he was going to take me to register for classes once he got back, and for the first time, I start to wonder what classes I could take that would give me the best chance of getting away from this life I’ve been forced into. Maybe I could use my language skills to do something that would require me to travel extensively. Divorce is frowned upon in our world, but a spouse being out of the country for long periods of time is perfectly normal.

Standing, I rush upstairs, find the course list Clay mentioned yesterday and take it back down to the pool. I can’t swim, but I enjoy the peace of the still water, so I sit back down on the lounger and start to flip through the prospectus, mentally noting all the courses that could help me build a career away from the states.

I’m good at learning languages, especially since so many of them borrow from each other, and by the time I’ve reached the end of the book, I’m excited to see which classes have space. In several of the course descriptions, there’s even a suggestion of studying overseas, and that could be the escape plan I desperately need.

“January.”

Jumping, I almost fall off the lounger as I spin around to the door, where Clay is standing, glaring at me. “I’ve been calling you; didn’t you hear me?” he snaps.

“You have? No, sorry, I was a little engrossed.” I lift up the course list brochure in my hands, and he nods, the sour expression on his face softening a little.

“I texted you. I told you if I texted, I expected a reply.”

“Your text was more of a statement; I assumed a reply wasn’t required.”

“If I text you, you reply. It’s not rocket science,” he hisses angrily. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yes.”

His eyes inspect me as if he’s searching for something, but when he doesn’t find it, he turns and disappears back into the house, leaving me to follow him. His stride is too long for me to keep pace, so I follow him out of the house and climb into the golf cart beside him. My cell and the brochure are still clutched tightly in my hands, and I stay silent as he drives us across campus.

I didn’t really pay attention to my surroundings when he brought me here the night of the wedding, but the college grounds are beautiful, filled with mature trees, their leaves fluttering in the light breeze. There’re people milling around the closer we get to what I’m assuming are the main campus buildings, but Clay doesn’t bother to point anything out to me, not speaking a word until he slows to a stop beside a row of other golf carts like ours and jumps out.

He doesn’t bother waiting for me again, so I rush to follow, and he leads us into an old red brick building. Inside, the heat of the day melts away, and smoothly worn wood paneling and low ceilings give the interior a cool, almost morose feeling.

When we reach a dark wood door with an obscured glass window, he pushes it open and gestures for me to enter first. Inside the office is a desk, a smartly dressed man sitting behind it in tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses. “Good morning. How can I help you?”

Clay places a hand on the base of my spine, and I stiffen. “My wife has an appointment to register and sign up for classes. January Jansen.”

As if the sound of my name instills something akin to fear in the man, his smile, which was genuine a moment ago, turns brittle, and he lifts his phone from the desk and brings it to his ear, pressing a button. “Dean Livingstone, I have January Jansen here to see you.”

I’m not sure what the dean says, but a moment later, the door to an office on the other side of the room opens and a man walks out, smiling widely.

“Clay,” he declares happily, holding his hand out to Clay. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. Congratulations, it was a beautiful wedding.”

Clay reaches over and shakes the dean’s hand, smiling and thanking him for attending. My eyes take in the dean, but I don’t recognize him. His hair is graying, his features on the portly side, but his smile seems real, and he doesn’t make any instant fear burst to life within me.

“Mrs. Jansen, welcome to Kingsacre University.”

“Thank you, Dean Livingstone. I appreciate you allowing me to attend.”

“Well of course, when Eric said you’d be joining Clay here after the wedding, I was more than happy to make the exception. Why don’t you come on through? One of the admissions executives will be joining us shortly.”

We all step into the dean’s office, but I can feel the man behind the desk’s angry glare still focused on us until the door is closed behind us, and Clay is holding out a seat for me to take.

Clay and the dean make small talk until an older woman enters in a tweed twinset and pearls, her hair coiffed into a style that might have been fashionable in the fifties but looks out of place in this day and age. She sits down in a seat at the side of the Dean’s desk and proceeds to ask me basic questions like my date of birth, full name, and some information about where I graduated high school. The dean raises a brow when I tell them I was homeschooled online via a prestigious private school, but he doesn’t question why I didn’t attend a regular school and I don’t offer him any explanation.

“Well, that’s the basics out of the way. Now that you’re a registered Kingsacre student, we can talk about what classes you might be interested in taking,” the dean says warmly. “There are some required classes that we insist our students take, but of course you can spread those out over your time here. I’d suggest we get you enrolled in two of those courses this semester, math and English, then you can pick three electives.”

“I’m most interested in the language and business courses,” I tell him politely.

“Do you speak any languages?” he asks indulgently.

“I’m fluent in French, German, Italian, and Mandarin. I know a little Russian and enough Spanish to be conversational.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows almost jump off his face. “In that case, you could test into our advanced placement classes, but if languages are where you’d like to major, most of the courses require some foreign study elements.”

“That’s not a problem,” I tell him at the same time Clay growls, “No.”

Swinging my gaze to him, I speak before I can think better of it. “What? Why?”

“No,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“You can’t—”

“Can’t I?” he interrupts, arching an imperious brow.

“Well,” the dean says, clearing his throat. “Perhaps this should be something for us to address at a later date. For now, I’ll arrange for the appropriate testing to take place to make sure you’re at the required standard to place into the advanced classes. Were there any other classes that piqued your interest?”

I mention a business class and we spend the next few minutes debating the merits of the various business courses the school offers while Clay silently seethes beside me. By the time the dean rises and offers Clay his hand again, I’m enrolled in three classes with a further two once I’ve taken the tests.

We follow the admissions lady out of the office and into a smaller one across the corridor, where she takes my photo and gives me a student ID and my new timetable. “Your ID gives you access to the library, as well as all communal student buildings like the gymnasium and the cafeteria. You’ll need to tap it to buy food with your meal plan, and it can also be used on the vending machines across the campus. If you have any issues, please come back to me or call student services.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She nods and we turn to leave, not speaking a word until we get back outside. “What the fuck are you up to, Poison?” Clay growls angrily.

“I’m not up to anything. I’m just trying to make the best of a bad situation. You didn’t want to marry me any more than I wanted to marry you. ‘I’m a snake in a bird’s nest,’ so why can’t I take a program that allows me to study abroad? You don’t want me here, but we both know I can’t just leave. No one would think anything about me leaving to study abroad for six months or even a year or two. It’s the perfect solution to all our problems.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I’m not letting you disappear to another fucking country.”

“‘My family blackmailed yours into arranging this marriage between us. They sold me for social standing and influence,’” I say, repeating the words he told Starling earlier. “Letting me disappear to another country when you literally know nothing about me, except who my blood is, sounds like the best place for me.” I have no idea where this bold, brave attitude is coming from, but I like it. It makes me feel heard for the first time, possibly ever.

“No. You can take the classes, but there won’t be any overseas study.”

Tears well in my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall and instead turn on my heel and head for the golf carts. When I get back to where I think we parked, there are twice as many carts as there were before, and I have no idea which is ours.

Rather than wait, I keep walking past the row of carts and the huge building that we were just in. I walk past a grassy quad filled full of students, talking and laughing and lying out on the grass studying. Jealousy surges to life inside of me. Their lives seem so much simpler than mine, but that’s the joy of being an outsider looking in. Maybe they have more drama than I could ever imagine happening, and they’re just better at hiding their turmoil than I am. Either way, I’d swap places with any one of them right now.

When I reach a cobblestone courtyard, I follow the flow of people into the cafeteria. The administration lady said that my student ID could be used to pay for things against my meal plan, which means I don’t have to eat back at the house surrounded by people who don’t want me there but are being forced to deal with my presence.

“What are you doing?” Clay asks from right behind me.

Jumping back, I whirl around, instinctually ducking my head to avoid the blow I’m expecting. When nothing happens, I tuck my hair behind my ear and slowly lift my chin and look at him.

“What are you doing?” he asks me again.

“I’m going to grab some lunch and a drink. Then I’m going to explore the rest of campus,” I snap.

“We’re going back to the house.”

“I’m fine. You can go back, don’t let me stop you from getting on with your day. I need to learn where everything is before I start classes tomorrow anyway.”

“There’s an app you can put on your cell that will show you directions to anything on campus.”

“I’m sure that’s great, but I’d rather just walk around and get to know the place.”

“I don’t have time to deal with your childish temper tantrum,” he says with a sarcastic huff.

“I’m not a child, and this isn’t a tantrum. I don’t need to be babysat. I’ll find my way back to the house later.”

“It’s lunchtime,” he snaps.

“And this is a cafeteria full of food.”

“The food they serve here is atrocious,” he snarls, garnering the attention of all the people close to us.

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” I intone, turning my back on him again and joining the line that’s waiting to be served.

Moments later, the world tilts on its axis, and I’m upside down, my hair hanging in my eyes and my stomach pressed uncomfortably against his shoulder.

“Clay, put me down,” I hiss quietly, not wanting to make more of a scene than we already are by screaming at him.

Not saying a word, he carries me out of the cafeteria and back to the cart, tipping me upright as he dumps me in the seat.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I ask, flipping my ponytail back over my head and out of my eyes.

“We don’t eat at that disgusting excuse for a restaurant. There’s plenty of food at home.”

“What if I don’t want to eat at the house? What if I’d rather make use of the meal plan I’m assuming your father is paying for?”

“I don’t give a fuck what you’d rather do. We eat at the house, together.”

“What if I have class?”

“Then Hunter will make you something to take with you. He likes to cook. It’s his thing.”

“I don’t know Hunter. I can’t expect him to cook for me when I have access to food in the cafeteria.”

Pursing his lips, Clay’s eyes narrow and he glares at me, but I’m not scared of him anymore. He’s clearly angry, but I’ve lived with men more volatile than him, and as aggravated as he might be right now, I don’t think he’s going to hurt me with anything more than words.

“Fine,” I concede.

He won’t be with me all the time; I can say I’m not hungry and leave early and eat at the cafeteria before class each day. It’s not like I’m used to eating loads anyway. Mother’s attempts to keep me skinny mean I’m used to never feeling truly full.

“Let’s go. I have class in an hour.”

Folding my hands into my lap, I don’t utter a word as he drives us back to the house, but I do memorize the route. At least this way, I won’t have to rely on him to act as a tour guide to find my way around.

Two more golf carts are parked outside the house when the gates part to allow us entrance. Clay parks alongside them and storms through the front door without waiting for me.

I follow at a slower pace, pushing the door open and noticing the digital lock on the wall, but Clay hasn’t given me a key, and I don’t plan to ask for one. This isn’t my home. He made that more than clear this morning with the conversation I overheard him have with Starling.

The sound of people hits me when I step inside. If what he said is true, then I’d guess everyone is here eating together, like a family who actually enjoys one another’s company. This morning when Sammy and Starling had been so sweet, lending me clothes and helping style my hair, I’d thought maybe I could become a part of the group. But that’s not going to happen, and the thought of having to join them and have them pretend to like me is more than I can stomach. Instead of heading to the kitchen, I take a step toward the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Sammy asks, leaving the kitchen and coming over to me.

“It’s been a long morning. I’m going to go and take a nap. My classes start tomorrow.”

“Eat first. Hunter made pasta; he is the best cook. I love it here. At my old house, there’s no way I’d have eaten anything that had been within twenty feet of the kitchen. My housemates had a nasty habit of getting bodily fluids everywhere,” she says with a grimace.

“I’m not very hungry. I’ll just grab something later.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. I can ask Hunter to wrap yours up.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, your clothes have come. I put everything up in your room. If you want, we can go through them later, and I can help you style some outfits.”

“That’s okay. I’m sure they’ll be fine. Thank you, though. I appreciate you being nice to me.”

Sammy’s brow furrows. “Why wouldn’t I be nice to you? You’re one of us now.”

Tears fill my eyes, and I try, and fail, to blink them away. “No, I’m not. But thank you for trying.” Turning, I start to climb the stairs. I don’t have the energy to run away, so I just slowly leave, praying that she won’t follow.

12

CLAY

“W here is she?” I demand when Sammy comes back into the kitchen, her teeth pulling at her bottom lip worriedly.

“She said she wasn’t hungry and that she was going to take a nap. She looked so sad. You’re an asshole, Clay. She heard every word you said to Starling this morning. I don’t know what you’ve done to her since then, but you need to go and apologize to your wife.”

“She’s pissed because I wouldn’t let her eat at the cafeteria. She’ll get over it.”

“She’s not pissed. She’s miserable,” Sammy insists.

“Turns out the snake speaks half a dozen languages and tried to enroll herself as a modern language major and head out on a foreign study program today. I said no, and she’s not a happy little snaky.”

“I wish you’d stop calling her that,” Starling says. “That poor girl—”

“Isn’t the victim you think she is,” I interrupt. “I already told you where she’s from, the kind of family she was raised in.”

“Yeah, well, not all families are like yours. Family can be fickle, and loyalty isn’t guaranteed,” Starling says quietly, her skin pale as she glances to Bastian.

Guilt flashes across his face, but it’s gone almost as quick as it came. She’s right, families aren’t always loyal, and her mother is the perfect example. She turned on Starling in the blink of an eye, but that doesn’t mean it’s the same for January.

“Assuming she’s a terrible person just because she comes from a terrible family isn’t fair,” Sammy agrees.

My own guilt prickles to life, but I tamp it down. Given what I’ve surmised about her life when she lived with her family, it’s seeming less and less likely that she’s as ruthless and vile as her parents and siblings seem to be, but I hardly know her, and I can’t be blamed for my reservation given how we ended up married. I refuse to be swayed by my physical attraction to her; just because I want to fuck her doesn’t mean I should overlook all the red flags against her. It’s not my fault that she’s decided to isolate herself from everyone else. It’s not my fault that she’s not eating, even though she desperately needs a few good meals to banish the skeletal nature of her body. Fuck, maybe the last two are my fault, but if she wanted to, she could join us and get to know my friends, and she’s choosing not to.

Lunch is unusually quiet, with both girls pointedly ignoring me. When we’ve mostly finished, Evan heads for the kitchen and grabs the plate Hunter fixed for January, then leaves without saying a word.

I could follow him, but I already know where he’s going and pulling out my cell, I follow him up the stairs on the cameras until he reaches the door to my room. Knocking, I watch as January opens the door, her eyes red, the dress from earlier gone and replaced with the pajamas she was wearing when I carried her to my bed last night.

I can only see the back of Evan’s head from this camera angle, but if I change to the interior cameras, I won’t be able to watch January’s reaction. Evan holds out the plate and her eyebrows rise like she’s shocked. I expect her to refuse the food, like a petulant child, but instead she takes the offered plate and a bottle of water I hadn’t seen him fetch and smiles.

That should be it. He’s taken her a plate of food and she’s accepted it, and no doubt thanked him. What else is there for them to say? But he’s not leaving, and she’s still smiling. What the fuck?

Abandoning my plate on the kitchen table, I storm up the stairs to my room just as Evan reaches out and squeezes January’s shoulder and she doesn’t flinch or recoil, she just stands there and lets him.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” I snap like an asshole.

“Clay. What the fuck?” Evan growls, rounding on me with anger flashing in his eyes.

“Evan went to the effort of bringing it up to me,” January says quietly.

“You could have eaten with the rest of us downstairs.” I don’t know why I’m acting this way. I want her to eat the fucking food, but I just can’t seem to stop the words from coming out of my mouth.

“I…” Her mouth opens and closes like a fish. “I’ll put it in the refrigerator downstairs,” she says, her eyes downcast, her whole demeanor curled in on herself.

I open my mouth to apologize, to tell her to go and eat, that I’m an asshole, but she darts past me, heading downstairs with the plate clutched in her hands before I get a chance.

“What the fuck is your problem?” Evan asks, shoving me on the shoulder. “Have you seen how thin she is? Do you think she should be missing a meal? And you make her feel like crap. Why?” He’s so angry his whole face is red.

“Why are you even up here?” I ask, avoiding answering his question because I have nothing to say to defend myself.

“Because someone needs to take care of your wife and it’s clearly not going to be you.”

My vision goes hazy, and I see red. I launch myself at Evan like he isn’t my best friend and brother. I get in a solid hit before he reacts, punching me back with enough strength that I think he might have broken my nose.

“Enough,” Sebastian roars. His commanding voice loud enough that I pause, and Hunter pushes between us, forcing Evan and me apart.

“What the hell is up with you guys?” Hunter demands, pushing forward and getting in my face.

“Evan has decided that my wife is his fucking concern,” I snarl, trying to get around Hunter to get to Evan.

“I brought her some lunch because this asshole did something to make her prefer going hungry to spending time with us.”

“Evan,” Bastian says, glancing at me. “How Clay deals with his wife isn’t anything to do with you.”

“It is when she lives in this house. I stood by while we fucked Starling up, I won’t stand by while he does it to January.”

“Starling is perfectly fine,” Bastian says coldly.

“Starling is a fucking mess. Before you forced your way into her life, she was a normal teenager, now look at her. She’s more fucked up than the rest of us put together, and we did that. She’s my sister and she barely tolerates me. She doesn’t speak to her mom, has one friend in the entire world and has more trust issues than anyone I’ve ever met. All because you saw her and wanted her. I didn’t do anything to stop you all those years ago, and I should have. I have so many regrets it’s eating me alive how fucking guilty I feel, so I will not stand by and watch us ruin another girl just because we can.” His eyes are wide and red-rimmed, his chest heaving up and down. I knew he felt a level of responsibility for everything that went down with Bastian and Starling, but I had no idea it was this bad.

“January and I are different,” I protest.

“Are you? Because this all feels really fucking similar to me. January is alone and you’re making sure the girls don’t try to be her friend. You’re isolating her and controlling her life. What exactly is different?”

“It’s not the same,” I insist. “January is my fucking wife, so stay away from her.”

“No,” Evan says, shoving Hunter’s arm away and taking a step back. “If you won’t look after her, I will.”

“No, you fucking won’t,” I growl.

“Evan,” Hunter starts.

“No. If you want to take his side and watch him ruin this girl, that’s on you. But I can’t, so you either let me do what he refuses to and offer the girl some common human decency, or I need to move out because I can’t stand to be a part of this again.”

All of us jolt back in shock.

“You’d move out?” Bastian asks.

“Yes.”

“Where would you live?”

“Yale.”

“What the fuck?” I snap.

“My dad knows the dean, and I already have acceptance to transfer in for my final year if I choose to.”

“You’ve thought about this?” Bastian asks.

“Yes,” Evan confirms without offering any more of an explanation.

“But we’re supposed to be doing this together. That’s why we’re all here, so we graduate together, so we’re in sync and ready to take over the companies together,” Hunter says, confusion lacing each word.

“I know,” Evan says, closing his eyes and twisting his neck from side to side.

“And now what? You’ve changed your mind? This is what we’ve been talking about since we were kids. Finish high school, finish college, take over for our parents. Clay could have been done with school years ago, but he’s still here because this is what we agreed,” Hunter yells.

“Yeah, but ruining girls’ lives wasn’t part of that plan. I had a chance at a normal family, two parents, a sister. But instead, I have a stepmom who is heartbroken but still brainwashed by the excess and money because we encouraged my dad to seduce her. Sure, he fell for her, but we started it all because Bastian wanted Starling’s mom under his thumb. I have a stepsister who is trying so fucking hard not to see me as a monster, but she can’t quite get there because I am a fucking monster. I’m starting to wonder if us together as a team is a dream or a nightmare.”

All of us are silent, staring at Evan who looks broken. He reminds me so much of Starling when she first got here and realized that Bastian had orchestrated to get her into his home and under his control.

“You’re not a monster,” Bastian says quietly. “You’re not moving out. If you need to be kind to January, be fucking kind to January. Clay can do what he needs to do so we can figure out if she’s a threat or not and then we can move forward together. We’re brothers, always have been and that isn’t changing today, so everybody get your heads in the fucking game.”

Stepping closer, Hunter curls his hand around the back of Evan’s neck and pulls him forward. At six foot six, Hunter towers over all of us, and he moves Evan without giving him a chance to protest. Bastian steps forward too, placing his hand around the back of Hunter’s neck, and I do the same, putting my hand on Bastian’s neck. After a pause that makes my stomach sink, Evan places his hand on the back of my neck, and we all lean forward until our heads are all pressed together. A circle that doesn’t end.

“We’re brothers, family. If it’s us against the world, the world can suck it,” Hunter says with a smile.

We started doing this when we were stupid kids and hugging started feeling like something only girls did. In our prepubescent minds, this huddle was more manly than a hug and so we started doing it when we needed to remind each other of our connection. It’s been a long time since we’ve done it, but the moment our heads are all touching, it feels right, needed.

I’m not sure how long we stay together, but when we eventually pull apart, my eyes are a little misty. “I’m going to go and find January. I’ll make sure she eats,” I tell Evan.

He nods, lips pursed, but his eyes are a little redder than the rest of us. My brother is a lot more broken than I thought and I wish I knew how to fix him. Leaving him with Hunter and Bastian, I head down the stairs and into the kitchen. Finding the food Evan brought upstairs wrapped up in the refrigerator, I pull it out and put it in the microwave. When it’s hot, I go in search of my wife, finding her outside by the pool we never use, sitting on a sun lounger, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them.

“Here,” I say, putting the plate on the lounger in front of her. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t ask what I’m sorry for or even look up at me, but she nods as she stares out at the water.

“I have to get to class.”

She nods again. I want her to shout, to say or do something, but she just ignores me, like the water in the pool is the most interesting thing she’s ever seen.

“I’ll see you later for dinner.”

I wait for something, but she doesn’t react in any way and after a long moment, I turn and leave.

13

JANUARY

W hen the door to the house shuts, I glance down at the plate of food and debate if I should eat it or throw it in the pool. In the end, my empty stomach wins, and I pick up a fork and slowly start to eat.

After I’ve eaten half the plate of pasta, the door opens again and Evan steps out, pausing beside the door. “Is it okay if I join you? I get it if you’d rather be alone.”

“It’s fine, this is your house, you don’t have to ask permission.”

“It’s your house too now. This is your home.”

A scoff falls from my lips before I can swallow it back. “It’s a strange concept, isn’t it?”

“What?” he asks, sitting on the lounger next to mine.

“Home. I suppose in theory this is my home now, but I’m not wanted here anymore than I was at my parents’ house.”

“They didn’t want you there?”

“I wasn’t a boy, which was a constant source of disappointment from the moment I was born,” I say with a bitter laugh.

“Your parents wanted a boy?”

“Burkes only produce boys,” I say in an imperious tone. “I was an aberration, a mistake.”

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

“Why? You haven’t done anything to be sorry for, or at least nothing I’m aware of.”

“Family expectation is hard.”

“Were your parents hoping for a girl?” I ask with a half smile.

“Err, no. My mom left when I was two days old. She said she’d done her duty, given my father an heir, and now she was going to live her life. She never came back. Last I heard she was married to a sheikh and living it up in a palace in the desert. He’s her sixth husband or something.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Did she have any more children?”

“No.” He laughs. “She had her tubes tied after I was born.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s great, but having all of his attention and all of the responsibility for our family name, it’s a lot sometimes.”

I nod like I know what he means, but I don’t. My family have never had any expectation of me, I was never anything more than a flip of a coin gone wrong. “Thank you for bringing my lunch upstairs, but you probably shouldn’t do it again. I don’t want you and Clay to argue because of me.”

“Clay’s being an asshole. I know he thinks he has his reasons, but I don’t give a fuck, he’s wrong and he’ll figure that out soon.”

“I didn’t know about what my family did,” I say, unsure why I’m telling him.

“I figured.”

His response surprises me. I assumed maybe they all blamed me.

“Look, Clay is going to be Clay. Bastian will side with him, and Hunter will play the peacekeeper. I just want you to know if you need someone, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

His offer is so sweet I feel tears fill my eyes. “Thank you, Evan.”

“I mean it, January. Look, I have to get to class, but Hunter will make dinner for us all later, you should eat with us. But if you don’t want to, just let me know and I’ll bring your dinner upstairs. All the food and drink in the house are communal, so take whatever you want. There’s a candy stash in the pantry that has pretty much every kind of chocolate you can imagine. The flat-screen TV in the living room has cable and Netflix and all the channels, so binge-watch something cheesy and stuff yourself on candy and soda. Just… don’t let Clay get to you.”

Nodding, I wipe the tears from my cheeks. “Have a good class.”

“See you later.”

My heart feels a little lighter as I watch him leave. His being nice to me could all be part of a bigger scheme, but I don’t think it is. He seemed too genuine, too guilty. I’m not sure we could ever be friends. His connection and loyalty to Clay are too deep, but right now I’ll take an offer of an ally because I think I’m going to need it.

When my plate is empty and my stomach full, I carefully open the door to the house, listening for sounds of life. When all I hear is the creaks and groans of the old house settling, I cautiously step inside, take my plate into the kitchen and load it into the dishwasher.

Even though Evan said the food was communal, it doesn’t feel right to take anything when I haven’t contributed toward the cost of it, so I grab a glass from the cabinet and fill it with water from the faucet. Glass in hand, I head back upstairs to Clay’s room and the mountain of deliveries I found up there earlier.

When Sammy was adding clothes to the cart, I was so consumed by how much Mother would disapprove of her choices that I don’t think I fully realized how much she’d ordered. But now that it’s here and covering the floor of Clay’s sitting room, the sheer quantity is almost overwhelming.

I know I could have taken Sammy up on her offer to help me go through it all, but after everything that’s happened today, it’s clear I need to stop trying to pretend I fit in here. This is Clay’s home and his friends and I don’t want to cause any friction between him and them or give him yet another reason to resent me.

I’m good at being insignificant, slipping through the cracks of life and making myself smaller and smaller to divert attention from myself, and I can do that here just like I did at my parents’ house. If Clay won’t allow me to leave, then I just need to bide my time and figure out a way to run or wait until he graduates and we move into a house. Then we’ll have the time and space we both need to avoid each other until I can convince him we need to get a divorce.

Picking up the first parcel, I open it and pull each item of clothing out one at a time, removing it from the packaging and quickly trying it on. Impressively, pretty much everything fits. Some of it is a little baggy, but as I don’t have any breasts to fill out the shirts, it’s to be expected.

Wanting to be as unobtrusive as possible, I find an empty plastic storage box in the basement and haul it upstairs, pushing it into the gap between the wall and the couch and carefully folding my clothes into it. Apart from a few dressier items that could really benefit from being hung, the majority of the stuff will be fine folded. The Calvin Klein underwear Sammy insisted I buy because, according to her—it’s so comfortable I won’t even know I’m wearing it, fits snugly down the side of the box and the black leather backpack sits on top, covering the whole thing and almost hiding it from view unless you’re looking for it.

Once I’m finished, I change into a pair of denim shorts, a white T-shirt that’s cropped just above my navel, and a pair of canvas sneakers and take all the trash downstairs. Then I head down to the laundry room to try to figure out how to use the washing machine to wash the clothes I’ve been wearing since I got here.

After several misstarts, I get the machine going and then head back upstairs. My feet pause by the living room, but I don’t want to be in there when anyone else gets home. Instead, I head to Clay’s room, grab my paperback and go back outside to take up residence by the pool on the lounger I’ve claimed as my own.

After a while, I pull my laundry from the machine and shove it into the dryer, which is thankfully a lot easier to use and turn it on, glad that I don’t particularly care if the clothes Mother picked say dry clean only. If she cares that much about my outfits, she should have provided me with a means of paying for a dry cleaner.

The sun is warm and calming and I feel myself relax while I read until the dryer is finished. The only true casualty seems to be the dress I wore yesterday that Clay said wasn’t suitable anyway. Not bothering to take it upstairs, I throw it straight in the trash along with all the pornographic underwear she picked out and then carry the rest of the stuff back to his room, putting it into my small case.

Stepping back, I glance at the couch, satisfied that my presence here is as unobtrusive as possible. Apart from my case and the box that’s almost completely hidden in the wasted space on the other side of the couch, no one would know I was even living here.

Deciding not to be in the house when the others get back from class, I slide the cell Clay got me into one pocket and my student ID into the other and then slip out the front door with my book gripped tightly in my hands. The gate seems to take a long while to open, but eventually it does, and I step out of the grounds for the first time on my own.

The moment I’m away from the house, a weight lifts from my chest, then my cell beeps.

Clay: Your student ID opens the gate and the front door.

Huh, that’s weird timing. Scanning my surroundings, I wonder for a minute if he’s seen me leaving, but there’s no one around. Putting my cell back into my pocket and without a real destination in mind, I wander toward campus until I spot a small grove of trees where a few students are sitting, studying on benches. For a moment, I consider trying to start a conversation, but quickly reject the thought and instead sit down, with my back nestled against the base of a tree and open my book to read.

Mother never appreciated my desire to read modern novels, but there was very little she could dislike about the classics. Pride and Prejudice will probably always be my favorite, with Lizzy and Darcy and their tremulous journey to love. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve read the book, but enough that my paperback version is worn and on the verge of falling apart.

I have a nicer, hardback version at home, but it’s packed in my boxes of things, and it doesn’t seem like Clay ever intends to send for them. For the moment, my fragile, well-loved paperback will have to do.

My cell buzzes again, and I pull it out of my pocket and see a new message from Clay.

Clay: I TEXT. YOU REPLY!!!

Even as technology starved as I am, I know that all caps mean he’s shouting at me, but I can’t help the small smile that twitches at the corners of my lips.

Hitting reply for the first time, I type one letter.

Me: K

I wait for a second for him to reply and when nothing immediately comes through, I put the cell back into my pocket and pick up my book again.

Away from the house and engrossed in the story, I don’t really notice how much time has passed until I look up and realize the people who were sitting on the benches around me have all gone, and the sun is slowly starting its descent behind the horizon.

As I push up to stand, my legs protest. My butt is numb from sitting in one spot for so long, but for the first time in weeks, I feel calm and like I can breathe. Getting away from the house and the prisonlike feeling of the walls was exactly what I needed. Unfortunately, even though I don’t want to, I have to go back, and I slowly start to stroll in that direction, brushing dirt from my shorts and the backs of my thighs as I walk.

14

CLAY

T he moment my cell buzzes with a notification saying that the front door sensor has been triggered, I know it’s her. Pulling up the camera app of my cell, I expect to find her dragging her case, but instead she’s in tiny jean shorts that are cut so high I bet I could see the curve of her butt beneath the hem. Her shirt is white and plain, but it’s cropped, so the skin between the shirt and shorts is visible, creamy pale skin teasing me.

Her feet are clad in a pair of Chucks, and she looks nothing like the girl dressed in the overly fussy dress who sat in the kitchen only two days ago. Dressed as she is, she looks like every other hot student on campus, and it pisses me off.

I paid for all the new clothes, but she’s not wearing those Daisy Dukes for me, she’s leaving the house. Alone. Pausing, I debate whether to open the gate or not. I could keep it locked, keep her a prisoner within the grounds unless I take her somewhere, but if she’s meeting someone, I want to know who. After a long moment, I hit the open button, watching as the gates swing open and she walks through.

Typing out a text, I hit send.

Me: Your student ID opens the gate and the front door.

Immediately swapping into the live stream from her security team's body cams, I watch as she reads the text, then looks around as if she’s looking for someone. Shoving the cell back into her shorts without replying, she meanders toward campus, not striding purposefully, just wandering at a steady speed as if she’s in no rush to get anywhere.

After a while, she stops, and sits down against a tree, opening up the paperback she’s been attached to since the first morning in my sitting room. It seems like the security team expects someone to meet her too because they keep scanning the area, assessing each person who walks past cautiously, but no one ever approaches her, and she doesn’t look up from her book.

I text her again.

Me: I TEXT. YOU REPLY!!

A half grin tips at the corners of her lips and her fingers slowly move over the screen.

Her reply pops up and I can’t help but chuckle.

Poison: K

An hour, then two passes while I ignore my professor and instead watch her do nothing and speak to no one. I’m paying the security team an obscene amount of money to guard her, but I can’t stop watching, even though she’s not doing anything but reading. Seeing her at peace is fascinating.

Her fingers twirl at her hair as she holds the book in one hand, licking her finger before she turns each page, her head moving from side to side as she reads each line. Whatever she’s reading, it’s clear she’s enjoying it because, at one point, her entire face lights up in a broad smile that spreads all the way across her face.

Never once in the entire two-and-a-half hours that I watch her does she glance at her cell. When I flick into the app I installed on her cell to monitor her activity, it’s blank except for the texts I’ve sent her and her single one-letter reply. The cell is still turned on, but since this morning, she hasn’t downloaded any apps, sent any other texts or even added a contact. The only number saved is mine, and I added that when I set the cell up. In fact, I’d bet that apart from carrying it with her and reading the texts I’ve sent her, she hasn’t looked at it at all.

Instead of being relieved, I’m annoyed. Everyone has a cell phone. Everyone. Which means she must have hers stashed somewhere. Excusing myself from my class without offering my professor any explanation, I pull up Marilyn Burke's number in my contacts and hit dial.

“Clay, darling, what a pleasure to hear from you,” Marilyn gushes.

“Hello Marilyn. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just marvelous, my meeting with the symphony board just finished and we are all just so excited for this fundraiser we’re holding. You and your parents really must attend.”

“If you let me know the date, I’ll ask January to have a look at our calendar.”

“Of course,” she says, not bothering to ask after her oldest child.

“I was actually just calling about January. Now that I’m trustee of her trust fund, I wanted to move all of her expenses over to my own accounts, but I don’t seem to be able to find out who’s paying for her cell service.”

Marilyn’s laugh is high and shrill. “Oh darling, that’s because she doesn’t have a cell phone. Didn’t she mention it? I’ve tried to insist she needed one, but she’s simply determined that she doesn’t. Of course, if you feel that she needs one, you’re her husband and I’m sure she’ll be happy to oblige, especially once she’s expecting.”

My mother-in-law leaves her suggestion that I get her barely eighteen-year-old daughter pregnant hanging in the air, like I’m going to comment or confirm that I’m filling her with my cum at every given opportunity.

“Well that answers that conundrum. What about credit cards?”

“We spent so much time together, I guess she never really had a need for one.” Marilyn laughs again and it’s so fake I cringe and then instantly scowl. January isn’t fake. Even when she’s silent, her emotions bleed through into her eyes.

“Now that you two lovebirds have had a few days together, I’d love for you to join us for family dinner at Carpathians on Friday, say seven thirty p.m.?”

“I’ll need to check with January, but I’m sure we can make that work.”

“Perfect. As soon as you confirm, I’ll have the house manager call and book it. I’m afraid I must run. Cliff is due back any moment. I’m looking forward to seeing you on Friday.”

“Goodbye, Marilyn.”

She ends the call, and I unclench the muscles in my neck that have tightened while speaking to that horrible woman. Unless someone else is paying for a cell plan for January, she wasn’t lying and actually doesn’t have one. Same with a credit card or access to any money at all, from what I can see. How is that even possible? I open the body cam stream again, but she’s still just sitting beneath the tree reading. Most people would be looking around them, distracted by the people walking past and the sounds of life around them, but it’s like my venomous wife doesn’t realize anyone else in the world exists.

No longer interested in my class, I head over to the coffee shop and buy myself a cup of coffee, then drive the golf cart the long way back to the house so I don’t pass where she’s still sitting.

When I’m home, I open the stream up on my computer and watch her on one of my screens while I review the footage from the cameras in my room from earlier on the other. I skip forward until she reenters the room after I’d left for class and watch as she opens and tries on all the clothes she ordered, refusing to acknowledge how hard my dick gets just from seeing her in her underwear.

I don’t know what her wardrobe consisted of at home, but from what I know of her clothes so far and what she’s alluded to, I can’t imagine there are many booty shorts and yoga pants in her closet at her parents’. But instead of excitement or even rebelliousness in her expression she’s just blank. When she leaves the room, I skip through the footage for the rest of the house and track her into the basement and then back up to the bedroom carrying a plastic storage tub.

Until now, I assumed she’d stored her things in the closet, but watching her fold all of her new stuff and pack it away down the side of the couch in a plastic box makes me wonder if, for the last two days, she’s been living out of her tiny suitcase.

Fuck, maybe I am the asshole that Evan accused me of being. I unpack at hotels even if I’m only staying for a single night and this is her home and she’s put all of her stuff in a box rather than fill my closet.

Standing, I walk to the bathroom, open the door, and turn on the light. There’s only one toothbrush in the cup on the sink, only my shower gel and shampoo in the shower. There’s nothing of hers in here either. She must be putting it all back in her case after she uses it.

Fuck.

Once she’s finished and dressed in the shorts and shirt she’s wearing now, she gathers all the clothes she brought here with her in her arms and disappears into the basement.

Yep, I’m an asshole because, apparently, I didn’t even mention that we have a housekeeper who comes in twice a week to clean the house and do the laundry.

The basement is the only room I didn’t install cameras in, but as she’s down there for a while, and as I’m assuming this is her first time doing laundry, I’d take a guess at her trying to figure out how to use the machine. Eventually she comes out of the basement door, fetches her book from upstairs and goes outside to sit by the pool. She doesn’t swim, just sits on one of the loungers and reads.

It takes me less than five minutes to write a program that will only show me the footage of her on the camera feed, and so I watch, switching from camera to camera as she heads back into the basement twice, finally returning with a pile of laundry, minus the ugly dress from yesterday that she throws in the trash along with a pile of frilly things.

I have schoolwork I need to do and debugging on several of my programs and apps to catch up on, but instead I find myself in the kitchen, rooting through the trash can and pulling out handfuls of lingerie. The underwear isn’t light and youthful and sexy. There’s no way January chose this stuff. It’s clearly the work of Marilyn Burke. She packed hooker lingerie for her teenage daughter to wear for me. What the fuck?

One set is a scarlet bodysuit that’s both crotchless and nippleless. Another is a black lace teddy that’s so sheer its only purpose could be seduction. It all looks like it would be more at home in a 1980s Playboy photo shoot than in the suitcase of a teenage bride, and I cringe, dropping it back into the trash and pushing it down so it’s hidden from view.

Heading back to my room, my eyes are drawn to the screen and the image of January. She’s so relaxed, so young and fresh and fucking sexy that my dick hurts, but it feels wrong to jerk off to the view of her so at peace. Instead, I ignore my throbbing cock and watch my wife lean against a tree and read, unable to look away and unwilling to question why that is.

She’s still not back by the time Hunter announces dinner is done and I consider calling her but decide against it. She looks so fucking happy and as much as I still don’t trust her, I don’t want to be the reason all the joy leaches from her beautiful face.

Dinner is unusually solemn, and Evan keeps eyeing the empty chair at the table. “Are you going to lose your shit if I take a plate up to January?” he asks.

“She’s not here.”

“Well, where is she?”

“I don’t know,” I lie.

“She doesn’t have class; she could be lost and have no idea how to navigate the campus. Does she even know how to get back here? Have you even given her a fucking tour of the house? We need to go and look for her,” Evan panics.

“She’s fine,” I snap, glaring at my brother and fighting the urge to tell him I know exactly where my wife is and that she’s none of his fucking business. Instead, I swallow down my possessive words, glancing at the live stream of her on my cell. Only she’s not under the tree anymore. She’s walking, her book gripped in her hand, her stride slow and expression resigned.

“How do you know? You wouldn’t give a fuck anyway,” Evan yells.

“She’s eighteen, not eight. She’s not a prisoner,” Starling says through gritted teeth, flashing a look at me as she speaks. “If she wants to go out, that’s her choice and she doesn’t need anyone to send out a search party every time she leaves the house. Because. And I’ll say it again. She is not a prisoner.”

“No, Little Bird, she’s not a prisoner,” Bastian says, placing his palm on the back of Starling’s neck and rubbing gently.

My cell vibrates to alert me to a presence at the gate. Through the body cam app, I watch January take a moment to find the digital gate lock and then tap her ID card against it. It swings open and she walks forward, unlocking the front door in the same way.

Starling’s right, January isn’t a prisoner, at least not at the moment, but I wired up remote access to every lock on this house before Starling arrived, and it’d only take a few taps of my screen to lockdown this place and keep my beautiful, but possibly treacherous wife exactly where I want her.

Everyone goes silent as the sound of the front door opening reaches us.

“Hey, January, dinner’s done. Why don’t you join us,” Evan calls, scowling at me as if I should have been the one to invite her, even though she’s barely through the door.

The sound of her soft footsteps proceeds her, and even though I already know how she looks, my dick is instantly hard when I get the full effect of January Jansen in minute fucking shorts and a cropped T-shirt.

She’s tiny, her legs and arms far too skinny, but it does nothing to hide how fucking gorgeous she is. Her creamy skin is slightly pink from sitting out in the sun all afternoon, and her dark hair is loose and hanging over her shoulders, almost down to her waist. The odd clothes she had on yesterday distracted me from her hair, and this is the first time I’ve noticed just how long it is and how easy it would be for me to fist it when I fuck her from behind, her back arched as I rail her with my cock.

“Sit. I’ll reheat you a plate,” Hunter says, jumping up from his seat.

“No, it’s no trouble. I don’t expect you to wait on me,” she says, rushing over to him as he slides the plate he has already set aside for her into the microwave.

“It’s no trouble. Let me get you a drink. Water, juice, beer? I think we have some of the girly wine coolers Sammy and Starling like,” Hunter says like an overexcited puppy.

“Water is fine, but I can get it.”

“January,” Hunter says, his voice soft. For such a big dude, he’s a real marshmallow unless someone pisses him off.

Lifting her chin, I watch as she looks up at him. “Yes?”

“Why don’t you go take a seat?”

A blush steals across her cheeks and anger barrels through me, heating me from the inside out. I don’t want her to blush for my friends. I don’t want them to pay her attention. I don’t want them to even look at her in those fucking shorts… because she’s mine.

Fuck.

The seat beside me is empty, but as she approaches the table, she eyes the chair like it might attack her if she sits in it. Before I can tell her to sit her fucking ass down, Sammy grabs her attention.

“Let me look at those shorts. Jesus, girl, you are smoking in them,” she says, jumping up and guiding January to the other empty seat between her and Evan. “I have far too much junk in the trunk to wear shorts like this, but I am so jealous of how good they look on you,” she gushes.

My fingers itch with the need to go and get her and physically put her in the seat next to mine, but I manage to hold back and instead watch as January barely says a word while Sammy has an entirely one-sided conversation with her.

When Hunter places a plate of homemade veggie burritos in front of her, January blushes again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I like to cook,” he says with a coy smile.

She smiles sweetly back at him. “It looks delicious.”

Her cheeks heat again and despite my dick being hard as a fucking rock, I’m pissed. Pissed that she’s blushing and smiling and being fucking sweet and that none of it is directed at me.

I have no right to expect her smiles when I’ve done nothing to deserve them, but I want them all anyway because she’s my fucking wife, not theirs.

Instead of staying and talking to my friends, I put my plate in the dishwasher and head upstairs, then I watch my wife on the fucking cameras like the weirdo fucking stalker I’ve become.

“You want to leave?” I ask her the moment she steps into the bedroom. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Her trying to enroll in an overseas language course and the argument we had this afternoon after I said no, made it clear escape is on her mind.

“You don’t want me here. Neither of us wanted this marriage and while divorce isn’t an option, my studying overseas makes sense for both of us.” There’s a gleam of hope in her eyes that I hate to have to squash. Maybe I can play with her a little first.

“Okay.”

“I can sign up for the program?” Her eyes widen and sparkle with excitement.

“Let’s play a game.”

“Why?” she questions, her shoulders slumping.

“If you win, I’ll let you sign up for the program.”

“Just sign up, or actually leave?” she asks.

I laugh, I can’t help it. “Both,” I concede. “We play, and if you win, you get what you want.”

“And if I lose?”

“Then I get what I want.” I smirk.

“And what do you want?”

“If I win, I get a prize of my choice and you have to play again.”

“A prize of your choice? No, that’s too vague.”

Nodding once, I shrug. “Okay. If I win, then you have to let me kiss you.”

“That’s it? A kiss,” she says, suspicion clear in her eyes and furrowed brows.

“A willing kiss with a poisonous snake.” I laugh mockingly. “Yes, Poison, that’s what I want. Now do you agree?”

Her eyes rake over me as if she’s hoping if she stares at me for long enough, she’ll be able to read my mind. “Okay,” she says slowly.

“Perfect. All you have to do to win is beat me at a simple game of hide-and-seek.”

“Hide-and-seek. What, in the house?”

“No, the campus. You have an hour to hide anywhere on campus. Once your time is up, I’ll start searching, and I’ll have an hour to find you. The only rules are that you can’t leave the campus and once your hour’s hiding time is up, you can’t move hiding spots. Other than that, any location within the school campus boundary is fair game.”

“That’s it. I just have to hide for an hour, and you’ll agree to me doing overseas study and leaving?” she asks, clarifying again.

“That’s it,” I tell her with a smug smile. “I’ll even give you a map and let you take one of the carts if you want.”

“I don’t know how to drive it. I’m fine on foot.”

“Fair enough.” I shrug, grabbing the campus map I’ve printed off for her and handing it over. “Best get going then, Poison, because, in an hour’s time, I’ll be coming for you. Ready or not.” Setting a sixty-minute timer on my cell, I send her a link to it, to her cell, then turn the screen to face her, the clock already counting down.

Her gaze jumps from the screen to me and then back again, then she turns and darts from the room, running down the stairs and out the front door.

I can’t help it, I smile. I might hate her, but this need to play with her is almost as strong. Pushing her to see how she reacts is fun, and today, when she fought me over these classes, is the first time I’ve seen any real fight in her.

It almost feels cruel that I’m stacking the deck in my favor, but there’s no way I’m actually going to play fair and let her win. Moving to my desk, I open up the feed for her security team’s body cams and then the school’s security cameras as well. It only takes me a moment to find her running down the path toward the main campus buildings.

Game on, Little Snake. Game on.

The timer on my cell phone beeps, signaling her hour is up, and I smile, silencing it as I stare at the screen of my computer. I’ve got to give it to her, she hasn’t hidden where I expected her to. I thought she’d go for the library or perhaps the gym, somewhere she could blend in with the other students. Instead, she’s between two parked cars in the underground parking lot.

If I hadn’t tracked her progress from the house, I doubt I’d have even thought to have looked for her there. The school provides a valet parking service as the campus is a pedestrian and school-provided golf cart-only site. Although I was vaguely aware my car must be stored somewhere on the school grounds, it never occurred to me to think about where.

I’m not sure how Poison came up with the idea of hiding there, but wherever it came from, it’s a great spot. From her relaxed posture, she clearly thinks she’s won and for now I’ll let her bask in her smug presumptuous glory.

Thirty minutes later, I slide my cell into my pocket and make my way out to the golf cart, steadily making my way to the entrance to the parking garage, checking the camera every few minutes to make sure she hasn’t moved.

As silently as I can, I make my way down toward her hiding spot, moving on silent feet, traversing the walls of the garage, and using the shadows to disguise my arrival. Stopping just a few feet behind her, I check the timer I set for myself the moment her hour finishes. Four minutes left.

She must think she’s won by now. I bet she’s planning her escape from me, deciding which program to sign up for first, and considering how long she can be away from me. The anticipation of watching her lose is almost as exciting as the prize I’m going to demand and the knowledge that I’m going to make her run again soon, each time knowing that she’ll never be free of me, never escape my gaze.

Creeping closer, I wait until I’m behind the trunk of the car she’s resting against. “Found you,” I whisper, stepping around so I’m visible.

“No,” she gasps, her jaw falling open, surprise clear on her face. “No. How. No.”

“I found you, Poison. I win. I have to admit, this is a great hiding place though. I’m impressed, you almost had me.” Somehow, I manage to keep a straight face and lie like a pro.

“Three more minutes, that’s all I needed, and I’d have won,” she gasps, her eyes going glossy as she realizes she lost.

“But you didn’t win. I did.” She’s still sitting on the floor, so I hold out my hand to her, waiting for her to reach out and take it. Reluctantly, after a long moment, she does, placing her cool fingers into my palm. Gripping her gently, I pull her to her feet, but instead of releasing her, I reel her into me, forcing her close until her body is pressed against mine. “I won, and now it’s time to claim my prize.”

Slowly, so she can see me move, I release her hand and trail my fingers along her jaw, barely touching her until I reach her chin. Using my index finger, I lift her chin, tilting her head back and forcing her to look up at me. I want her to see me. I want her to watch as I take what’s owed to me.

Leaning down, I press my lips to hers, softly to begin, then deeper and harder as I push my tongue into her mouth, stealing any protest she can think of before she has a chance. I expect her to fight or to not kiss me back, but instead I feel the way her hand grips my shirt, how she leans into my chest, pressing her tits against me so she can kiss me a little deeper.

She kisses me like she wants to, not like she’s honoring a bet. I wanted to steal this kiss from her, to prove that I’d beaten her, but she’s turned all my victory on its head by kissing me back.

My wife is an active participant in this kiss, and I fucking love it. I love the hint of heat and passion in her lips. I love the soft moans I doubt she even knows she’s making, and I love the fact that she’s grinding into my rock-hard dick as it pushes against her stomach.

Her icy venom is melting beneath my touch and I fucking love it. I thought I enjoyed watching her, but it turns out playing with her is just as much fun.

When I eventually reluctantly pull back from her, her expression is dazed, and her lips are kiss swollen. She looks beautifully ravaged, and I take a picture in my mind, determined to remember this moment and how she looks.

She doesn’t speak as I take her hand and lead her from the garage and up into the night air, nor when I load her into the cart and drive us back across campus. I could push for more and I’m sure she’d give it, but I don’t want to. If this game has taught me anything, it’s that her desire is an addiction, and I’m an addict.

Silently I follow her upstairs and into our room, watching as she heads straight for the bathroom. She closes the door behind her, and the sound of the lock sliding into place is loud in the quiet of our tense silence.

She’s struggling, but I don’t know why. A part of me wonders if it’s because she’s bitter she didn’t win our little game. Of course, I knew her victory was never an option, but she didn’t. A smug grin tugs at my mouth and I don’t fight it, I smile. I won, but more than that, I gave her hope, enough that I’m confident she’ll be willing to play again.

Blinking my eyes open, I immediately look to the bed beside me where January lies, her long braid coiled along her pillow like a snake. She was asleep on the couch by the time I got out of the shower, so just like the night before, I carried her to the bed and then held her against my chest until she went back to sleep.

It’s time to get up, but I don’t want to move and risk disturbing her. For the first time, I admit to myself that I don’t want her to be the person I assumed she was when I married her. It’s only taken two days for her to get under my skin, but if she turns out to be a viper, I’m not sure what I’ll do.

January has an aura of vulnerability that calls to me like a beacon. The stupid thing is, if her parents had given me a chance to get to know her before the wedding, I’d have probably happily married her just to be able to possess her innocent allure.

Bastian wears his demons on his skin with pride, but apparently mine were buried deep until her. My controlling nature, my obsessive behavior, my need to own, possess, manipulate, none of those things rose to the surface before her. Now it feels like they’re writhing beneath my skin, pushing and biting to escape, and right now, I’m not even trying to stop them.

She has her first class today, but this afternoon I want to play again. I want to give her a chance to gain the freedom she wants, then cruelly rip it away. But like last night, I’ll reward her for playing by taking something she doesn’t know she wants to give.

Strategy games have always been my favorite and now I know why. It was preparing me for the best game ever.

Climbing out of bed, I don’t try not to disturb her as I wash and dress, ready for my morning ahead. Once I’m ready, I take a seat at my desk in the sitting room and watch through the cameras as she sits up, glancing around for a moment while she tries to remember why she’s not on the couch anymore.

When she doesn’t think anyone is watching, her face is so expressive, and right now, she’s confused, and I think a little annoyed. I’m not sure if that’s at me or herself, but either way, it’s fucking adorable.

She’s wearing the same pajamas she brought from her parents, and I wonder if that’s the only pair she has here. For a moment, I consider ordering her some more, then I stop and remember that as much as I hope she’s not a snake in mouse fur, I don’t know that for sure and until I do, I need to quell my need to take over.

I hate doing it, but the moment she steps into the bathroom, I head downstairs, grab a granola bar and a bottle of water and leave. Keeping my distance from her feels wrong, but it’s what I need to do until I’m sure she’s who I think she is.

Being a cold, emotionless bastard is only going to make her want to run even more and desperate people are willing to do anything if they think it’s their only choice.

For the rest of the day, watching January becomes my obsession. My classes are forgotten, replaced with an unending urge to know what she’s doing at all times. I thought Bastian was obsessed, but his need for Starling feels shallow in comparison to the depths I feel willing to go to know January’s every move.

The live feed from her security team’s body cams is my constant companion from the moment she leaves the house. But when I realize the security cameras in her classrooms only offer me an obscured view of her, I instruct a member of her security team to pose as a student and sit in on her classes so I can watch her while she learns.

I manage to refrain from calling or texting her all day until my last class is finished, then I pull out my cell and type out the message I’ve been thinking about for hours.

Me: You ready to play again?

She’s at home right now, so I scroll through the cameras until I find her. She’s outside, sitting on the lounger by the pool again, a notepad on her lap and a pen in her hand. Who the fuck uses notepads anymore? Then I realize she doesn’t have a laptop here, or if she does, she hasn’t used it.

Clicking out of the camera app, I order her a laptop with express shipping and then move back to the text app to see if she’s replying. The three dots at the bottom of the screen flash, then go off, then flash again. She’s either typing an essay, or she keeps stopping and starting again.

My fucking grin is huge as I swap to the camera stream and watch as indecision flashes over her face. When her reply comes through, I almost drop my cell in my haste to read it.

Poison: What kind of game?

Me: Hide-and-seek again, you were so close to eluding me last time. If you win, you can be free of me and on a plane to Paris or wherever.

I’m being an asshole, she’s not even taking French. She picked Italian and Mandarin for this semester.

Even through the screen, I see the moment hope flashes in her eyes and a part of me feels a hint of guilt because I know I’ll be squashing it again in an hour or so. But it doesn’t stop me from pushing her.

Me: Unless you want something else from me as a prize? Maybe a repeat of our kiss last night.

As she reads, she scowls, then she lifts her hand and runs her fingers over her lips. I’d lay money on the fact that she’s remembering the way it felt to kiss me back, how she moaned into my mouth while she pushed as close as she could into my chest.

This time the three dots don’t appear straight away while she stares pensively at her cell, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip. After what feels like a lifetime, she starts to tap the screen and my heart stutters to a stop until her reply comes through.

Poison: Deal.

Me: Same rules as yesterday, you have an hour to hide, then I have an hour to find you. No moving once your hour is up.

Then I send her a link to a sixty-minute timer and another to an electronic map of the campus. Strolling over to the coffee shop, I order myself a cappuccino and a muffin and watch her run from the house like her ass is on fire.

15

JANUARY

T he timer on my screen continues to count down as I rush out of the front door and through the gates. I don’t know why I agreed to this stupid game again, but the thought of winning my freedom was just too tempting an opportunity to pass up.

Yesterday I’d assumed there was no way he could possibly find me. I’d felt so smug sitting between those cars in the underground parking garage, smiling to myself and planning all the things I could do alone in a foreign country. But then he’d appeared behind me with only moments to go until I’d won.

Clay must have asked one of the valets if they’d seen me. When the idea to hide where no student would ever need to go had come to me, I’d had no choice but to seek out help from the guy at the valet station. He’d looked at me like I was an idiot until I’d told him I was playing a game, then he’d snickered and shown me exactly where to go.

This time I won’t provide him with a weak link to find me. I won’t ask anyone for help, I’ll find somewhere no one would think to look for me. My feet stutter to a stop and I spin around, ending up facing the house again. A soft laugh falls from my lips. Where’s the absolute last place Clay would think to look for me? In his own house, of course. He’ll expect me to run, but why bother when I can hide in the most obvious place he’ll never consider—exactly where I was when we started this game.

Instead of going back through the front entrance, I walk around to the back of the house and climb over the low wall that skirts the yard and pool. In the days since Clay bought me to this house, I’m fairly confident I’m the only person who’s gone anywhere near the pool, except for Clay and Evan when they’ve sought me out.

There’s a small pool house in the far corner of the yard and I head there, twisting the handle of the door to see if it’s locked. It’s not and the door swings open to reveal a small but clean bathroom and a storage cupboard full of floaties and pool chemicals.

A sharp burst of giggles falls from my lips. This is perfect, there’s no way Clay will find me at his house, in his yard. This is the best hiding place ever because it’s the worst. I’m basically not hiding at all. It’s brilliant.

Opening my cell, I check the timer. I still have forty minutes left of my hiding time, so I sit my butt back down on the lounger and carry on rewriting my notes from my class today, smug that in less than two hours’ time, I’ll be signing up for a foreign travel program and free for the first time in my life.

When there’re only five minutes left on the timer, I grab my notepad, my paperback and my cell and slip into the small bathroom, closing the door behind me so it’s not too obvious someone has been in there. Sitting down on the closed toilet seat, I set a new sixty-minute timer and wait.

For the first fifty minutes, I read my book relatively focused on the story, but by the time there’re only ten minutes left for Clay to find me, I’m practically vibrating with excitement. The course directory mentioned three-month, six-month and full-year overseas study options starting in the spring. I could be living in a different country in a matter of months as long as Clay doesn’t find me in the next… six minutes.

Jumping up, I pace the tiny room. If I’m standing, I could be seen through the frosted window, so I hunker down again, covering my mouth with my hands to stifle my loud, excited breaths.

Four minutes left.

Oh my god, I’m going to win. I’m going to win, and I didn’t even have to try that hard. I deserve this. I deserve a chance at freedom, at happiness.

Two minutes left.

This is it. One hundred and twenty seconds, that’s all that stands between me and escape. But then I hear it.

No.

There’s a scrape of metal, and sunlight floods the room as the door opens and Clay steps inside, shattering my dreams in the blink of an eye.

“No,” I gasp, shaking my head, denying this is happening. “How? How did you find me?”

“I’m not sharing my secrets, Poison. I found you. I win. You almost had me though, I never for a minute thought you’d stay at the house.”

I shake my head again just as the timer buzzes. Seconds, that’s all that was left, seconds.

“Come here, Poison, I want to collect my prize,” Clay says, wrapping his fingers around my arm and pulling me toward him.

“Your prize is me sleeping in your bed,” I say, but my voice sounds far away, distant.

“Yes, but I also said I wanted the same as yesterday.” He smirks.

“You said the bed and for me to play again,” I argue weakly, I feel weak.

Not releasing me, he lifts up his cell and shows me the text he sent me.

Clay: If I win, then you sleep in our bed every night, no arguing, no attempts to sleep on the couch or anywhere else and then I want the same prize as yesterday and you have to play again at a time of my choice.

I read it twice before I see the word that means he’s right. One word, three letters. And. He wrote that he wanted the same prize as yesterday and for me to play again whenever he chooses. I’d misread it, or read it too fast to notice because I was blinded by hope. His prize from yesterday was a kiss. Not only have I conceded to willingly sleeping in his bed and playing this stupid game again, but he wants to kiss me too.

Tugging on my arm, he leads me out of the bathroom and into the bright daylight, the sun reflecting off the pool making it seem brighter than it was when I hid.

“Sneaky, sneaky little snaky,” Clay coos, sliding his hands up the sides of my neck, holding my head in place for him. “I like playing this game with you. I’m already thinking about the next time we play. But first, I need to claim my prize.”

Leaning in, his lips meet mine, and for a moment, I decide to play dead. He tricked me into a kiss, but nothing says I have to reciprocate. Except the instant he touches me, something happens, and I can’t help it. My mouth moves without my permission, my lips parting to allow his tongue access and I kiss him back like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like two puzzle pieces fitting together, I melt into him, feeling his palms on my neck, the way he controls my movements, holding me in place and giving me no choice. He kisses me like it’s the only thing in the world he needs, and I bask in his possession and wilt against his firm, broad chest.

A whine falls from my lips, and I want to die. How does he do this to me? How does a man I don’t particularly like and crave an escape from make me feel like his kiss is the start and end of my universe? What did he do to me to make me like this so much? Because I do. I liked it when he kissed me last night and I like it again now. I like it so much that when he starts to pull away, I lean into him, not wanting to let this moment go. Not wanting it to end and have reality and my caged life be real again.

“So sweet,” he whispers against my lips. “Is that how poison kills you? By being so sweet, you have no idea you’re going to die until it’s too late?”

I freeze beneath his fingers. Is that an insult or a compliment? I’m honestly not sure, but either way, it drags me from the hypnosis of his lips and forces me into the present.

“I don’t think I like this game,” I whisper.

“It’s my new favorite and I can’t wait until next time.”

One minute I’m pressed against him, feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath and then I’m free, his back to me as he walks away, leaving me alone, my hope shattered once again.

Clay doesn’t say anything as I emerge from the shower wearing my pajamas and robe. But his eyes narrow the moment I head for the sitting room. Clearing his throat, he pulls back the comforter on the bed and pointedly looks at it, a smirk curling the sides of his lips.

I want to defy him, to go to the couch anyway, but what would be the point? He’ll only carry me to the bed after I fall asleep like he has the last two nights. Sighing, I drag my feet, then climb into the bed, lying down facing away from him before pulling the comforter over me and closing my eyes with an audible huff.

“Such a sore loser,” he taunts. “You’ll be hot wearing all these clothes though, Poison. Let’s take some of them off.”

I freeze, every muscle in my body instantly so taut I’m worried I might actually snap. He stills too, his hand on my arm.

“I don’t hurt women, January, especially not ones I enjoy playing with.”

I relax a minute amount, a gasp of air escaping my tense mouth.

“Have I done anything to hurt you since you came here?”

He hasn’t. He’s been cruel, suspicious and cold, but he’s never done anything to suggest he would hurt me either physically or sexually. “No,” I whisper.

“Exactly, now all I’m going to do is help you take off your robe so you don’t overheat. You might not want to be here, but you’ve slept in my arms for the last two nights without me doing anything to make you think I’m going to attack you now.”

God, he’s right. He hasn’t done anything wrong and I’m acting like he’s going to force himself on me. “I’m sorry,” I tell him, forcing my body to relax one limb at a time.

“Good girl, that’s it, settle down, I won’t hurt you.” He’s speaking to me like I’m a wild animal he’s trying to tame, but I can’t deny the effect the soft tone of his voice has on me. My breathing slows and my muscles unclench and when he reaches around me to untie my robe, I let him, pulling my arms free and not resisting when he drapes his arm over my hip and curls his body behind mine.

16

CLAY

H aving her come to my bed willingly—well, somewhat willingly—only exacerbates my obsession with her. When she’s at home, the footage from the house is my only TV channel and when she’s in class, I stalk her every move, watching everything she does and everyone she speaks to.

Marilyn has been blowing up my phone, trying to arrange a “family” dinner. So far, I’ve managed to fob her off with preexisting plans and essay deadlines, but I’ll have to relent soon. I need to see January around her family. I have a feeling it’s the final puzzle piece to understanding who my wife actually is.

I’ve been watching January twenty-four seven for almost a week and all I’ve learned about my sweetly venomous spouse is that she rarely speaks unless directly spoken to. The only time she uses her cell phone is when she replies to the texts I send her, and unless I ask her a direct question, the only response I get from her is “K.” That fucking letter is becoming my nemesis. I want her to react to me. I want her to interact with me, but no matter what I do, she won’t. I haven’t suggested another game of hide-and-seek, yet she needs more time to rebuild the hope I destroyed by finding her in the pool house bathroom.

When I’d watched her stop running and then cautiously creep around the back of the house and climb over the fence to the yard, I’d burst out laughing. My clever little Poison hid in the last place I’d ever look—the place she already was—and if I hadn’t been cheating quite so thoroughly, she might have actually evaded me.

It’s been two days since then, and I’ve been racking my brain trying to find other ways I can play with her, other games I can manipulate her into playing so I can steal the things I want from her in the guise of prizes won.

I won’t be able to use cleverly placed word games again, she’s too bright to fall for that twice, but it was worth it to be able to kiss her again. Sure, I could pin her to the wall and steal a kiss from her any time I like, but I don’t want to have to take, I want her to give, even if it’s resentfully.

The more time I spend watching my Poison, the more I want to see her. I’m bewitched and half consumed by her, but to her, I’m still nothing more than an unwanted husband, her villainous jailer, and the lock on the door to her cage.

She hasn’t spoken a word to me since I peeled her robe off her and she fell asleep in my arms and it’s driving me fucking crazy. The bed was empty when I woke up the next morning and she’s been up and out of the house and at the library before I woke up for the last two days. Between my class schedule and hers and all the time she’s spending hiding at the library, I’ve barely seen her. She’s polite to everyone else in the house and dutifully replies to every text I send her demanding to know where she is. But she’s avoiding me and I fucking hate it.

It’s taking all my self-control to not drag her back to the house the moment her classes are over, but instead I stalk her, having her security team inform me of her every move. Now that she’s wearing clothes more suited to a beautiful girl of her age, she garners attention constantly from members of both sexes, but she seems either completely oblivious or so used to it she doesn’t react to it. She’s intelligent, but again I’m not sure she’s aware of it, as she rarely participates in her English and math classes, but her notes are concise and her interpretation of the lectures is incredibly insightful. She aced the placement tests for her language classes, scoring between ninety-five and a hundred percent on all the courses she tested for. She wasn’t lying when she said she was fluent, and her instructors in the classes she’s been put in all seem incredibly impressed, not that I can understand anything she says.

January Jansen is an enigma, but I’ve always enjoyed puzzles, and I’m determined to figure her out because as loathe as I am to admit it, I want my wife. Even underweight and scrawny, her body is perfection, her face is flawless, and she has this grace that makes me want to dirty her up in the most depraved way possible.

I want to fuck her. I want her in my bed every night and riding my dick or my face every morning. I want to watch her wake up naked, realize I’m not there and then touch herself thinking I’ll never know, while I see it all through the cameras that are always aimed in her direction.

I want to watch her every move and know her every thought. I want to listen every time she speaks and every time anyone speaks to her. I want to know everything about her, and I don’t know why.

Today is a Saturday, and without class, I’m going to force January to spend some time with me. We’re going off campus for a little game of woodland hide-and-seek. There’s a primal urge inside of me that wants to hunt her down, but she’s not ready for that, and given her family history, she might never be. But I’m pretty sure I can adapt to a tamer version.

I’ve had enough of her silent treatment, and it ends today.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” I say, brushing the strands of hair that have fallen loose from her braid off her forehead.

“What time is it?” she mumbles sleepily.

“it’s six a.m.”

“Why are you waking me so early?”

“Get up, Poison, we have plans.”

“My plans are more sleep, then studying.”

“Nope, we’re going on a road trip, then it’s time to play.”

Her eyes snap open and she stares at me, fear and excitement and dare I say it… hope flashing through her eyes.

“What?” Her voice is clearer now, her sleepiness forgotten.

“You owe me a game, Poison. So, let’s go.” Turning away from her, I head for her box of fucking clothes and pull out a sexy pair of shorts, a fitted tank top and a pair of panties. Stepping back into the bedroom, I hand them to her. “You have five minutes, any longer and I’ll carry you out of here in whatever you have on. If that means you're naked all day, so be it.”

Her huff is all attitude, but I bite back my smile until my back is to her. Allowing her some privacy, I step into the sitting room and sit down at my desk, watching her storm into the bathroom on the camera footage on my screen. I have cameras in the bathroom too. If I wanted to, I could turn them on and watch her get naked, but I want the first time I see her to be in person, not through a screen. Although I’m pretty sure after that one concession, I’ll enjoy the voyeurism of seeing her undress regularly without her knowing I’m watching.

Four minutes later, the bathroom door opens to reveal a fully dressed January, her arm wrapped awkwardly across her chest. I can’t help it, I grin. I deliberately didn’t give her a bra. Her tits are small enough that she doesn’t need the support, and I want to see if her nipples pebble when I steal another kiss from her later.

Pushing up from my seat, I stand in the doorway, filling it. “Ready?”

“No, I need a bra.”

“Oops, too late, your five minutes are up. Let’s go.”

Before she can protest, I herd her down the stairs and out to the golf cart that’s sitting in front of the house. In theory, our house is only supposed to have two carts, but when Sammy moved in, she bought one of the carts from her old dorm with her and we just haven’t returned it. So, I don’t feel bad about taking one of the carts and leaving it by the valet station while we’re out.

“Where are we going?” she asks as the valet opens her car door for her.

“There’s a place I know,” I tell her, staying deliberately vague.

“You said woodland hide-and-seek. We can’t play hide-and-seek in the woods; we could wander off the path and get lost.”

“Don’t worry about it, Poison. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost.” Turning, I wink at her, then start the car and pull away from the curb. “You hungry?”

“A little.” She shrugs.

“I’ll stop and get us coffee and food.”

Her grunt makes me laugh, but she doesn’t speak again, just closes her eyes and rests her head against the window as I head toward the drive-through coffee place. I order us drinks and breakfast muffins, then get back on the road heading toward our new playground.

“Your parents want to have dinner with us tonight,” I tell her, peering at her from the corner of my eye to gauge her reaction.

“My parents want to have dinner with you,” she scoffs. “They won’t care if I’m there or not.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Although I’m not sure. When Marilyn started contacting me about dinner, I gave her January’s new number, but she hasn’t called or even texted her. What mother doesn’t reach out to her daughter after she’s forced to marry a stranger? Apparently, Marilyn Burke, that’s who.

My new mother-in-law has called me three times and texted me four times since the wedding, but her kid, nada. Nothing.

“Has any of your family been in touch with you since the wedding?” I ask. I know they haven’t called her new cell, but maybe they’ve reached out some other way that’s slipped through my security.

“No,” she says, her nose wrinkling like I’ve said something dumb.

I don’t want to spend any more time with the Burkes than I absolutely have to, but I need to see how they are with January before I allow myself to get in any deeper with her. Seeing them together will either rid me of this all-consuming captivation I feel for her, or it’ll confirm that she is nothing like the people who gave her life and I’ll be able to claim her the way I want to.

The sun is fully up in the sky by the time we pull into the gravel drive that leads into the woods.

“Where are we?” she asks. The first words she’s said to me in almost an hour.

“Somewhere we can play.” I smirk, pulling my car to a stop and turning off the engine.

“What happens if we get lost?”

“That’s the idea, Poison. You get lost and I find you.” I’m deliberately being an asshole, but I refuse to allow her to ignore me anymore. Her silence is infuriating.

“Fine, if you want me to wander around in the woods, then I want to up the stakes.”

Arching my brow, I flash her an impressed look. “I like the way you think. Tell me, Poison, what do you want if you manage to evade me this time?”

“I want my freedom. If I win, then I get to leave to wherever I want, and you don’t follow. You can keep control of my trust because it doesn’t sound like there’s any way around that. But you approve everything I spend; you leave me alone and you don’t come looking for me. If I win, I get to be free.”

It’s the most passionate I’ve seen her be and it’s about leaving me. A knot forms in my gut and I school my expression so she doesn’t see the steel in my eyes. Seeing her with her family is the final piece in the puzzle, but deep down, I already know she isn’t like them. And her need to run only confirms to me that I’ll never let her go.

“Freedom,” I drawl. “That is upping the stakes. But if you get to ask for more, so do I.”

“What do you…” She gulps. “What do you want?”

“You. If I win, I get you. Whenever, wherever, however, I want. If I win, I own you.”

“How long for,” she whispers.

“Forever.”

Her head’s shaking before I’ve finished speaking. “No.”

“No?” I question, turning to face her, running a fingertip over her jaw.

“No. Forever, that’s too much, too long.”

“You wanted to run and never look back. Why is my forever different from yours?”

“Because I…” she trails off because it isn’t different, and she knows it.

“Do you want to change the stakes, Poison? I’m not a monster, I’ll let you pick again.”

She goes silent for a moment, then she closes her eyes, opens them, and turns to look at me. “No, I don’t want to change the stakes. My forever for yours.”

A smile starts at the corners of my mouth and spreads until I’m grinning so wide my cheeks hurt. “Deal.”

Opening my car door, I climb out, circle to the passenger side and offer her a hand to help her out. She takes it and I pull her forward, dragging her into my side the moment she’s out of the car.

“The woods are fenced on three sides. This road marks the square and the boundary,” I say, gesturing from one side of the woods to the other. “Instead of an hour, you have thirty minutes to hide, and I have thirty minutes to find you. But once I’ve found you, you have the chance to run. Be warned though, my Sweet Venom, if you run, I’ll chase, and when I catch you, you’ll be mine to keep. If I haven’t found you, or you’ve outrun me at the end of the hour, then you win.”

“You want me to run?” she asks, her voice shaking.

“Yes. But if you want this to stop at any point, you just shout stop at the top of your lungs and make your way back to the car.”

“And if I do, who wins?”

“If you ask me to stop, you’ll be conceding, and I’ll win.” I shrug.

“That doesn’t seem very fair. What if I fall or get attacked by an animal?”

“The fence is electrified, so the only animals in here aren’t big enough to hurt you. If you fall and hurt yourself, I’ll find you and take you to the hospital and when you’re better, we’ll play again.”

She falls silent for a minute, then turns and looks at me, her huge emotion-filled eyes brimming with so much contradiction I have no idea if she’s scared, excited or angry, or maybe all three.

“You ready?”

Pulling in a long, slow breath, she exhales, her resolve and wild eyes hardening. “Yes.”

“Where’s your cell? Turn it to silent and I’ll send you a timer link.”

Ducking out from beneath my arm, she opens the car and pulls her cell from the seat, pushing the button to turn off the ringer. Smiling, I send her the timer link that starts counting down the moment she opens it.

“Run, Little Snake,” I taunt. A moment later, she darts into the forest and disappears into the trees.

A soft laugh falls from my lips, and I step back, resting against my car. I should probably have mentioned that these woods are part of the shared parcel of land Evan’s, Hunter’s, Bastian’s, and my parents’ homes are built on, and we’ve spent years playing in these woods. I know every path, every tree stump and every fallen log, but none of that really matters. It’s not like I’ll be playing fair. Swiping to bring my cell to life, I open the tracker app and watch as my poisonous wife moves deeper into the trees. Little does she know that no matter how far away she runs, she’ll never be free of me.

17

JANUARY

M y chest heaves as I dart through the trees, searching for some sign of a path or something that will lead me as far away from Clay as I can get. My heart pounds against my chest, adrenaline pumping through my veins and making my legs move just a little bit quicker.

It feels like I am running forever, but when I check the timer, it’s barely been ten minutes and I still have another twenty to find a place to hide and stay there. When we’ve played the game before, Clay never gave me the option to run if I was found. But there’s something about doing this in the woods that makes this feel less like a game and more like he’s made me prey, being hunted by a predator.

It was stupid to agree to this. I’ve lost twice already and that was on campus which is miles wide with so many more places to hide. For all I know, this square of woods could be leading me in a circle that would spit me back out at Clay’s feet, but even knowing that, I still said yes, because a chance at my freedom is worth taking the risk.

After another five minutes, I hit a fence line, slowing to a stop as I take in my surroundings. So far, I haven’t found any kind of path or marked trail and there’s been nothing but tall trees and the occasional shrub, nowhere to really hide unseen.

Clay said the fence is electrified, but I still pluck a strand of grass from the ground and dangle it over the wire strand, allowing it to brush over it. There’s a low buzzing sound, then a faint crack as the grass jolts into the air.

There goes my plan to climb the fence and wait him out, then climb back into the play area. Apparently, I’m not above cheating when there’s so much at stake. Exhaling, I try to slow my breathing enough that I can clear my head and think about what to do.

Following the fence to the corner and then circling back toward the car while he hopefully hunts for me in the other direction feels like it might be a plan, but if he decides to go in a different direction from me, it could mean me stumbling straight into his path.

He never specifically said I couldn’t move after the first thirty minutes, so I decide to head for the corner of the square and then find a tree big enough to climb. Hopefully, he won’t think about looking up, and I’ll be able to either evade him or see him coming early enough to make a run for it.

A shudder runs through me at the thought of being chased. My brothers sometimes chased me, but unlike those times, I’m not truly frightened of Clay. If I run and he does catch me, I don’t think he’ll physically hurt me. Although giving up on being free might be worse.

I hit the left-hand corner of the fence just as the timer hits zero. It took me the full thirty minutes to get this far and all I can hope now is that Clay wastes enough time moving in the wrong direction to give me a chance to climb a tree and try to hide.

My childhood did not involve a lot of outdoor adventuring. I wasn’t raised marauding around the grounds of my parents’ house, climbing trees for fun and it’s a lot harder than you’d expect.

“Time’s up, Poison. I’m coming for you.” Clay’s voice seems to roll between the trees, curving around the corners like smoke filling the gaps and I swallow thickly, doubling my efforts to get off the ground and into the tree I’ve selected as my hiding place.

I was hoping there would be some conveniently placed footholds or branches that would help me traverse the first four feet of the tree, but of course there’s nothing, so instead I sort of wind my arms and legs around the trunk and try to shimmy myself upward.

My heart leaps every time I hear a branch creak or leaves rustle and I scramble up the tree trunk, barely throwing my leg over the first stable branch. I’m definitely not being quiet and if I don’t stop now, I’m going to lead him straight to me, and all hopes of escape will be lost.

Holding my breath, I edge farther up the branch, scraping my knees, thighs and arms as I cling to the tree, desperately trying not to fall. I don’t know how much time has passed and my cell is in my pocket and out of my reach. The timer link Clay sent automatically resets after the first thirty minutes, so if it sounds again, it’s because I’ve won.

For probably the millionth time, I wish I’d had a different childhood, only this time, I wish I’d had brothers who loved me and who dragged me along when they explored and played. Maybe then I would be high in the branches of this tree and not barely off the ground, clinging to a branch like a limpet, completely in view.

The sound of someone moving hits me and I debate what to do. I can stay here and just hope for the best, or I can move and try to stay out of his way long enough to let the clock run down. Uncertainty fills me, but in the end, I decide the risk of staying here like a sitting duck is higher than being on the move.

As quietly as I can, I roll off the branch, scraping more of the skin from my limbs as I tumble to the ground, landing with a thud.

“I can hear you, Poison,” Clay calls, his voice so much louder than a moment ago.

In my head, I decide to be sneaky, to silently traverse the trees and outsmart my pursuer, but my body has other plans and I bolt, running like my life depends on it. Because it does. Clay isn’t going to kill me if he catches me, but there are plenty of things that are worse than death.

His laugh makes goose bumps rise across my skin, but I don’t stop or pause to look behind me. I just run as fast as I can, with no real direction in mind. All my rational thoughts have evaded me, and right now, I’m nothing but prey, and he’s the predator. My fight-or-flight instinct is the only thing that keeps me going and the wind rushes over my face as I sprint through the trees, my singular thought not being caught.

I see him a moment before his arms are around me and my feet leave the ground. He twists at the last moment, stopping me from taking the full force of the impact with the ground, but his arms tighten around me, clamping me to him as we bounce against the dirt and leaf-littered ground.

“Caught you.” He chuckles.

Animalistic survival takes over and I writhe and fight, frantically trying to free myself from his hold. In a split second, my back is pinned to the dirt, his heavy body holding me in place and my wrists gripped tightly beneath his hands.

“Stop fighting me. I won. You’re caught.” Leaning down, he runs his tongue over my bottom lip. “Mine.”

Escape and surrender war in my mind, but before I have a chance to decide which I want more, his lips find mine and he kisses me. This kiss isn’t tentative, it’s raw and wild and claiming. Unable to resist, I kiss him back. His taste is addictive, and the thrill that’s buzzing through my veins from hiding, running and ultimately being caught makes my skin hypersensitive, jolts of excitement bubbling through my veins.

I never thought I’d enjoy being hunted, but God help me, I think I did. In the past, being chased meant pain and fear, but running through the woods with Clay in pursuit, I wasn’t scared; I was alive, and I have no idea what that means.

His body is heavy on top of me, but I don’t feel crushed, just surrounded like we’re in a bubble that no one else can enter. His tongue pushes into my mouth, exploring, conquering and claiming his prize. My nipples pebble and heat pulses between my legs, but I still have the urge to writhe and fight, even though the desire to stay pinned beneath him, under his control, is stronger.

His cock is hard and pressing against my stomach. He’s turned on. But is that by me or by the game? My thoughts start to wander. Has he done this before? Is this his thing? Does he like to chase and pursue, or is this just him playing with me? He said if he won, I was his, but what does that mean? What does he expect from me?

Sharp teeth nip at my lip, snapping my mind back to the present and the man slowly grinding his hard dick into me. “When I’m kissing you, I want you thinking about me, not something else,” he growls against my mouth, releasing one of my wrists to curl his fingers around my throat. “You’re fucking beautiful like this, all wild-eyed and frantic. We’re definitely doing this again, only next time, when I catch you, I’m going to pin you to a tree, rip your tiny shorts off and fill you with my cock.”

“What? Now?” I shriek.

He chuckles, rubbing soft circles on my jaw with his thumb. “No, Poison, not now.” Dipping down, he kisses me again and my mind blanks while I lose myself to him. I’m not sure how much time passes, but when he eventually pulls away, the feeling of sharp twigs and stones beneath my back starts to register, as well as stinging pain from the scrapes and grazes on my skin.

“Come on, baby, let’s go get you cleaned up. Tonight, we’re having dinner at Carpathians with your parents.”

Pushing up off me, Clay helps me up, then swings me off the ground and into his arms, bridal style. “What are you doing? I can walk,” I protest.

“Your legs are scraped to fuck. What the hell were you doing?”

“Trying to climb a tree,” I confess sheepishly.

His laugh is loud and full of unrestrained amusement. “Jesus, Poison, you’re too fucking much. Did you fall out of it? Is that why your legs are all banged up?”

“No, it’s just harder than it looks.”

It takes us about twenty minutes to get back to the car and Clay places me down on the hood. “Stay here. I’ve got a first aid kit somewhere.”

Out of the shadow of the trees, the sun is high in the sky and bright light lets me see just how much damage I’ve done to myself. Patches of red grazed skin run from my knees up to my thighs and scratches litter my calves. There’re a few thin cuts on the inside of my arms, as well as a couple of scrapes. I look like I had a fight and lost, which I kind of did.

“I’m not sure what’s in here,” Clay says, stepping in front of me. “It’s the one that came with the car or some shit.”

“I’m fine,” I say, pushing onto my hands to slide down the hood.

“Stop. I need to clean these grazes to get the dirt out before they get infected. There’re alcohol wipes in here, although it’s not going to feel great.”

“I can do it.” I reach for the little foil-wrapped wipe, but he lifts it into the air out of my reach.

“Poison, just let me take care of you.”

At his words, I stop trying to grab it and brace my hands against the warm paint beneath me. He wants to take care of me. When has anyone done that? The only person I can think of is one of my parents’ maids, she’s always looked out for me, but other than that, beyond making sure I didn’t starve to death or walk into traffic, my family has never protected me, or cared for me, or even offered me basic human kindness.

I hiss as the alcohol swab passes over the largest graze on my thigh and Clay leans down and blows over the skin, all his attention focused on my leg. He cleans the next scratch and does the same, soothing the sting before moving on to the next. All I can do is stay still and watch. When he’s done with my legs, he opens another wipe and starts on my arms, gently lifting one hand and cleaning away the dirt that’s tainting each of my injuries. He works methodically, until each mark is cared for and soothed. Then he cups my cheek and smiles.

“That will do for now, we’ll stop and get some salve on the way home.”

“It’s fine, it’s only a few grazes.”

“It’s not fine, I should have told you to wear something to protect your skin better, I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’ve had much worse,” I say absently.

His expression darkens and his lips flatten into a straight line, his jaw clenching angrily.

“Let’s go get you some salve and Tylenol.”

All the sweetness he showed while he tended to my injuries has gone and anger has replaced it. Pushing angry men has never worked out well for me, so I nod and slide down the hood, climbing silently into the seat while he holds the car door open for me.

Instead of stopping at a drugstore on the way home, he drives us straight back to campus, dropping me off at the valet station and paying one of the guys to drive me back to the house in our cart. Then he turns his car around and drives back out of the gates.

18

CLAY

I ’m clenching my teeth together so fucking hard I’m genuinely worried I might crack one, but after hearing her say she’s been hurt before in such a dismissive way, I can’t relax.

Everything that happened this morning up until that moment was fucking perfect. After she disappeared into the woods, I’d used her tracker to watch her progress, smiling to myself as she ran like a bat out of hell till she hit the fence line. I’d have loved to have watched her face as she plotted how to evade me, but until today I’d never had any need to have cameras in the trees.

I’ll rectify that before I bring her there again. I hadn’t intended to offer her the chance to run from me, but the moment the words were out of my mouth, my dick was rock hard, and I needed to know what she’d do. If she’d run and let me chase.

My Sweet Venom played her part beautifully. Even knowing exactly where she was, I’d still stomped around in the trees loudly, giving her enough warning that I was closing in on her and offering her the choice to stay put and be found or try to escape me.

When she ran, it was like the final part clicked into place and I knew, just fucking knew right then in that moment, that she was perfect for me. Chasing her was the most invigorating thing I’ve ever done. The thrill I felt as I chased her down, as I caught her and subdued her. It was exhilarating and the only way it could have been any better would have been if I’d pushed her to her belly and fucked her while I held her down.

Maybe next time.

I drive too quickly across town to the drugstore, then I grab salve, Band-Aids, pain reliever, and a bigger, much more comprehensive first aid kit to keep on hand just in case she gets hurt again the next time we play.

By the time I get back to the car, I’ve managed to relax enough that I’m pretty sure I’m not going to grind a hole in my back teeth, but I’m still pissed. I want to know every detail of every way her asshole family hurt her, but if she tells me, I’m honestly not fucking sure what I’ll do.

She’s mine now. She made a bet, put herself on the line and lost. Eventually I’ll tell her how I stacked the odds in my favor, but for now, all she needs to know is that freedom is no longer an option. She belongs to me and it’s time for her to learn what that means.

Grabbing subs for everyone for lunch, I drive back to campus, then take a cart back to the house. Dropping the subs I bought for my housemates in the kitchen, I carry the stuff from the drugstore and the subs I got for us upstairs to our bedroom.

When I open the door, I expect to find her still in the shorts and tank I picked for her, but instead she’s clean of dirt. Her legs are wrapped in pale-blue spandex leggings and she’s wearing the same white cropped shirt from the other day, her white Calvin Klein bralette barely visible through the thin fabric of her shirt.

She looks just like every other freshman here, but I don’t care about any of them, only her. Her eyes widen slightly when she sees me, like my being here has shocked her, but I don’t say anything, I just drop the bags onto the bed and start to strip off my clothes.

A tiny squeak of shock bursts from her lips and I smirk, pushing my pants down until my hard dick bobs free. Stepping out of my clothes, I bend and scoop them from the floor, dropping them into the hamper as I walk into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind me.

Turning on the shower, I step under the water, enjoying the way the cold stream jolts my body to life. Despite the freezing liquid on my dick and balls, I’m still rock hard just from knowing she’s in the room and could come into the bathroom at any moment. Grabbing hold of my dick, I squeeze roughly, then start to jack my cock, sliding my hand up and down, as I imagine her being in here with me, dragging her under the water and watching her white shirt go see-through, her pink nipples becoming visible through the fabric.

Hot cum spurts from the head of my cock, making my knees go weak with the intensity of my release. That’s all it takes, imagining my wife in a wet T-shirt. Jesus, how did this happen? Before January, my fantasies were a little more sophisticated and a lot more depraved. Now I’m blowing my load over the hint of a fucking nipple. But it’s not just any nipple, it’s her nipple, and apparently she’s the dirtiest little fantasy I’ve ever had.

Washing quickly, I turn off the water and dry off, wrapping a towel around my waist before checking my cell to make sure she’s still in the room. As soon as I see her standing by the bed, I step back into the bedroom, my half-hard dick outlined through the toweling material.

The moment she sees me, her eyes rake over me, taking in my bare chest and the tattoo I have etched over my ribs. It’s the same one Bastian, Evan, Hunter and I all have, the ink that marks us as brothers. The old-fashioned key reminds us all of the future we share and the past that ties us together.

“I got us some lunch; we have plenty of time before we need to get ready for tonight. The reservation with your parents is for seven and it’s only an hour’s drive,” I tell her, scratching at my belly and pushing the towel a little lower, giving her a glimpse of the start of my happy trail.

“Okay.” She nods, her eyes like saucers, as she tries hard not to stare at the outline of my dick.

Her reaction to me is fucking priceless, and for a moment, I consider dropping my towel and just flopping down onto the bed naked. But instead, I take pity on her and grab a pair of boxers, sliding them on instead.

“Are… are you going to get dressed?”

“Nah, I’m pretty comfortable like this. Take off your pants. I want to check your legs and put some salve on them.”

“You don’t need to do that. I washed up when I got back and they’re fine, barely noticeable.”

“You can take them off, or I can take them off. Your choice. But the outcome will still be the same.”

Her eyes look to the door, then to me. I arch a brow and she sighs… loudly, then grabs the towel I just took off and wraps it around her waist. Wiggling, she pushes the tight fabric down to her ankles, then lifts one leg up, pointing it toward me. “See, they’re not even red anymore.”

Sliding off the bed, I inspect her legs. She’s right; apart from a few faint red patches of skin, which I coat in salve, she’s fine. After she’s wiggled back into her pants, I inspect her arms, covering the scratches in salve, before offering her the bottle of Tylenol.

“I really don’t need any.”

I eye her for a moment, then motion to the bed. “Sit. I got you a grilled vegetable and mozzarella sub and an orange juice.”

Reluctantly, she lowers herself to the comforter, sitting on the very edge, as far away from me as she can get, but I let it slide, too amused by her to force her to sit on my lap like I want her to. We eat in stilted silence, and I don’t push her to talk. Dinner with her parents is the final test and after tonight, I’ll be claiming her and throwing a lot at her in a short space of time, so for now, I’m willing to allow her a little distance.

After we eat, I tell January I need to study for a while and she happily agrees, spreading her books and the laptop I gave her out on the bed while I work at my desk in the sitting room.

At four p.m., I power down my laptop and walk back into the bedroom. “How long will it take you to get ready? We need to leave at six p.m.”

“Not too long,” she says, packing away her stuff.

When she heads for the bathroom, I go back into the sitting room, pull the box full of her clothes out from beside the couch and start to root through it. It’s mostly casual stuff, but I know Sammy and her love of partying, so she’ll have ordered January some things to wear out. Hitting the jackpot, I find a red dress. It’s a simple style, but I know the tight fabric will cling to her body in a scandalous way.

I’m hoping her mom will be appalled, although Marilyn’s clothes are much more revealing than the überconservative things she sent January with. I purposefully haven’t had January’s things sent here yet. First, it was because I wanted to see how she’d deal with not having her belongings, and second, because if she’s as innocent in all this as I think she is, her family are fucking monsters and I don’t want her to be surrounded by reminders of that life.

Quickly pushing the box back into its position, I carry the dress back into the bedroom and sit down on the bed to wait.

When the bathroom door reopens, her hair is wet, and she’s wrapped in her ugly fucking robe. “Wear this,” I tell her, holding the dress out.

“I…” Her eyes widen as she looks from me to the red dress and back again. “I can’t wear that.”

“You can and you will. Now go and get dressed, unless you’d like to drop that robe and I’ll do it for you.” My tone is harsher than I intended, but seeing her in nothing but the thin fabric, with her wet hair falling around her shoulders is making my dick hard, and eager to be introduced to her virgin cunt.

“Mother—” she starts, attempting to argue.

“Can answer to me if she has an issue with the dress I’ve chosen for my wife to wear.” Grabbing the belt on her robe, I yank, making the knot unravel and the fabric that was keeping her hidden from view open, revealing acres of creamy naked skin.

“Clay,” she shrieks, grabbing for the sides to cover herself again.

“Stop,” I demand.

“No.”

“Stop,” I say again, reaching out and circling her wrist with my fingers. I’m not holding her tightly, only exerting just enough force to encourage her to lower her arms and let me see. “Jesus, fuck, you’re the sweetest form of poison, my beautiful snake,” I whisper.

“Clay,” she says, her voice shaking.

“You’re mine, wife. Can I look?” I’m asking permission, but we both know I don’t need it. She lost a bet where she was the prize. If I were to lower my gaze, I’d get an eyeful of tits and pussy, but somehow, I manage to keep my eyes mainly on her face. “Can. I. Look?” I ask pointedly.

Swallowing thickly, she darts her gaze up at the ceiling and nods.

“Look at me,” I order.

She doesn’t move, but her eyes fall closed.

“Look at me, January.”

Slowly. So fucking slowly, she dips her chin, and her eyelids flutter open until her gaze is locked with mine. “Has anyone else ever seen you naked like this?”

Slowly she nods.

“Who?” I demand.

“Mother took me to have laser hair removal.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

“Anyone else?”

“Doctor.”

“Man or woman?” I ask again.

“Woman.”

Exhaling a relieved breath, I rub my thumb against the racing pulse in her wrist. “Can I look?” I ask softly.

“Why?” she mouths.

“Because you might be poison, but you’re my Poison.”

The sound of her breathing is so loud, and I hear her suck in a breath, then slowly blow it back out again. “Okay.”

Not releasing my hold on her wrist, I use my other hand to part her robe wider. I allow my gaze to move down the long, elegant line of her neck, across her chest and tiny breasts with pink rosebud nipples. I follow the flat line of her stomach, past her far too prominent hip bones and between her legs to the bare pink flesh of her cunt. Her pussy lips are neat and begging to be parted to expose the wetness and heat beneath them. Finally, my eyes run the length of her slim thighs, down her legs to her tiny feet and pale-pink-painted toenails.

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she chokes.

“Other than the doctor and the laser woman, has anyone else touched you?”

“No,” she rasps.

“What about you? Have you touched my cunt?”

“I…”

Smiling, I lift my gaze to settle on her pussy, licking my lips as I imagine making her hold her folds open while I get down on my knees and eat her.

My fingers itch to reach for her, to touch what belongs to me, but instead, I push the robe completely off her shoulders so it flutters to the floor. Taking the dress from her hands, I help her into it, smoothing the fabric down over her hips before I stand back up and pull her wet hair free of her neck, stepping back to assess her.

“I need underwear,” she whispers, her voice faintly shaking.

“Don’t move.” Leaning over the couch, I dig through the box again and pull out a pair of white cotton Calvin Klein panties. They’re not sexy in a conventional way, but I like the contrast of her wearing simple white cotton panties, no bra and a dress so sexy it makes me want to forget about who she is and where she comes from and just fuck her until she’s worshiping my dick like a fucking deity.

She’s exactly where I left her when I step back into my bedroom and drop to my knees. Holding out the panties for her to step into, I wait while her eyes widen with shock, but she doesn’t argue as she tentatively lifts first one foot, then the other. She allows me to slide them up her legs and over her ass, and I manage not to touch her cunt, no matter how much I want to.

“I can’t not wear a bra,” she says when I rise to my feet again.

“No bra.”

“Clay.”

“I can always peel those panties off again too, if you’d prefer not to wear any underwear at all.”

“Why are you doing this? We’re having dinner with my family; I can’t turn up looking like—”

“Like what? Like you’re fucking your husband? Why would that be a problem, January? When I spoke to your mom the other day, she was dropping hints about you being pregnant already. They sent you here with a case full of porn star panties to get filled full of my cum until you’re bred with a Jansen heir. They expect us to be fucking.”

At her flinch, I stop speaking. For the first time since I said I do, I’m not aiming to hurt her with my words, just make a point.

“Wear your hair up. You look fucking beautiful in that dress, and I don’t want you to be able to hide behind that mane of yours.”

“I’m not very good at styling my own hair. Mother usually has a stylist come in if we’re going out,” she confesses, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“I’ll text Sammy. She’ll come and do it for you. Are you confident with makeup? Not that you need any.”

“I usually just wear a little gloss and some mascara.”

“Okay. Did you buy any heels when you ordered the new clothes?”

She shakes her head, and I nod, grabbing my cell from the bedside table and pulling up Hunter’s number.

“Hey bro, where are you?” I ask when he answers. “Perfect,” I say when he tells me he’s in town grabbing supplies. “Can you head to the Louboutin store and grab January a pair of the black pumps, the sexy ones in a size…” I look at her and she blinks.

“Six.”

“In a size six. We’re leaving in an hour, thanks.”

Ending the call, I look up to find her mouth hanging open. “Where is he going to get Louboutins from in the next hour?”

“Kingsacre is full of rich kids. There’s a shop in town about a mile from here, as well as several other designer stores. You’d be amazed what the girls here will buy when they’re drunk off their asses after a party.”

She giggles and it’s the sweetest fucking sound I’ve ever fucking heard. “Let me get dressed and I’ll send Sammy up to help you.”

The small smile falls from her lips, and she nods, but before she has a chance to disappear into the sitting room, I reach down and cup myself through my boxers, making sure she sees just how hard my dick is for her. Then I stride into the closet, will my hard dick to calm the fuck down and get dressed in navy-blue trousers, a crisp white shirt and the matching navy-blue jacket. Not bothering with a tie, I grab socks and shoes and pull them on, then add a little product to my hair to make it look tousled in a just fucked way.

Sammy moved into Starling’s old room on the floor above us, but a quick check of the cameras shows me that she’s in the sitting room downstairs surrounded by books. She’s pretending to study while actually paying more attention to the trashy TV show she has playing on the big-screen TV.

“Hey,” I say as I brace one arm on the doorframe.

“Hey.”

“January needs some help with her hair. We’re having dinner with her parents tonight. Would you mind?”

“Of course not,” Sammy says, pushing her laptop and books to the side and jumping up.

“I want her hair up,” I tell her as she brushes past me.

“What does she want?”

“Doesn’t matter. I want her hair up. If you can’t help, I’ll find someone else who can.”

Sammy isn’t used to me using this tone, and she blinks her eyes a little before they narrow on me. “You might be hot, Clay, but I’ll kick you in the balls so hard not even a surgeon will be able to get them back down again if you’re an asshole to me.”

“Duly noted.” I smile. “But I want her hair up. It’s for a reason, so humor me, if you will.”

Rolling her eyes, she stomps up the stairs and I take a seat in the kitchen and wait. An hour and a half later, Hunter comes through the front door holding a Louboutin bag and I push up from the table and take it from him, nodding my thanks before I make my way back upstairs.

Not bothering to knock, I push open the door to my room and step inside, expecting to find Sammy fussing over January. But instead, she’s alone, coating her lashes in mascara in the bathroom mirror.

Just like I asked, Sammy has pulled January’s long hair into a sleek plait at the back of her head that somehow manages to be both sexy and sophisticated. With her hair tamed, I can see the long lines of her neck and get the full image of my wife looking sexy as fuck.

Her breasts are small, barely a handful, but without a bra, I can see her nipples through the fabric of her dress. The red makes her skin seem even creamier and complements her dark hair. But more than that, she looks older, nothing like the girl at the contract meeting or the mouse in the white dress I met at the altar.

She startles when I approach and hold out the bag toward her. “Here.”

Her eyes drop from me to the bag and back again, but she doesn’t reach for it. Smirking, I scoff, open the box and lift out the black patent leather Louboutin pumps, the red sole making me smile as I hook my finger into the backs.

Crouching down, I place the shoes on the floor, then run my palm from the back of her knee, down over her calf to her ankle, squeezing gently until she lifts her foot and allows me to slide on the shoe. I do the same on the other leg, pretending not to notice the way goose bumps pebble along her skin where I’ve touched.

When I stand up, the heels put her closer to my height but still short enough that she has to look up at me. Lifting my hand slowly and carefully to give her a chance to see me moving, I graze my fingers along her jaw, hooking my forefinger beneath her chin and forcing her gaze upward until it locks with mine. “You look beautiful.”

Blinking, she looks at me like she doesn’t understand. I get her confusion; I’ve been messing with her all week. I’ve been an unmitigated asshole to her, I’ve played with her and kept her in a constant state of unease and confusion, but after today I don’t want to try and resist her anymore. For the last few days, she’s done everything she can to ignore me, but I haven’t looked away. Watching her is a compulsion, more than just desire, a need.

Leaning in, I press my lips to hers, taking advantage of her gasp to push my tongue into her mouth and prove to her that she’s my wife, mine. If tonight doesn’t go as I expect, I’ll have to rethink everything, but even though I know I should, I just don’t seem to be able to hold back for a moment longer.

Reluctantly I pull back, ending our kiss but not releasing my hold on her face. “We need to go.”

“You kissed me,” she whispers, shell-shocked.

“I did.” I smile.

“But every other time—”

“Your lips have been my prize,” I say, cutting her off. “I know. But I don’t have to wait for my prize anymore, do I, Poison?”

“I—” she starts, like she thought I wasn’t going to hold her to our bet.

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Come on, baby. Let’s go.”

She grumbles a little but doesn’t argue as I take her hand and carefully tow her out of the room and down to the golf cart.

“You don’t have a purse,” I point out as we wait for the valet to fetch my car.

“I don’t have one here. I never ordered one with the clothes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugs.

“January.”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a purse?”

Her brow furrows. “I didn’t realize you’d care.”

Her words are painfully honest and of all the things I’ve done and said in the last week, this comment is the one that makes me feel the worst. Of course, she wouldn’t think I’d care. I haven’t exactly welcomed her into my home. Her clothes are stored in a fucking box. I haven’t arranged for any of her things to be here for her and while I’ve been an asshole of the highest order to her, she hasn’t once said anything. She hasn’t bitched or moaned. In fact, the only thing that actually seemed to affect her was when she tried to win her freedom and failed.

She was upset over the incident with Evan, but she didn’t protest, she just took all the bullshit I spewed and didn’t fight back once. Why would she come to me for the things she needs when she assumes I don’t give a crap?

“Where’s your cell?”

“In your room.”

“Our room, and why don’t you have it with you?” I growl.

“Why would I need it? The only person with the number is you.”

The drive to the restaurant is tense, and the music playing quietly through the stereo is the only sound to break up the complete lack of conversation between January and me. By the time I’ve handed my keys off to the valet outside Carpathians, I’m seething with annoyance and frustration. Striding around to January’s door, I wave away the guy who’s about to open it and do it myself, holding out a hand for her. She pauses before she takes it and that only pisses me off more. Once she’s steady on the sidewalk, I curl my arm around her waist, not reacting to the way she stiffens at my touch and walk her into the restaurant.

We pause at the hostess table, where a man in a crisp black suit is studying a large book full of reservations.

“Good evening, welcome to Carpathians. Do you have a reservation?” he asks politely.

“We’re part of the Burke party.”

“Of course, if you’d like to follow me, I’ll escort you to your table. The rest of your party is already here.”

I’m deliberately late, so I expected this. What I’m not expecting is that it’s not just January’s parents waiting for us. Instead, all three of her brothers and an older man that I vaguely recognize as January’s grandfather are also present.

“Good evening,” I say, noting how stiff January’s spine gets the moment we reach the table. “I apologize for our tardiness. We hit a little traffic on our way here. I hope you haven’t been waiting for us for too long.”

“No need to apologize,” Marilyn gushes, smiling so widely she looks like she could be auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.

“Cliff,” I say, holding out my hand to January’s dad, keeping my palm on January as I reach over to him.

“Clay, nice to see you,” Cliff says, standing up and taking my hand.

“Marilyn.” I move to her mother next, towing January along with me as I lean down and peck a kiss to her mother’s cheek before moving around to her grandfather. “Mr. Burke.”

He takes my outstretched hand and shakes weakly. “Pleasure to see you again, son. How are your parents?”

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Burke.”

“Henry, please.” He laughs.

“Henry.” I smile, dipping my chin in acknowledgment. “Lucius, Gabriel, Holden,” I say, greeting her brothers in turn.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as January remains frozen beside me, not moving forward to greet any of her family.

“Mother. Father,” she says formally.

Her dad grunts and her mom runs her gaze up and down the dress I chose like it’s from the sale rack at Target. “That dress—”

“Looks incredible, doesn’t it?” I interject, curling my arm back around January’s waist and pulling her into my side. Somehow, she’s even more tense than before as I lead her over to a chair and pull it out for her.

“Thank you,” she says quietly.

A waiter arrives, and I look to January. “What would you like to drink, baby?”

She blinks at me, obviously shocked by my endearment. “Err, sparkling water, please, with a slice of lemon.”

“I’ll have the same, please,” I tell him, taking the menu he passes to me.

“How’s school?” Marilyn asks.

I look to January, but she stays quiet and when I glance back to her mom, it’s clear she wasn’t asking her daughter. “It’s going great, thank you. I’m working on my second degree and my master’s at the same time, biding my time until Sebastian, Evan, and Hunter graduate so we can get to work.”

“Your second degree?” Lucius asks on a laugh. “How old are you, bro?”

I smile. “I’m twenty-one.”

His brow furrows as he tries to figure out the logistics of how I could be working on a second degree already.

“I finished my first degree years ago. When I started at Kingsacre, I was just taking classes for my master’s, but I was a little bored, so I started a second degree to keep me busy,” I tell him, glancing at the pretentious menu in my hands.

“Why not just graduate?” Lucius asks.

“Because my friends aren’t done with school yet, and we agreed to graduate together.”

“Plus, all the hot college pussy, right?” he says, nudging his brothers knowingly.

“I’m married to your sister,” I remind him.

His sneer is obvious as he spares a glance at his sister beside me for the first time since we got here. “So?”

Her dad snickers and I have to swallow down my annoyance as the waiter arrives with our drinks.

“Are you ready to order, or do you need a little more time?” he asks politely.

Instead of starting with the ladies at the table, Henry goes first, then as if it’s a practiced move, Cliff goes next, then Lucius, Gabriel, and Holden. After they’ve all placed their orders, Marilyn says hers, then the waiter looks to me. “I’ll have the asparagus salad and then the Chilean sea bass, please. Baby, what do you want?”

“Can I have a tomato salad, no dressing, and then the mushroom risotto, no parmesan, no oil, please?”

The waiter takes all the menus and melts into the background as I turn and look to January. “Baby, you just asked for everything good to be taken off your food.”

She parts her lips to speak, but Marilyn interrupts before she has a chance. “January has always needed to watch her weight.”

I’m gobsmacked. Did that bitch seriously suggest January, who is painfully skinny, is fat and needs to watch what she eats? No, that can’t be fucking right.

“Clay, have you thought about where you plan to live after you graduate? Are your parents still living on their estate in Green Acres?”

Forcing my anger down, I relax my gritted teeth. “Sebastian, Evan, Hunter, and I bought a parcel of land on the beach a few years back. Our plan has always been to build homes there, so we can live connected lives like our parents did when we were growing up.”

“Yes, I remember that being mentioned, always seemed a little odd to me,” Cliff says.

“Our parents are close in both their personal and business lives. They enjoy one another’s company and the guys and I were raised as close as siblings. We’ve always known our futures lie together.”

“I think I heard that Sebastian recently announced his engagement, but I didn’t recognize his fiancée’s name?” Marilyn says.

“Yes, he and Starling are getting married in a few weeks. They actually met in high school, it was love at first sight for Sebastian.”

“It’s a love match?” Marilyn scoffs. “How droll.”

Clenching my hand into a fist beneath the table, I force a smile onto my face. “I suppose it is a little unusual in our world, but my brother is happy, and his bride is—as far as we’re all concerned—one of us. She’s a wonderful girl who will make him an incredible wife.”

Cliff sneers and I have to swallow down the retort that’s on the tip of my tongue. From the corner of my eye, I look at my wife. Her eyes are downcast, her shoulders hunched. We’ve been here for over fifteen minutes, and still, none of her family has spoken to her.

When the server arrives with our drinks, I smile and thank her, draping my arm across the back of January’s chair and rubbing my thumb across her shoulder. She stiffens at my touch and flinches every time her grandfather, father, or brothers speak. For the next twenty minutes, my in-laws ask me question after question about school, my friends, my family. Fuck, they even ask about my clothes. But no one speaks to January at all. It’s like she’s not even at the table.

Is this all an act? Are they all playing a game to back up the lie January sold about them abusing her? It seems a bit far-fetched, but them all lying makes more sense than them all just ignoring her the way they are. But what would be the point of me thinking badly of them when the only reason I married January is because they desperately wanted the influence being associated with my family carries?

When the salads appear, January pushes the leaves around her plate, only eating one or two forkfuls before the plates are cleared and replaced with the entrées. Her disgusting brothers tell stories about their friends and the women they’ve fucked or fucked over while Marilyn smiles and chuckles, like discussing her children’s sex lives is an everyday event.

My mom would be fucking appalled if she heard me talk about tricking a girl into a threesome and then videoing her without her knowledge. Fuck, I’m appalled, and my moral compass doesn’t always point as north as it should.

Leaning into January, I murmur against her ear, “Eat.”

Her shoulders somehow stiffen even more, and her fingers tighten around her silverware, although I know she hasn’t taken even a single bite of her food. Stabbing a piece of the rich garlicky potatoes from my plate, I lift the fork to her lips.

“Try mine,” I say.

Blinking, her brow furrows. Her eyes glance from me to her family, who are all now staring at me trying to feed my wife.

“Eat,” I say again.

Her lips part and I slide the tines of the fork between them. Closing her mouth, she takes the food and I pull the fork free, watching her chew and then swallow.

“Good?” I ask.

Her pupils are blown and her expression is confused, but she nods. I cut off a second bite, and she lets me feed her again, not looking away from me, even though every other eye at the table is staring at us.

When I offer her a third bite, she shakes her head and I feel my brow furrow in a frown. I know she doesn’t understand why I’m suddenly acting like I care. She has no idea that she’s become the sole object of my infatuation and obsession, that she hasn’t made a single move since I brought her home that I haven’t witnessed. She doesn’t know that I can’t and don’t want to look away ever again, that I want to watch her every move for the rest of eternity.

“Clay, I had a meeting with Adam Enderley the other day, he mentioned he and your father have been looking into some tech investment,” Cliff says, attempting to pull my attention from January.

“January, dear, perhaps you should go and freshen up. You’re looking a little flushed,” Marilyn suggests, her tone acidic.

I expect January to say no, or do something, but instead, she pushes her chair back from the table, dislodging my arm, and glides across the restaurant.

“That dress,” Marilyn says under her breath, not hiding the disgust in her tone.

“Clay,” Cliff snaps, demanding my attention.

Sighing, I glance back toward the table once January disappears from view. “Adam is trying to buy a piece of software I designed.”

“You designed?” Cliff asks, his thick unruly eyebrows drawing up in shock.

“Yes, it’s actually one of my more basic packages, barely more than a comprehensive user interface. Adam wants me to repurpose it and roll it out in all his warehouses.”

“If you designed it, why would your father be investing? Why would he need to buy a Jansen product?”

“Because I own it, not my dad.”

“You’re a Jansen.”

“I am,” I confirm. “But I also wanted to have my own legacy that was more than just my family name. I have several projects that have nothing to do with Jansen Enterprises.”

January silently slides back into her seat, but once again, no one at the table even glances in her direction.

Cliff’s smile is all sharklike amusement. “Then this software project will be the perfect thing for us to work on together.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” I say coolly.

“Why not?” he growls.

“Because, like I told Adam and my father, I have no intention of selling my software. I have, however, agreed to create a unique interface for him and lease him a license for it.”

“Son, surely you know that selling would have made you more money,” Cliff says condescendingly like I’m a fucking idiot.

“Adam’s company has an office presence or warehouse in almost every town and city across the states, with a population of more than ten thousand people. He has offices in almost every country in the world and this software will be used on every computer, tablet and cell phone by every single member of staff. The licensing fees for him alone will be around five million a year and I already have another ten companies all looking for their own bespoke version of the software. Selling might have made me more money right now, but the long-term projections mean I’ll make ten times that in the first three years by only selling him a license.”

The entire table blinks at me, staring at me with a level of respect that I find a little insulting. It’s clear they know absolutely nothing about me other than who my parents are and how much power I’ll wield the moment I take over the family business.

“Bro.” Lucius laughs. “That’s badass.”

Allowing a slight smirk to spread across my lips, I lean back in my seat and eye them all. Cliff and Marilyn’s gazes are sparkling, and I’m sure they’re excited to try and find out new ways to exploit our connection. January’s brothers all now seem to think I’m awesome and her grandfather looks grudgingly impressed. But when I turn my head to look at my wife, her expression is blank, and I fucking hate it.

Everyone continues to eat except for January, who doesn’t even lift her silverware again. For the rest of the evening, her family pretends she’s not sitting beside me at the table, and no matter how much I try to include her in the conversation, the only time they even glance in her direction is to make disparaging comments about her, like she’s not sitting opposite them and listening to every word.

If this is all an act, then the Burkes deserve an Oscar. The dinner lasts three excruciatingly long hours, and by the time the valet pulls up at the front of the restaurant with my car, I’m so fucking angry my muscles feel stiff from holding myself back all night.

I don’t miss the fact that January flinches multiple times as her father, grandfather, and brothers all shake my hand to say good night while she stands ignored at my side. Nor do I miss the ugly way Marilyn leans into January and says something too low for me to hear that makes my beautiful snake literally tremble.

Guilt for misjudging my wife hits me like a freight train. I hate that I doubted her for a single moment. I hate that I was an asshole to her, and I despise myself for assuming she was in cahoots with her horrendous family. She truly is a victim in all of this.

Stepping around the valet, I open the car door for her, trying to catch her attention as she slides gracefully into the passenger seat. But she doesn’t look up, simply takes her seat and folds her hands demurely into her lap.

Handing the valet a tip, I take my keys from him and climb into the driver’s seat, checking to make sure January’s seat belt is clipped in place before I pull away from the curb and into traffic.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

She’s so fucking polite, it drives me crazy. Why is she so calm? How has she just taken everything I’ve done to her since the moment we met without reacting? Why hasn’t she snapped back at me? Why hasn’t she called me on my bullshit?

I know the answer without even having to ask. It’s because her family has beaten the fire out of her and I hate it. I hate that they’re assholes, but more than that, I fucking hate that even for a moment, I thought she was anything like them.

When I spot the sign for a burger place, I pull into the drive-through line and slow to a stop when I get to the speaker. “What do you want?” I ask, turning to look at her.

Confusion furrows her perfect face. “We just came from dinner.”

“And you barely ate two bites of food. So, what do you want to eat?”

“I don’t—”

Shaking my head, I turn toward the speaker and order two of their biggest meals, mine a burger with extra bacon, hers a veggie burger. I ask for fries and onion rings and Cokes, then pull forward to the window to pay.

“Clay—”

“Just… shut up, Poison. Just shut the fuck up,” I snarl angrily, handing cash to the server and taking the food.

Wisely, she stays quiet as I pull away from the fast-food place and onto the street. The restaurant the Burkes picked for tonight is only a few miles from the beach, so I head that way, slowing to a stop at the curb a few feet away from the sand. Climbing out of my car, I grip the bags of food with one hand and open January’s door with the other.

“Come on.”

Her eyes are wary, but she climbs out of the car and follows me across the sidewalk and onto the beach.

“Kick off your shoes, you can’t walk on the sand in five-inch heels.”

Her gaze drops to the Louboutins on her feet and then back to me. Panic seems to flare across her face, and she looks back to the car as if she can make a run for it.

“I can’t—” she starts.

“Just kick off your damn shoes, January,” I snap, walking farther onto the sand and leaving her to hesitate on the sidewalk.

After a moment, she appears at my side. Her eyes are darting from side to side, looking down at the dark sand like she’s expecting it to jump out and bite her bare feet.

“It’s only sand. I know it’s a public beach, but I promise you nothing is going to attack you.” Chuckling under my breath, I swap the bags of food into my other hand and hold out my now free hand to her.

She stares at it, mistrust clear on her face.

“It’s just a hand, wife,” I say quietly.

After a long moment, she lightly places her fingers in my hand, but doubt lingers in her eyes. I can see she’s wary, waiting for my simple offer to turn into a cruel trick or a new game, and I hate that she’s this suspicious, but I can’t blame her. I’ve done nothing to make her think any better of me.

Closing my fingers carefully around hers, I lead her down toward the water, stopping where the sand is still soft and fluffy and not too wet. “Sit,” I say, lowering myself down and pulling her down with me until we’re sitting on our butts in the damp sand, the water rolling in and out just feet away from us.

Reluctantly releasing her hand, I pull the food onto my lap and open the bags, handing her a burger and fries before peeling open her straw and pushing it into her drink.

“Eat.”

She takes it from me, holding the wrapped burger in her hands but not making any effort to open it.

“Your bitch of a mother isn’t here, so eat the fucking burger. You don’t have an ounce of fat on you, and I hate that witch for even suggesting you need to watch your weight.”

Slowly she places the fries down in her lap and starts to unwrap the burger. Riveted, I watch as she brings it to her lips and takes a tiny bite.

“Good?” I ask.

Her eyes are wide with rebellion when she looks at me and nods.

“Good.” I nod. “I want you to eat it all and the fries, then once we’re done, we can go get ice cream.”

She laughs and I feel like a motherfucking god.

19

JANUARY

S itting beside Clay on the damp sand, eating the first burger I’ve had in years, my muscles start to unclench. I expected tonight to be awful, and it was. What I didn’t anticipate was the way Clay acted toward me, like we were on the same side.

I’ve gotten used to having no clue which version of Clay I’ll be dealing with each time he’s near me. I’ve dealt with his hatred and casually dropped insults. I’ve played his games and felt him destroy my hopes. But I’ve also seen the way he looked at me the moment before he kissed me. I’ve lain in his arms beside him in bed each night and seen the way he worried for me today when he thought I was hurt.

He’s such a contradiction, but despite his whiplash mood swings, the way he’s behaved since we got to the restaurant is weird. Actually, the way he’s been behaving since we got back from our run in the woods this morning has been weird.

After he’d dropped me at campus and driven off, the valet driver had taken me to the house, and I’d headed straight upstairs, not wanting to have to explain to anyone why I was covered in scrapes and grazes.

After I’d cleaned up, washing off the rest of the dirt from my attempt at tree climbing and subsequent roll around in the dirt, I’d just stepped back into the bedroom when he’d come into the room and started getting naked.

Naked!

He’d acted like me seeing his dick was perfectly normal, then he’d wandered into the bathroom and taken a shower. I’d assumed it was just another game, but only after he finally put on some briefs he insisted I take off my pants so he could check on my cuts. His touch had been so careful, so gentle that I’d forgotten for a minute that I was trying to get away from him, not swoon into his waiting arms.

I had a couple of hours of reprieve while we both studied and then he lost his freaking mind. My cheeks heat as I remember everything that happened.

After I’d washed my hair, I’d expected him to be gone from the room, but instead he was waiting for me with the red dress Sammy picked for me in his hands.

“Wear this,” he had said, holding the dress out to me.

“I…” I looked at the dress in his hands and then back to his face, begging him to understand that I couldn’t wear a dress like that around my parents. I’d tried it on when all the clothes Sammy helped me order had arrived. The red fabric had clung to my nonexistent curves like a second skin, and I’d loved the way it made me feel too much not to keep it. But I had never intended to actually wear it out of the house. “I can’t wear that,” I told him.

“You can and you will. Now go and get dressed, unless you’d like to drop that robe and I’ll do it for you.”

“Mother—” I’d tried to argue before he cut me off.

“Can answer to me if she has an issue with the dress I’ve chosen for my wife to wear.” His hand lurched forward, but instead of grabbing me, he wrapped his fingers around the tie holding my robe closed and tugged, pulling the knot apart.

“Clay,” I shouted, grappling with the sides of my robe that had fallen open, trying to cover myself up.

“Stop,” he ordered.

“No,” I protested, gripping my robe tightly, not wanting him to see the way my body had reacted to him being practically naked.

“Stop,” he ordered again, circling my wrist with his fingers and stilling my movements. His grip wasn’t harsh, but firm enough that he pushed my arm down until it hung at my side and my robe was once again hanging open, my naked body on display for him.

“Jesus, fuck, you’re the sweetest form of poison, my beautiful snake,” he whispered with a hint of reverence that made my stomach tremble.

“Clay,” I whispered back, lifting my gaze above his shoulder so I didn’t have to watch him look at me.

“You’re mine, wife. Can I look?”

He was asking permission. He didn’t need to, and that was enough to make me pause and not instantly deny him. I was on display, my robe open, nothing between his eyes and my nakedness, yet he wasn’t taking, he was asking for my consent.

“Can. I. Look?” he asked, enunciating each word, stating exactly what he wanted, letting me know that in this moment, I was in control.

It was as invigorating as it was terrifying. I might have been reading the whole situation wrong, but it didn’t feel like that moment was about hate. Clay may hate where I came from and who my blood is, but in that moment, he was showing me that maybe he didn’t completely hate me. Hope lodged in my throat. I’d like for him not to hate me. It was the first time I’d thought that I’d like it if my husband didn’t hate me. My gaze lifted to the ceiling, and I offered him that hope in the shape of a nod.

“Look at me,” he demanded.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. If I looked at him and saw the bitter anger that usually reflected back at me from him, it’d have broken me. With my eyes closed, I’d willed him to just look, to just do it and get it over with. Knowing that if I looked at him, and there was nothing but casual hatred in his eyes, I’d survive.

“Look at me, January.”

It was the use of my name that finally got to me. In the days since we’d gotten married, he’d only used my name a handful of times. Usually when he’d speak to me, he’d call me Poison, Venom, Snake, and sometimes wife when he was being caustic, but he rarely used my name.

For some reason, when he called me January, it was so much more powerful than any ugly nickname. Before I could talk myself out of it, I lowered my chin and opened my eyes, bracing myself for cruelty, but instead all I found on his face was want.

“Has anyone else ever seen you naked like this?” he asked, a hint of a growl laced into each word as he tightened his hold on my wrists.

This isn’t what I had expected. He wanted to know if anyone else had seen me without my clothes on. Why? He knew I was a virgin. I nodded cautiously.

“Who?” he snapped, and his tone made me stiffen.

“Mother took me to have laser hair removal,” I confessed, a little embarrassed.

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

His shoulders had untensed a little at my response, then stiffened again. “Anyone else?”

“Doctor,” I confessed.

“Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

After exhaling shakily, he’d visibly relaxed and his hold on my wrists had loosened, changing from restraining to reassuring as he rubbed slow circles over my skin with the pad of his thumb.

“Can I look?” he asked again, his eyes earnest and still full of heat.

“Why?” I silently mouthed.

“Because you might be poison, but you’re my Poison.”

Shock had sucked all the air from my lungs. “My Poison.” What on earth was happening right now? Butterflies had burst to life in my stomach and all I could do or say was… “Okay.”

I’d expected him to let me go, but he’d kept hold of one of my wrists, then slowly lifted his other hand and spread the sides of my robe farther apart, revealing me to his penetrating gaze. His eyes took all of me in, starting at my throat and moving down my body as I swallowed nervously and tried not to fidget.

My body had reacted to him, physically preening at the way he’d looked at me. My nipples pebbled and heat pooled between my thighs. I liked his eyes on me. I liked the way he’d scanned over me, taking in every inch, not leering at me.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered with what sounded a lot like reverence in his tone.

“Thank you,” I whispered back, forcing the words from my arid throat.

“Other than the doctor and the laser woman, has anyone else touched you?”

“No.”

“What about you? Have you touched my cunt?”

“I…” Heat filled my cheeks. Did he really want me to tell him I’d touched myself? And his? Since when had my sex become his?

When I didn’t say anything more, he’d smiled knowingly. His tongue had dipped out, wetting his lips while a lusty gaze flashed in his eyes and his fingers twitched at his side. I expected him to reach out and touch me, to explore my body now that he had me captured in his mesmerizing hold, but instead he’d let go of the wrist he’d been caressing this whole time and pushed my robe off me completely, baring me to him without the illusion of protection the fabric had given me.

The breath in my lungs evaporated as I held my breath, waiting for the feel of his hands on me. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted it so much that tingles ran across the surface of my skin in anticipation, taunting me and tormenting me.

Only he didn’t reach out, and his hands stayed at his sides, his heated looks settling from an inferno to a flickering flame. He’d pulled the red dress that was still clenched tightly in my fist free of my hold and dressed me, covering me up when all I wanted him to do was break me into little pieces and then make me whole again.

I blink back to the present, with the sounds of the waves in my ears and the food he’d bought me in my lap. Looking at him from the corner of my eye, I watch as he licks some ketchup from his lips and my mind spins back to earlier again.

After Sammy had finished helping me with my hair, she’d left and I’d gone into the bathroom to add a little mascara to my lashes and some gloss to my lips when Clay had marched back into the room, holding a Louboutin bag.

“Here,” he had said, offering it to me.

He’d called someone and asked them to go buy them, but I hadn’t actually thought he’d be able to get Louboutins in the middle of a small college town. Apparently, I’d been wrong. Dumbstruck, I didn’t reach for the bag, so Clay pulled the glossy black patent leather pumps out and then sank to the floor, running his hand down my leg before sliding my foot into first one pump and then the other. When he stood back up, he was so close to me that his belt buckle scraped against my stomach as he rose to his full height. The heels made me closer to his height, but I still had to tip my head back to meet his stormy eyes. I hadn’t noticed him reach for me until his fingers touched my cheek, sliding along my jaw and lifting my chin.

“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice strong and clean and undeniable.

I didn’t understand how we went from insults and revulsion, games and stolen kisses to this. To us locked together in this silent moment of… something that I’m not sure I could even explain in words, but it felt intense and important and… his lips dipped to mine and he kissed me, sliding his tongue into my mouth gently, exploring me, learning me, devouring me until I was nothing but sensation and confusion and desire.

When he pulled away, his fingers stayed on my cheek. “We need to go,” he said, and I swear there was a hint of reluctance in his tone.

“You kissed me,” I whispered stupidly.

“I did.” A smug smile tipped up the corners of his lips, making his eyes crinkle in amusement.

“But every other time—”

“Your lips have been my prize,” he said, interrupting me. “I know. But I don’t have to wait for my prize anymore, do I, Poison?”

“I—” My mind buzzed like it was full of static. He’s right, we both agreed to the stakes of our game and if I’d won, I’d expect him to honor his end of the deal. It shouldn’t be a surprise that he expected me to honor mine. Only it was. Maybe I hoped that he’d laugh, that we’d play again. That I’d have another shot at my freedom, but I could see from his eyes that wouldn’t be happening. He’d won. He’d hunted me, he’d caught me and now I was in a cage of my own foolish making.

His laugh was low and soft and said so much that I shivered at the sound. “Come on, Poison. Let’s go.”

Reality infiltrates my thoughts again and I watch the water rush up the sand, then retreat. A part of me wants this evening to have been real and I’m almost ashamed to admit, even to myself, that for a moment, I lost myself in the fantasy of being his wife, of him wanting me. But then I realize why he’s been behaving this way. It’s just about keeping up appearances for my family. Creating the illusion that we’re happily married and madly in love. But what I don’t get is what the point is. None of us are unaware of the circumstances of our marriage.

My family acted exactly like I knew they would. They ignored me and fawned over Clay like he was the prodigal son. Maybe it should bother me, but I’m over the moon to be beyond their notice. Hopefully, soon they’ll stop inviting me to these kinds of events and Clay can represent the both of us.

Mother commented on my dress, and Clay defended it, acting like the perfect husband. He called me baby and I loved it, even as much as I hated it. Mother commented on my food choice, glaring at me every time I lifted my fork to my lips and in the end, I did what I’ve always done. I just stopped because I’d rather go hungry than deal with her anger and cruelty.

Except for the very first time, someone noticed I wasn’t eating, and now we’re here, sitting on the beach in the dark, eating junk food. Taking one more bite of the gooey, cheesy mess, I place it down in the wrapper and wipe my fingers off on a napkin.

“Eat,” Clay demands, his harsh tone making me shudder and my muscles tense.

“I’m full.”

“Bullshit,” he growls. “You’ve barely eaten half.”

“It’s huge. I’ll explode if I eat the rest.”

“You need to eat more, you’re skin and bone. Hunter’s threatening to start slipping butter into everything you eat if you don’t fatten up a bit soon. He’s freaking out that you’re starving yourself.”

“Please tell Hunter he doesn’t need to worry about me,” I whisper.

“Tell him yourself. He wants to get to know you. They all do.”

“Why?” I ask, forcing myself to relax as I stare out at the dark water.

“Because you’re my wife and they’re my family.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind him that he and Evan were fighting about Evan trying to bring me food only a few days ago, but I swallow the words down. I’m used to the men in my life contradicting themselves at every turn.

“January.”

“Yes,” I answer, ruefully looking away from the peace of the water.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?” I question, feeling my brow furrow.

“I’ve been a fucking asshole to you. I thought you were just like your family. I was wrong and I’m sorry.”

I don’t think anyone has ever apologized to me before. I mean, maybe someone on the street or a server in a restaurant. But not like this. Not because they feel regretful for their behavior. It’s odd and disconcerting and I don’t know how to respond.

“Okay,” I say awkwardly.

“Okay?” he questions.

I nod, then turn back to the water, watching the moonlight dance across the water as the tide rolls back and forth against the shore.

“Okay? That’s it?” he asks, incredulity lacing each word.

I shrug and nod again. “I understand why you’d think I was like them. They’re my parents and siblings. I’d probably react the same way if I were you. It’s fine.”

“How in the fuck is it fine?” Clay snaps, dropping his food back into the bag and twisting around to face me.

He looks angry, but I don’t really understand why. “I just mean that we don’t have to pretend that we’re madly in love. We can just carry on like we have been, you get on with your day, and I’ll get on with mine. We don’t have to pretend this is more than it is. You won the game, I’ll stop trying to leave, I’ll act like the dutiful wife, I’ll eat at the house and carry the cell phone you gave me. I know that my family forced your family into this marriage, so I don’t blame you for being a bit of a dick. Honestly, all things considered, this week has gone okay.”

“How the fuck can you think things are okay?” he says, scoffing sardonically. “I’ve had to basically blackmail you into sleeping in the bed rather than on the couch and your clothes are in a box on the floor.”

“It’s your space. I’m trying to be as unintrusive as possible, and I offered to sleep in another room or downstairs.”

“Are you fucking listening to yourself? I want you in my bed, I want you to be part of my life, but you’ve done everything you can not to get to know anyone. You’ve been at school for days and you haven’t spoken to anyone except your professors and that’s only when you’re called upon.”

“I…” I trail off, unsure what to say.

“You go from the house to class and back again. You’ve made no friends, you’ve been nowhere—”

“How?” I interrupt his tirade. “How do you know any of that?”

“Because I’ve been watching you,” he admits angrily.

“Watching me?”

“Yes, dear wife. I’ve been watching you. It’s what I do. I watch and I learn. I know every move you make, every time you speak and what you say. I know everything.”

He’s leaning into me, making his body seem bigger as he snarls like a wild animal.

“I don’t understand. Why?” I ask.

“Why, what?”

“Why are you watching me?”

His scoff is so bitter sounding I flinch. Despite this anger and the way he’s crowding me, I know he won’t physically hurt me, but I’m also more than aware words can be just as painful as fists. “Because I needed to figure out if this.” He waves his hand up and down in front of me. “Was just an act.”

“I don’t understand,” I say again, sounding like a parrot, but it’s all just so confusing.

“No one is this… innocent. It should be fake. But it’s not, and once I realized you’re just, you, I should have stopped watching, but by then I couldn’t look away.”

“But why?” I ask again. I keep asking the same question, but what he’s saying doesn’t make sense. Did he have me followed? Why go to the effort? He hasn’t hidden the fact that he thinks I’m as bad as my family. Is he saying he’s changed his mind? Why? Just because I’m not a social person? None of this makes any sense.

“You’re mine, January.”

Blinking, I stare at him. “Is this about the bet?”

“I don’t give a fuck about the stupid fucking bet. You were mine before we stepped foot in those woods, and you’d still have been mine even if I hadn’t known where you were for every second you were out of my sight.”

Suddenly the fear I’d normally feel when a man is this close to me surges to life. The intensity in his gaze borders on madness, and it’s focused on me. “I think I should leave,” I whisper.

“No.”

“You’re acting a little crazy. I’ll call an Uber or a car or something.”

“You didn’t bring your cell and you don’t have any money,” he mocks, a smile tipping the corners of his lips.

“I can go back to the restaurant and ask them to call my parents, I’ll go and stay at home for a few days.”

“You’d rather be with them? That’s not happening, Poison. We’re going home.”

“Why am I still poison if you admit I’m nothing like my family?”

“Because you’ve infected me. You slithered your way beneath my skin and now you’re part of me. You’re mine, January Jansen, and there’s no running, there’s no hiding. Because I own you and I’m incredibly fucking possessive of the things that belong to me. I knew almost immediately, but tonight sealed your fate. You’re mine, my perfect Sweet Venom.”

He stands so quickly I barely have time to process the movement before he reaches down and plucks me up from the sand, lifting me into his arms.

His hold on me is tight and I start to panic. “Put me down.”

“No.”

“Clay, I can walk. Put me down.”

“Not happening, baby. So behave yourself and let me get you back to the car.”

“My shoes are still down there.”

“Fuck the shoes.”

“Clay, they were thousands of dollars,” I protest.

His car beeps and he opens the door and lowers me into the passenger seat.

“Stay here. I’ll go and get your fucking shoes.”

The moment he closes my door and steps away from the car, I fumble with the buttons on the dash, finally finding the one that activates the door locks and pressing it. I don’t know how long it’ll keep him out, but I need a moment to breathe and try to figure out what to do.

He’s behaving like a crazy person. He must be on drugs, or maybe he has a mental health condition. I might not know him well, but even after a few days, it’s obvious that this is a serious deviation from his normal behavior.

I watch him appear at the driver’s door and reach for the door handle, but when he pulls, nothing happens. I expect him to be mad, but instead he laughs. “You locked the doors?”

“I think you need to go to the ER or see a doctor or something because you’re acting really oddly and I think maybe someone drugged you, or you’re having a mental health episode. Either way, I don’t think you should be driving right now.”

His chuckle is warm and full of amusement. “Are you planning on driving us home?”

“I don’t know how to drive.”

“So what’s the plan here, Poison? You know I have the keys, right?” He holds them up to the window, dangling from his fingers. “I can just unlock the doors.”

Gulping, I dart my eyes around the inside of the car, searching for something to grab or do, but there’s nothing but soft leather and an impressive array of buttons. When the car beeps again, I know I’m too late.

The door opens and Clay slides into the driver’s seat, not looking at me, while he taps at the screen of his cell. “Here,” he says, handing me the phone.

There’s a video on the screen, it’s dark, but it only takes me a moment to realize it’s an image of us sitting in his car. The camera view is from outside, and I’m looking at an image of me, confusion etched across my pale face.

Slack-jawed, I look to Clay, who is smiling widely. Leaning over me, he swipes at the screen, and it shows me a different video view. This time, it’s the back of the car, the red fabric of my dress and the back of my head, just visible.

“What is this?” I whisper.

“I watch. That’s what I do. In less than five minutes, I could have every security camera in a five-block radius pointed in this direction, but I don’t have to do that right now because there’s a full team of security wearing body cams following you at all times.”

Lifting his hand, he slowly reaches out and trails a finger along the side of my cheek, sliding down my neck and across my collarbone. “I like to watch, and you, my Sweet Venom, make it impossible to look away.”

Dragging his fingertip over my throat, he tips my chin up and presses a soft kiss against my lips. “Mine,” he whispers.

Then he smiles, sits back in his seat and calmly drives us back to campus.

20

CLAY

M y Poison is so fucking confused. I should probably take pity on her and give her some time to understand how things have changed tonight, but I don’t want to. I like how off-balance she is. I like her undiluted emotions and actions.

I didn’t intend to tell her about her security team or be so honest about how consumed I’ve become with her, but the moment I opened my mouth, all the words came out and I had zero control over it.

She’s silent as usual as I drive, but I can feel how off-kilter my confessions have made her. Maybe it makes me an asshole, but I want her to feel this confusion. I want to see her react on instinct and not hide behind the emotionless mask she wears so much of the time.

The need to push her until she strikes is so strong my jaw is aching from how hard I’m clenching it just to keep my mouth shut. I want her angry, but then I want to make it better. I want to soothe her and pet her until she calms down. Or maybe I just want to fuck her until all the fury drains from her body, dissolved by how hard I make her ride my dick.

After everything that’s happened today, I didn’t really need tonight to confirm what I already knew, that she isn’t who I assumed she was. The Burkes are assholes and it’s clear that they’ve broken January, then squashed the shattered pieces back into a tiny, scared box that they could control and use as they wanted.

It still baffles me that we just spent three hours with her entire immediate family and her mom was the only one who spoke to her. I’d thought she was joking when she said I could come alone and her family wouldn’t notice or care, but now I believe that might actually have been true.

What I don’t understand is why she’s let them do this to her. Images of Starling curled into a ball and hyperventilating flash into my mind. Fuck. January hasn’t been given a choice about the direction her life has taken, in the same way that we didn’t give Starling a choice. The only difference between them is that everything Sebastian did, he did because he loved Starling so much, he couldn’t live in a world where she wasn’t his. The Burkes aren’t behaving out of love, their actions have been born of violence.

For a split second, I wonder if I should set January free like she wants so badly. It would be nothing for me to enroll her in a foreign study program. She could leave and enjoy being a teenager far away from her family’s influence.

I dismiss the idea immediately. She belongs to me, and I want her too much to let her leave, even if it is the right thing to do. Marrying her started as nothing more than an obligation, but even after this short amount of time, it already feels like so much more than that.

January is a Jansen now and we don’t back down or cower. I might have had to marry to avoid scandal, but my family and I were never going to let the Burkes get away with blackmailing us.

Those assholes broke my girl, but I’ll help fix her, then I’ll help teach my beautiful little snake just how dangerous she can be once she sheds the skin of her old life and embraces her new one. Her training starts tonight and I’m pretty sure she’s going to be pissed as hell, but that’s okay, she needs to learn how to focus her anger.

Pulling into the campus, I slow to a stop at the valet station and climb out, handing the guy who steps toward my car the keys. Then I circle the car and open January’s door, reaching in and offering my hand. She doesn’t take it for a long moment, then she audibly huffs and places her hand in mine. Her feet are still bare; her shoes I collected from the beach are on the back seat. Instead of letting her stand on the sidewalk, I lean down and scoop her out of her seat, pulling her into my arms.

“Clay,” she huffs.

“What’s up, Poison?”

“Put me down.”

“No.” I laugh. Turning to the valet who is waiting to climb into my car. “Can you grab the shoes off the back seat for me, please?”

“Sure thing, sir,” he says, leaning in and grabbing them.

“Thank you,” I say, handing him a tip as I take the shoes from him.

“Have a good night, sir, miss,” he says, rushing back around to the driver’s side and sliding into my car.

“I can walk now,” January says, wiggling in my arms.

“Nope,” I say, popping the p sound and ignoring her protests as I head for the line of golf carts.

I silently will her to protest and argue some more, but instead her face becomes infuriatingly neutral, and she stills in my hold, letting me carry her, even though she doesn’t want me to.

Clenching my jaw once more, I climb into our cart, keeping January on my lap. Once again, she tries to wiggle free, but when I tighten my hold, making it clear I don’t intend to let her move, she quietens.

The gates swing open when we reach the house and I drive through and park the cart in front of the door. Loosening my hold on her waist for a moment, I’m impressed when she throws herself off my lap, stumbling a little as she lands awkwardly on the driveway.

Her little rebellion makes my dick hard, and I follow her down, capturing her with an arm around her waist before she has a chance to get more than two steps away. Dragging her into me, her body hits mine and she exhales a startled huff. Unable to resist, I lean in and capture her mouth with mine, pinning her in place with my palm around the back of her neck while I taunt her into kissing me.

It only takes a moment for her tongue to push back against mine, and she kisses me, a tiny kitty growl vibrating against her lips. Smiling, I release my hold on her, subconsciously rewarding her for reacting exactly the way I want her to.

Her eyes are wide, her lips damp and a little puffy. She looks fucking glorious as a flash of anger sparks to life in her eyes. My dick twitches again beneath my boxers and I fight the urge to reach down and rearrange myself. I want her to know how hard I am for her, but not yet.

Turning her back to me, she darts up the front steps, opening the door and rushing inside as I stride after her. I grab her arm before she can disappear up the stairs, turning her and redirecting her toward the kitchen, where I can hear the sounds of people moving around.

“You need to eat, Poison,” I tell her, steering her into a seat at the table opposite Hunter who is typing on his laptop with a bowl of pretzels—his favorite study snack beside him.

“Are you actually having some kind of episode?” she asks, with what sounds like real concern in her tone. “We had dinner and then burgers. I’ve eaten.”

“You had a slice of tomato and three leaves of lettuce, then you had two bites of potato and less than a quarter of a burger.”

“I ate more than that.”

Turning around, I close the distance between us in two long strides, leaning down and bracing my hands on the back of her chair, caging her in. “I watched your every move tonight, January. I know how much you ate. I know how many times you flinched; how hard you held your silverware. We both know you didn’t eat enough, and we both know it’s because your cunt of a mother has brainwashed you into thinking your fat, or maybe she just told you that as an excuse to starve you because it’s another way of controlling you. I don’t know, but I’m going to find out. Either way, from now on, you eat what I tell you to eat when I tell you to eat it until you stop looking like a strong wind could blow you over.”

I didn’t intend to get this angry, but the more I replay the way Marilyn spoke about January like she wasn’t there, like her vitriol-filled words weren’t intended solely to hurt her daughter, the more furious I get.

“Hunter,” January calls, looking warily over my shoulder to where my friend and brother is silently watching me lose my mind.

“Yeah,” he answers, his tone low and calm.

“I think something is wrong with Clay.”

I laugh, I can’t help it. I’m six inches from her face, snarling and furious and she’s calmly telling my friend she thinks there’s something wrong with me. Grabbing her chin, I press my lips to hers again, smiling as I kiss her, then I pull away and head for the refrigerator.

“Sweet or savory?” I ask over my shoulder.

“I’m serious, Hunter. He’s acting really strange,” January whispers.

I glance over to Hunter, and he’s smiling. “Doesn’t seem strange that he’d want to make sure his wife is eating properly,” he says.

“I think I’m just going to go to bed,” she says, pushing out of the chair.

“Sit your skinny butt down, wife,” I shout. “You’re not going anywhere until you’ve eaten something.”

“There’s some ice cream in the freezer,” Hunter suggests. “I’ll text the others, see if anyone else wants some.”

I don’t take my eyes off January until she sits back down in her seat, then I close the refrigerator and pull out the gourmet ice cream Sammy filled the freezer with last week. January grumbles under her breath until the sounds of feet on the stairs echoes through the house.

Bastian and Starling enter first. Bastian is dressed, but Starling is only wearing a sports bra and a pair of tiny shorts. She’s smiling, and Bastian looks like he’s attempting to calm himself down. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s not impressed about his fiancée wandering about the house wearing practically nothing.

“January, you look amazing,” Starling gushes when she spots her sitting at the table.

“How was dinner?” Bastian asks me, his eyes assessing.

“Informative,” I tell him, grabbing extra bowls from the cabinet. “Did you manage to arrange that thing I texted you about?” I ask quietly.

His smirk is full of amused smugness, but I don’t care. We all know how much of a fucking psycho he can be. My crazy pales in comparison. “All sorted. Should I expect a reaction?”

We’re deliberately talking in riddles, so I shrug and instead of responding, he just smiles wider.

Evan strides through the door a moment later, looking disheveled and half-asleep. “There better be some of the cherry left. You assholes woke me up from an epic dream,” he grumbles. His eyes search the room, then land on Starling. “Where’s Sammy?”

“On a date,” Starling says, opening the drinks cooler and pulling out a bottle of juice.

“What?” Evan snaps. “With who?”

“Some guy from her ancient history class,” Starling says distractedly as she opens her drink and gulps it down.

“Do we even know this guy? Where have they gone?”

His anger is so obvious I barely hold back my smirk. Evan is gone for Sammy, and she isn’t even slightly interested.

“His name is Greg Abernathy, a senior majoring in philosophy, and he’s taken her to dinner at Swift and is so far being a perfect gentleman,” Bastian says calmly.

“What?” Starling spins around so fast the juice spills out of her bottle. “How do you know that?”

His smile is indulgent. “You thought I’d allow her around you without knowing everything about her?”

“Doing a background check, or whatever your stalker self does, is different from actively knowing that the guy she’s on a date with right now is being a gentleman. Do you have security following Sammy?”

“She’s your friend,” Bastian says simply.

In this moment, things can go one of two ways. Starling will lose her shit, and they’ll get into an epic argument that will end with either Bastian making her scream all night, or her running, at which point he’ll chase and end up making her scream all night. Okay, so maybe it only ends one way.

The tension ratchets up in the room, and we all tense for Starling to explode, but instead of screaming, Starling’s face goes soft, and she launches herself into Bastian’s arms, wrapping her legs around him while she kisses him.

Evan, Hunter, and I all glance at each other before looking back to Starling. I have no clue what’s happening right now.

“You put security on my best friend to keep her safe?” Starling asks, pulling away from Bastian’s mouth but staying wrapped around him.

“Yes.”

“God, I love your crazy,” she says on a laugh, kissing him again. “I have to text her; she’s going to be so excited.”

“She’ll be excited that she has security watching her without her consent?” January asks quietly.

Starling laughs. “She’ll be over the moon. She thinks Bastian hates her; this proves he doesn’t. Plus, she thinks the idea of having badass ninjas following her is hot.”

Bastian smiles at his fiancée like she’s the only thing in the world, and to him, she is. They’re perfect for each other. Starling wiggles until he puts her down, then she rushes upstairs, coming down a few moments later, her fingers tapping at the screen of her cell.

Evan is talking quietly to Bastian, but it doesn’t take a mind reader to figure out what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter though, because my eyes are on January. Her lips are parted in shock as she glances around the room, bewildered.

“What flavor ice cream do you want, Poison? We have vanilla, cherry, rocky road, peanut butter, and mango.”

“Mango, please,” she says politely.

Her manners just make me want to push her until she’s rude, but instead of speaking, I scoop some ice cream into a dish, adding a scoop of vanilla before carrying it over to her.

Placing the bowl on the table in front of her, I enjoy her squeak of surprise as I lift her off her chair and sit in it, lowering her back down into my lap. Her body is so stiff I’m actually concerned she might pull a muscle. “Relax,” I whisper against the nape of her neck.

“Why am I in your lap?”

“Because this is where I want you to be.”

Grabbing the spoon, I scoop some mango and lift it to her lips, waiting silently until she parts her lips and allows me to feed her.

“I don’t need to be fed. You’re making my eating habits a thing. I’m not that skinny and I’ve eaten more this week than I ever have. I’m going to be obese if you keep trying to feed me.”

“You’re not fat,” I growl.

“I know that,” she says quietly, but her voice holds a strength I don’t expect.

“Your mom—”

“Thinks that only skinny women attract husbands.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.”

I hate that she doesn’t agree.

“I’m going to make sure you eat. I’m fucking serious, wife. I won’t have you starving yourself.”

“Okay.”

She agrees too easily, but what else can I say right now? I’ve already told her I plan to tell her what to eat and when and I fully intend to. I’m going to make sure she’s a healthy weight as soon as I can. I’ll take curves over emaciated any day.

January doesn’t protest again as I feed her the ice cream, taking bites for myself here and there while the others all fill their own bowls and take the remaining seats around the table.

“We have a suit fitting this weekend,” Bastian reminds us.

“Has your dad got over the fact that you’re getting married yet?” Evan asks Starling with a chuckle.

“I’m trying to make peace with him,” Bastian says through gritted teeth.

“I’m not getting married unless my dad walks me down the aisle,” Starling says through a mouthful of ice cream.

Bastian’s eyes glow with anger and January flinches, leaning back from the table.

“We’re getting married in a nine weeks, Little Bird.”

“Not unless you can figure out a way to get my dad on team Sebastian we’re not,” Starling says, waving her spoon at him. “My dad is the only person I actually want at our wedding. If you want to marry me, you need to figure things out with him. He is the only person who was there for me when you tore my world to shreds, and I won’t get married without him.” Tears fill Starling’s eyes and she looks away, clearly not wanting us to witness her emotions.

Guilt sits heavy in my gut, but it only makes me hold on to January a little tighter. I’m pretty sure she hates me already, but her knowing all the fucked-up things I did to help Bastian control Starling isn’t going to improve her opinion of me.

“Cassidy—” Evan starts.

“I’m not interested in my mom. We’ve invited her to the wedding because it's what’s expected of me, but as far as I’m concerned that’s the only reason. If it was up to me, she wouldn’t be attending.”

“Sis,” Evan says.

“I’m not your sister, Evan,” Starling snaps.

His expression shutters and I think back to the things he said the other day. I know his guilt is so much heavier than mine.

“I should…” January says, trying to push up off my lap to get away from this intense conversation, but I band my arm around her and hold on tight, not allowing her to move. This is her world now, as much as I’ve forced her onto the periphery of it.

“My mom is a grade A bitch,” Starling hisses, turning all her attention to January. “When these four imploded my life, my mom picked team Sebastian, not team Starling. She thinks because I’m here and Sebastian and I are figuring out how to move forward through the debris of my broken psyche that she should be instantly forgiven, and she’s pissed that I don’t agree. As she’s married to Evan’s dad, both his dad and Evan think I should just absolve her of her guilt and play nice. But I’m not going to and if you keep trying to force the issue, Evan.” She turns her furious, emotion-filled eyes on my friend. “Then you and I are going to have even more issues than we already do.”

Her gaze moves around the table from each of us in turn. “I might be here, I might be playing nicely and trying to forgive you all for everything that happened to get us to this point. But don’t for a minute think I’ve forgotten because I haven’t, and I never will.”

“Little Bird,” Bastian says, but there’s an edge to his voice.

“No, Sebastian. I’m serious. I love you and I’m trying, but if my dad’s not there to walk me down the aisle to you, I won’t be walking it either and if any of you bring up the subject of my mom or how upset and sad she is, I’ll dig this fucking tracker out of my skin and disappear, and I swear none of you will ever see me again.”

There’s a heavy silence that surrounds us the moment Starling stops speaking and the guilt that settles on me feels like a lead blanket. I try to think of something, anything to say, but before I can speak, a broken sob falls from Starling’s lips, and she jumps up and sprints from the room.

“Fuck,” Bastian growls, following quickly after her.

“Bastian will fix it,” Hunter says, his words laced with hope.

“I’m not sure it's fixable. She’s right, she might forgive us eventually, but she’ll never forget,” Evan says.

His tone is so dejected I reach out and wrap my palm around the back of his neck and squeeze. “He’ll fix things and we can make it up to her, even if it takes us a lifetime.”

January remains silent and still while Hunter reaches for Evan too. My wife has no idea what just happened and even though I know I owe her an explanation, I can’t give her one right now, not like this. Instead, I lift her from my lap, place her on her feet and then stand up behind her. Placing my hand on the base of her spine, I try to ignore the way she flinches when I touch her and instead guide her out of the kitchen and up the stairs to our room.

“I owe you an explanation for everything that just happened in the kitchen, but I can’t tonight, okay? Tomorrow I’ll explain everything.”

“It’s none of my business,” she says as we reach the landing outside my bedroom.

“Of course it’s your fucking business, this is your home and you just had to witness Starling’s, albeit justified, meltdown. You should be demanding an explanation,” I cry.

“No, this is your home and your friends. None of you owes me anything,” January says calmly and it’s clear she genuinely thinks what she’s saying is true. Fuck.

When we reach our room, I twist the handle and push open the door. January starts to move forward and then stops, her feet planting to the floor faster than her body can react and she actually tips forward onto her toes to stop herself from stumbling as she stares at the sitting room.

The now half-empty sitting room, with a huge vacant spot where the couch used to sit.

“Where’s the couch?” she asks on a panic-filled squeak.

“Gone.”

“Why?”

“Because I refuse to let you even consider sleeping on it again.”

“You’ve officially lost your mind.”

Curling my arm around her waist, I spin her around then back her into the wall, following after her until I’m crowding her, her breasts pressed against my chest. “In my bed, in my arms, every night… forever.”

Shaking her head, a shudder runs through her at the word forever, a reminder of the game we played and the result.

“I was wrong about you, January, and now we need to start over. So as far as I’m concerned, this is our wedding night, wife.”

“You don’t get to just call the shots.”

“Don’t I?” I ask, arching my brow, taunting her to argue with me. Pushing closer to her, I dip my head and claim her lips with mine. I wait for her to try to deny me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she parts her lips, welcoming my tongue and kissing me back. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly against me, and I can feel her heart pounding in time with mine. My dick is so hard it hurts, but I know the only thing that’s going to relieve the pressure is her.

Fuck, this isn’t what I planned to do. I texted Bastian while we were at the restaurant and asked him to take the couch out of my room, intending to show her that her only option was me. All week I’ve been laying the groundwork, getting her used to my touches, my kisses. I wanted to give her time to realize I was not a threat to her. To wait until she stopped flinching when I moved too quick. I wanted to give her time to realize she wanted me just as much as I wanted her.

But considering I’m grinding my hard dick against her stomach and eating her mouth like it’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted, I think my idea to gently ease her into my close proximity isn’t going to plan.

A moan falls from her mouth, and I growl like a fucking animal in response. I want to touch her, lick her, taste her. I want to fill her with my dick and fuck her until she’s begging me to stop. Something about this innocent snake has driven me crazy since the moment I saw her walking down the aisle toward me, looking so pure, dressed in white. I want to dirty her up. I want to do all the fucked-up things I said to scare her on the day of our wedding. Because I want it all with her. I want to be rough, cruel, and depraved, but I don’t just want that. With her, I want to be sweet and gentle and adoring too.

I want to fuck her ass while I kiss her neck and coo sweet words into her ear, telling her how perfect she is. I want to spank her and hurt her. I want to use her, and I want her to love it as much as I do and know that everything I do is because I’m so fucking consumed with her. I want to chase her and hunt her and then I want her to laugh when I catch her and take her as my prize.

Her hands slowly rise, and I brace for her rejection, but instead she places them against my chest, not holding me to her but not pushing me away either. The sensible part of my brain knows I should stop this, but my dick wants to be in charge right now and it knows that only her scrap of a dress and the thin fabric of her white cotton panties are between me and her virgin cunt.

All it would take is a jerk of my hand to rip the fabric or pull it to the side and I could be in her. Claiming her with my cock and owning her in every way that matters. But I’m not a rapist and her kissing me back doesn’t mean she’s ready for me to fill her with my cum. At least not yet.

Slowing the kiss, I tease at her mouth, nipping her bottom lip and giving her a hint of pain to see how she reacts. When I pull back, her body sways toward me. Fuck, she wants this. She wants me. But I don’t want her just desperate, I want her mindless, unable to deny herself even if she wants to. So, I pull back even farther, watching as her eyes flutter open. She looks dazed and lust drunk. It’s my new favorite look on her and I silently vow to keep her like this as much as possible.

“Tell me how much you don’t want this, Poison,” I taunt, reaching out and rubbing my thumb over her visibly hard nipples.

“I don’t—”

“Ah ah ah, don’t lie to me. Our bodies are always so much more honest than our mouths, and your body wants me, just like my body wants you.”

“Clay,” she gasps.

“Don’t worry, wife, I’m not going to fuck you tonight. But today you lost, and I won. I won’t allow you to distance yourself from me and this life anymore. From now on, you sleep in this bed, in my arms. You stop dreaming of running away and start dreaming about me and how our life will look because there’s no escaping me, Poison.”

She parts her lips, clearly intent on protesting. “The only time you get to run from me is if we’re playing and I’m chasing. If you try to leave me, I’ll drag you back here by your hair and then I’ll fuck you hard enough that you’ll beg me to stop. Eventually I hope you’ll beg me to go harder, faster, deeper, but when I take your virginity, I’d rather not hurt you more than I have to.”

She starts to protest again, so I pinch her nipple between my thumb and forefinger and squeeze. “No. This isn’t a negotiation. You are my wife, and this is your fucking life now. If you try to leave, I’ll know. If you get up in the night to take a piss, I’ll know. If you get out of bed, I’ll know. Your family is a fucking nightmare and I’m sorry that I treated you like you were one of them. But that doesn’t change the fact that you’re mine now. I’m not going to set you free, January. You’re a Jansen now and it’s time to start learning what that means.”

A single tear falls from her eye and pain lances through my chest at the sight of it. But I can’t back down or give her the hope that I’ll allow her to walk away because I won’t. She’s triggered something inside of me and I feel unhinged, like something snapped inside my mind and suddenly I understand everything Bastian did to own Starling. The things that felt reprehensible only a few weeks ago now suddenly seem justifiable. I still feel the weight of my guilt, but I feel like I can understand his actions and condone them in a way I couldn’t before January stepped into my orbit.

I didn’t doom her to my oppressive form of ownership; that was her parents, but January is the one who will have to live with that choice. I can’t change the path that led us to each other, but I can offer some retribution. The Burkes hurt what belongs to me, and I’m going to make them pay.

Bastian has always talked about caging Starling with his love and obsession, and it made me uncomfortable, but now I understand completely. The difference between Bastian and me is that I don’t need to cage January because even when she’s physically beyond my reach, I’m always watching. I can’t look away, and I don’t want to.

She tries to back away, but I curl my fingers through the back of her hair and hold her in place, forcing her to look up at me. “You’re attracted to me. Aren’t you?”

Her eyes snap closed, and she inhales sharply.

“There’s no point in denying it. Your body’s already betrayed you. I just want to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” she says shakily, forcing the word out like she hates her own honesty.

“Good girl,” I praise, loosening my hold and stroking my hand down the back of her head and around to cup her cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“I don’t want to want you,” she admits.

“That’s okay. I didn’t want to want you either, but I couldn’t stop it any more than I could stop the sun rising. I’ve been an asshole to you, but this is a fresh start. You’re mine and I’m yours, but I’m not going to fuck you tonight, or any night, until you beg me to.”

“I’ll never beg,” she says, pulling back her shoulders.

Lifting my other hand up, I cup both of her cheeks and gently tip her head back. “Yes, you will, Poison. You’ll beg for me to slide my dick into your hot, needy pussy. You’ll plead and squirm and pant for me. And then when you’re so desperate you’d say anything… do anything, I’ll fill your cunt with my cum until it’s dripping out of you. I’ll claim you from the inside out, and you know what…”

Her nostrils flare and I brace myself for her anger, but I speak again before she can react.

“You’ll fucking love it.”

I wish I could photograph this moment, the way her lips are parted, how dilated her pupils are and the way she’s panting in tiny rasping breaths. Instead, I take another mental picture and commit it to memory.

She wants this, but I understand why she’s fighting it. So instead of pushing her for more, I back down. “Let’s go to bed. In the morning, I’ll explain more about the scene downstairs tonight. Because this is your home, and these people are your family now too. You deserve to understand the minefield you just stepped into.”

Releasing her face, I reach down and take her hand, leading her into the bedroom.

“I need my pajamas.”

“No.” I chuckle.

“I need something to sleep in,” she protests.

“I sleep naked and now so do you.”

Her expression is scandalized, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my lips. “I can’t sleep naked,” she cries.

“You should get used to it. When we finally get a chance for a honeymoon, I might not let you take any clothes at all. You can be naked from the moment we step foot on the plane.”

“Clay, I can’t sleep naked.” Her voice is stronger this time and the words come out like more of a hiss.

Not bothering to argue, I grab the hem of her dress and pull it up and over her head. Shrieking, she lifts her hands to cover her breasts. “Why are you trying to hide from me? I saw it all earlier and you weren’t embarrassed then.”

“Things have changed,” she says, her cheeks pink.

“Nothing’s changed. You were my wife then, you’re my wife now. You were mine then and you’re still mine now. The only difference is that now we both know you’re going to sleep naked in my arms tonight.”

“I’m not a toy you can play with and then ignore when you lose interest, Clay.”

Despite her nakedness, she pulls back her shoulders and stares me down. Her full bottom lip quivering and I know it’s taking all her resolve to confront me. I fucking love it.

“You are a toy, Poison. My toy. But don’t worry, I don’t want to break you and I already know after just a few days that I’ll never get bored with you. I’m a lot of things, but I’m nothing like your dad or your brothers and I’ll never raise a hand to you in anger. I promise that when I hurt you, it’ll be because you beg me to.”

“No.” Shaking her head, she denies my words, but that’s okay. I’ve thrown an awful lot at her tonight, and I’ll allow her the night to acclimatize to her new normal. But tomorrow is a whole new world and I can’t fucking wait.

21

JANUARY

“G o use the bathroom,” he orders, pressing a quick kiss against my lips before stepping back and releasing me from the cage of his arms.

I feel so vulnerable in just a pair of panties, but I try not to show him how affected I am as I rush into the bathroom and close the door behind me. Grabbing the sink, I lean my weight onto it, gasping for air as everything that’s happened tonight hits me in a rush.

Dinner with my parents was exactly as I expected, but then he bought me food and took us to the beach. I feel like I have emotional whiplash. I don’t know which side of him is real. Is he the hate-filled man who greeted me at the altar? Or the enigmatic psycho who’s taunted me into playing life-altering games with him? Maybe he’s the sweet, caring man who looked after me this afternoon, who defended me to my parents and fed me dinner and ice cream. The worrying thing is that I’m not sure which version would be the most dangerous.

I’d resigned myself to a life of being ignored, then he dangled the chance of freedom under my nose, and I took it. I lost and now I have no idea how things will be tomorrow and which of my husband’s personalities I’ll be dealing with when I wake up in the morning.

Lifting my head, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is still pulled up and off my face. Earlier, I’d felt older, more mature. Now, I feel like an immature idiot wearing someone else’s life.

I don’t know what to do. Clay’s threats and touches are terrifying but also exhilarating too. Every time he kisses me, I like it more and more. I like the way I’m both scared and excited, but I don’t understand why I like it. Lust isn’t supposed to be scary; it’s supposed to be sweet and all-consuming and overwhelming. It’s supposed to be obvious and visible. Or at least that’s how it’s always been portrayed in movies.

Closing my eyes, I remember what he told me earlier.

“I’ve been watching you. It’s what I do. I watch and I learn. I know every move you make, every time you speak and what you say. I know everything.”

Just imagining him saying it makes goose bumps pebble across my skin. I’d think he was bullshitting if he hadn’t shown me the body cam footage of someone recording us as we sat in his car. His being a weird voyeuristic stalker shouldn’t be hot, but it is. If I had a shrink, I’m guessing they’d probably suggest that after being ignored and abused for most of my life, Clay’s need to watch me is appealing to me because even if his attention is toxic, it’s still attention. Good thing I don’t have a shrink then… right?

Although maybe a certain amount of surveillance and security is normal for this group. Whatever the argument between Starling and all the guys was really about, when Sebastian mentioned he had a security team following Sammy, no one seemed overly surprised. But then she made a comment about a tracker.

God, who are these people?

Squeezing my fingers around the edge of the basin a little tighter, I suck in a deep breath and hold it in my lungs until they burn. When I exhale, some of the trembling in my limbs calms and I feel my usual veneer shift back into place. It’s brittle, but I need it if I’m going to handle walking back into that bedroom in nothing but tiny panties.

For a second, I consider just sitting my butt on the floor and sleeping in here. If I thought he’d let me, I’d do it, but avoiding him hasn’t worked any other night and I doubt putting a door between us will stop him from putting me where he wants me.

Using the bathroom, I wash up and pull all the pins out of my hair until it tumbles over my shoulders in a tangled mess. My hairbrush and toothbrush are still in the box in the sitting room and as much as I wish I could stay in here long enough that Clay falls asleep, I know I can’t.

Steeling my resolve, I pull my hair forward to cover my breasts and right now, I have never been more grateful that Mother wouldn’t allow me to cut my hair. Scooping the pins from the counter, I squeeze them tightly in my hand, then open the door and step back into the room.

I expect Clay to be in bed, but he’s not. He’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, naked and completely unashamed. “You forgot your toothbrush.”

“I know, I was coming out to get it, but I can wait if you want to use the bathroom.”

“That’s okay, we can go together,” he says with a devilish smirk.

Before I have a chance to protest, he’s beside me, herding me back into the bathroom and handing me my toothbrush. His eyes sparkle as he stands behind me, staring at me through the mirror.

I reach for the tube of toothpaste, forgetting that my hand is still full of hairpins.

“What’s in your hand?” he asks sternly.

“The pins from my hair.”

“Put them on the counter.”

“I was just going to put them with my stuff.” I move to shuffle past him, but he braces his arm against the counter, stopping me.

“Your things go in here. In the morning, you’ll be unpacking properly and ordering more clothes. This is your home, it’s time it started looking like you live here.”

When I don’t react, he carefully peels my fingers open and takes the pins from my hand, dropping them onto the counter in a heap.

“Brush your teeth, Poison, then go and fetch your hairbrush and a hair tie.”

My body moves on autopilot as I brush my teeth, but I feel his presence behind me as he watches me and I flinch when he gathers my hair and pulls it over my shoulders, leaving me exposed once again.

“That’s better,” he purrs, his gaze dropping down to my visibly hard nipples, then back to my face.

Rinsing my toothbrush, I pause, unsure of what to do. Normally I’d take it back to my case, but as if he can read my thoughts, he takes it from me and drops it into the glass where his is sitting, unused.

“Go get your hairbrush and all your other toiletries.”

For the first time since he followed me in here, he steps back and allows me the room to leave, but instead of releasing my hair, he lets it run through his fingers until the ends fall from his fingertips.

The whooshing of water running calms me a little as I head back into the sitting room, retrieving my toiletries and hairbrush and slowly returning to the bathroom. I try not to watch as he brushes his teeth, then washes his face, but there’s something about the way he moves and the fact that he seems so comfortable in his own skin that I can’t stop staring.

“Give me your things,” he orders, reaching out his hand to take the small bag from me.

When I don’t immediately hand them over, he plucks everything out of my hands and starts to unpack them, not flinching when he pulls out the box of tampons and just pops them on a shelf without showing any discomfort.

My mind flashes back to the one and only time I ever mentioned needing sanitary products to my father. He’d told me I was disgusting and that if I wasn’t capable of providing my own supplies for those kinds of occasions, I’d have to manage without. I was twelve and it was my first period. Mother had been away at a charity function and the maid had found me in tears in the bathroom. She not only went and bought me supplies, but she also explained how to use them; it was the first kindness I’d received in a really long time. The entire staff knew how I was treated in that house and apart from the house manager, they all did their best to make my life as easy as possible, which included making sure there were always enough pads and tampons in my medicine cabinet from then on. The kindness of the staff is the only thing I miss about the house I grew up in.

It only takes him a moment to put all of my things alongside his. “Where’s the rest?”

“That’s it.”

“That can’t be it. You’re a woman. I’ve been in my mom’s bathroom, Dad had to have two showers, and two basins put in theirs because Mom has so many bottles of lotions and potions, my dad couldn’t stand sharing anymore.”

I shrug. “I have a few more things packed in my boxes, but not much.”

“Fuck me, Poison. Okay, we need to go shopping and I’ll arrange for your stuff to be collected too.” Grabbing the hairbrush and tie from where he put them on the counter, he takes my hand again and drags me back into the bedroom.

Sitting down on the bed, he motions to the space between his legs. “Come here.”

My eyes instinctively search for an escape route, but he’s already warned me what he’ll do if I try to run. It still takes me longer than I’d like to step forward until I’m only a few inches from him.

Reaching out, he reels me in, almost making me stumble until I end up in his lap. His naked, naked lap.

“Oh my god,” I shriek and try to jump up, but his hand bands around me, stopping me from moving.

“Stop it, I’m not trying to fuck you, I’m just going to brush your hair,” he scolds.

“You want to brush my hair?” I croak.

He doesn’t confirm it, he just starts to run the brush through my hair, carefully removing the snags and tangles until the brush glides through with ease. I expect him to tell me to get up, but instead he pulls my hair back and starts to braid it like I do every night before I go to bed.

“Your hair is long.”

“It is,” I say awkwardly.

“Is that your choice or your mom’s?”

“A little of both. Mother wouldn’t allow me to do anything more than trim it, but I like it too, so it’s okay.”

“I like it, but I’m always on board with anything that will piss off your mom, so if you change your mind and want to cut it all off, just let me know.”

A small smile spreads over my mouth. “Okay.”

When he finishes braiding, he twists a hair tie into the bottom and then straightens it down my spine, running his fingers over my skin as he does.

“These need to come off,” he whispers, curling a finger into either side of my underwear.

“I don’t...”

“You’re beautiful and you’re mine. I want you naked and you’re going to do as you’re told. Aren’t you, Poison?”

“I…”

My panties slide over my hips and down before I have a chance to even consider what I can say to keep the protection of my underwear.

“Perfect,” he says, bending us both forward as he pulls the panties off my feet, flinging them across the room.

Lifting me off his lap, he moves me across the mattress, placing me on the far side of the bed, facing the window. There’s a space between the bed and the wall, I can get out without climbing over him, but I still feel penned in and caged.

The light turns out, and Clay curls around me, his heavy arm draped over me, holding me in place. Shuffling to the edge of the bed, I try to put some space between us, but he just shuffles in closer, pushing his dick against my naked butt.

His penis is hard. Rock hard and pressed against me, the head parting my butt cheeks. “Clay. You’re…”

“My dick hasn’t gotten the memo that it’s not getting inside of you tonight. Just ignore it.”

I swallow back the urge to tell him that it’s impossible to ignore a hard dick poking you in the back, but I literally cannot get the words to come out of my mouth. Clay’s dick isn’t the first I’ve seen. I lived in a house with four men. But his is by far the biggest and the scariest because he wants to have sex with me, and I have no idea why.

My head is swimming with the shock of my husband’s personality transplant. I’m naked and in bed with him. I try to relax, but I can’t. I’m wide awake, without the veil of exhaustion to hide behind.

“Go to sleep, Little Snake.”

Holding my breath, I try to make myself relax or at least pretend like I’m sleeping, but after ten minutes, I know I’m failing miserably.

“For fuck’s sake,” he snaps, shoving his hand between my thighs and cupping my sex.

“What are you doing?” I shriek.

“I’m going to help you relax.”

“You touching me isn’t relaxing.”

His chuckle is low and rough. “I’m going to make you come, then you can sleep.”

“I don’t. No—”

“Shut up, Poison, and let me make you feel good.”

His fingers part my folds, moving slowly as he strokes up and down. A moan forces its way free, and I snap my lips together, trying to hold in the embarrassing noise.

“Moan all you want; I want to hear the way you sound when you come,” he rasps against my ear.

Probing fingers explore my folds, stroking and petting until he slides a single finger inside of me.

Gasping, I instinctively try to move away from the intrusion, but he keeps me in place and starts to move. Fucking me slowly with one finger, his hands seem to spread, and he finds my clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles until a long, wanton moan finally slips free.

“That’s it, Poison, your cunt is so fucking tight it’s sucking my finger in, and your clit is so swollen it’s begging to be touched. Your cunt is eager to be owned and when I shove my cock into you, you’ll already be trained to come just when and how I want.”

His words push me higher, the tone of his voice a gravelly embrace that seems to vibrate through my core and intensify the way his fingers are pushing me higher and higher. My body reacts and heat rushes through me, sweat beading on the back of my neck and heating my cheeks.

I’ve never been touched this way, never been spoken to this way. The tiny, inconsequential bursts of pleasure I’ve managed to give myself have never felt this intense and consuming. Heat pools low in my stomach, and tingles come to life like a swarm of butterflies, all taking flight and swooping back and forth inside of me. When I orgasm, it feels like my soul leaves my body and a blissful numbness washes through me, immediately followed by a smash of sensation that makes me jerk and tense at the same time. It lasts forever and no time at all, and when I settle fully back into my body, my limbs feel blissfully lax and relaxed.

“Fucking perfect. That was fucking perfect,” Clay whispers against my neck, pressing a soft kiss to my skin as he exhales.

For some reason, I expect him to pull away. To maybe go to the bathroom and wash his hands. But instead, he lifts his hand from between my thighs and brings his fingers to his lips, sucking my arousal from his skin.

“What are you doing?” I ask, scandalized.

“I’m tasting your pussy on my fingers. Fucking delicious,” he purrs.

“That’s… why would you do that?”

“Oh, Poison. I love how innocent you are.”

I open my lips to tell him I’m not innocent, but he pushes his hand back between my thighs and his finger slides back inside of me.

“Go to sleep, baby, before I decide I need a better taste of your virgin cunt.”

22

CLAY

I t takes a while, but eventually her body melts into the mattress and her breathing slows. My dick is rock hard and pressed between her ass cheeks, but unlike every other woman I’ve ever been in this situation with, January never asks me to move or tries to coax me into fucking her.

She really is as innocent as she seems, and I fucking love it. The scent of her pussy fills the room and it feels like I’ve been fighting the urge to roll her to her stomach, part her legs and fuck her for what seems like hours.

She might be practically emaciated, but she’s still beautiful. Her tits are small, her nipples perfect, tight, pink and begging to be bitten and sucked on. My dick kicks again and I release my tight hold on her, giving myself some space to push my hand between us to grip my shaft, slowly pumping up and down while making sure I don’t wake her.

Sighing, she rolls to her back, lifting one arm and throwing it over her head. Her leg lifts and she unconsciously puts herself on display for me, the wet folds of her sex practically calling me in the darkness.

Grabbing my cell, I click into the app that controls the blinds and tilt them open just enough that the light of the moon illuminates her, bathing her in a pale silvery glow. Slowly, I glide my finger over her sex, parting her wet folds farther and revealing her swollen clit and pink slit.

Squeezing my dick harder, I carefully push a single finger into her, feeling her muscles tighten around me. Her breath hitches and I freeze, not wanting her to wake up. I’ve never touched a woman while she sleeps before, but there’s something about owning January while she’s this vulnerable that drives me a little crazy.

It was the same when she was asleep from the sedative I gave her. Having this power over her is intoxicating. Jerking my dick faster, I push a second finger into her, gently stretching her tight hole as her arousal coats my hand. She’s turned on, even in her sleep and I wonder if she’s dreaming about me touching her.

My dick twitches and streams of white cum burst from the head, landing on my hand, stomach and her leg. I like the way she looks branded with my cum. The next time I do it, I’ll have her be awake, and then I’ll take a picture of her naked except for my seed.

Sated, I curl up beside her and fall asleep with one hand wrapped around my cock and the other cupping her pussy, two fingers buried deep inside of her.

The sound of my cell ringing pulls me from sleep and I go to move, only there’s a weight on my chest that stops me from sitting up. Blinking my eyes open, I find January’s hair tickling my nose. She’s lying entirely on top of me, her head resting against my chest, her stomach pressed against mine.

A smile spreads over my face and I curl my arm around her back, keeping her in place as I reach my cell from the bedside cabinet and blink at the screen. It’s my dad, but before I can press to accept the call, it ends.

January stirs and I look down at her, waiting for her expressive eyes to open. Instead of looking up, she jolts awake, sitting up and almost kneeing me in the balls in her rush to move.

“Whoa, calm down.” I laugh, grabbing her arm and steadying her.

“You’ve been watching me,” she announces. Her eyes are wild, bouncing around the room as she searches the bedroom like she’ll find the answer to a question she hasn’t asked yet.

“You were asleep on top of me. Pretty difficult for me not to watch you.” I chuckle.

“No. Last night you said that you knew every move I’ve made, every time I’ve spoken to someone and everything I said. You said you knew everything.” Her voice rises with each word until she’s just shy of shouting.

“So,” I say nonchalantly, lifting my arms and crossing them behind my head.

“So,” she shouts. “Let’s play a game, January. If you win, I’ll let you sign up for a foreign study program,” she says gruffly, trying to imitate my voice. “But I was never going to win, was I? I could have hidden anywhere, and you’d still have found me because you never lost me. You knew where I was the whole time because you were following me.”

“I wasn’t following you.”

“Fine, then you had someone else following me,” she snaps.

“Yes, I did,” I confess. “But they didn’t help me find you either.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have no reason to lie.”

“You cheated,” she shrieks.

“No I didn’t. You never specified what means I could use to find you.”

“If I’d have known you had someone following me, I’d have been more specific,” she says sarcastically.

“I won, Poison. I tracked you down and found you. I didn’t cheat, and I didn’t use your security team to find you. I didn’t break any of the rules of our game. You agreed to the stakes, knowing that there was a fifty-fifty chance that I’d find you, and I did.” I suppose technically I cheated, but fuck technicalities. I won, and she’s my fucking prize.

“You cheated.”

“If I used your security team to track you, how did I find you in the woods yesterday? I think you’d have noticed a team of fucking guards stomping through the trees, don’t you?”

Her shoulders slump, the wind gone from her sails at my words. Eventually I’ll tell her the truth about the cameras, the tracker, everything, but not today, not until she’s indisputably mine.

“Now, if you’ve finished with your temper tantrum, I’d like you to come back down here where you were before you started accusing me of cheating.”

“I was on top of you,” she says sullenly.

“I know, I liked it.”

“You liked me flopped on top of you like a dead fish?”

“Do I like my naked wife sprawled all over me? Stupid fucking question, Poison. Yes, I do, so get back here.”

“No.” Yanking her arm free, she jumps from the bed, then remembering her nakedness, looks down at her body.

I know I should look away and give her some privacy, but I don’t. I watch unabashed as she darts across the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her with a decisive thunk.

Should I get dressed and give her some privacy? Absolutely. Am I going to? Absolutely not. I enjoy the sight of her embarrassment too much. But more than that, I want her to see how much I want her, how hard my dick gets for her.

After a moment, the door cracks open and January appears, hidden from my view by her robe. I fucking hate that thing. I should have had Bastian take it when he took the couch. “Come here, Poison.”

Her cheeks flush pink and I can’t help the grin that stretches my lips. “I still think you cheated, so I don’t think I should have to honor my side of the bet.”

“January, we both know there wasn’t anyone else out in the woods yesterday. I didn’t cheat. You hid, and I found you. You agreed to the stakes, and you don’t get to welch just because you’re not happy with the outcome. Now I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not in my lap by the time I finish, then I’ll tie you to this fucking bed and keep you there until you understand that. You. Are. Mine. I won you fair and fucking square.” I stare at her angrily. “One.” Her nostrils flare and her gaze darts to the doorway, then back to me. “Two.” Her teeth scrape over her bottom lip and her fingers fidget with the sleeves of her robe. “If you make me chase you down, Poison, I promise you, you won’t like it.”

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, I said I wouldn’t raise a hand to you in anger and I won’t, no matter how much you piss me off. But there’s more than one way to make someone hurt. I’ll pin your arms above your head and strap your legs spread wide and then I’ll push you to the edge of an orgasm over and over again, never letting you fall off the edge, and it’ll hurt, Poison, it’ll feel like you’ll die if I don’t let you come and I won’t, not even when you beg and plead.”

Her eyes widen and a shiver runs through her. I don’t want her to fear me, but she needs to understand I won’t let her leave me. She’s not in charge here, I am, and I’m more than willing to make her hate me until she understands.

“Last chance, Poison.”

As I open my mouth to speak, she rushes forward, diving onto the bed and into my lap a second later.

“Good girl,” I praise, curling my palm around her throat and stroking my thumb along her jaw. “I don’t like arguing with you, wife. Now do you think I cheated by using your security team to follow you yesterday?”

Sighing, she drops her gaze to something over my shoulder. Squeezing her chin gently, I demand her attention, waiting until she’s looking at me. “Answer me. Do you think I used your security team to hunt you in the woods yesterday?”

“No,” she says reluctantly.

“Later, I’ll show you how to say sorry properly, but for now, I’ll accept a kiss.”

Slowly, she leans forward and presses her lips to mine, immediately trying to pull away the moment they touch. Palming the back of her head with my free hand, I hold her in place and kiss her properly. It only takes her a moment to kiss me back and then her lips part as she welcomes my tongue, a soft groan escaping her as she tentatively slides her fingers over my chest.

I don’t stop kissing her until she’s melted into me, her thighs straddling mine, her wet cunt grinding against the head of my hard cock. If I don’t stop now, I’m going to end up pushing inside of her, so reluctantly I pull back, settling her back down onto my chest, just how she was when I woke up this morning.

“Am I in danger?” she asks. She’d been silent for so long I’d thought she’d gone back to sleep.

“From me? I told you I’d never hurt you like that. I’d never hit a fucking woman and certainly not my wife.”

“No. I just mean in general, is that why you have a security team following me? Do you all have security?”

“Starling has security and now so do you, but the rest of us don’t. Unless Bastian put a team on Sammy full-time a not just for her date,” I tell her.

“So…” she trails off as if she’s waiting for me to fill in the gaps.

“You have a team of security so I know where you are at all times.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know.” I chuckle. “And for some reason, I find your confusion incredibly endearing.”

Sighing, she sits up and rubs wearily at her temples with her thumbs. When she looks at me, her eyes are earnest. “Until I overheard you and Starling talking, I had no idea my family had blackmailed yours into agreeing to the marriage contract. But now that it seems like you don’t think I’m quite as bad as you thought I was, and you agree I’m not evil like my family, why would I need security? The only time I’ve left campus is with you.”

“Because I need to know every move you make. I need to know if you speak to someone or if they speak to you. I want to know which way you walk and how many people look at your ass. I want to be in control and to do that, I need to know everything,” I confess, without even an ounce of remorse for the shackles I’m putting on her because of my control issues.

Pulling her shoulders back, she lifts her chin austerely and locks her gaze with mine. “If I’ve proved that I’m not like my family, why am I still under suspicion? Why do you need to have someone follow me? What exactly do you think I’m going to do?”

“It’s not about me thinking you’re going to do something wrong. I Just like to watch you,” I admit.

“Watch what?” she asks, her brow wrinkling as she loses some of her confidence and wraps her arms around herself.

“Everything. I like seeing you when you don’t know anyone is looking. Apparently, with you, I have control issues and if I don’t know where you are, who you’re with and what you’re doing, I start to lose my mind.”

“But why?” she asks again as if she really just doesn’t get it.

“I like to watch you because you’re mine.” Lifting my head, I capture her lips and kiss her roughly, forcing my tongue into her mouth as I loosen the tie on her robe and run my hand over her hip and around until I’m squeezing her ass tightly in my palm.

Her body instantly reacts to my touch. Her nipples pebble as I lift her leg higher, hooking it over my hip so I can grind my leg against her pussy, letting her coat my thigh in her arousal.

“I can feel how wet you are, Poison. How much you want me. Did you like coming on my fingers last night?”

She doesn’t answer, but her lips part and a silent moan vibrates through her body.

“My dick was so hard after you fell asleep, and I couldn’t help it, I had to touch myself.”

More arousal leaks onto my thigh and I roll her to her back and drag her to the edge of the bed. Sinking to the floor, I bury my nose against her cunt and breathe in her sweet scent. Parting her folds with my fingers, I stroke my tongue up and down her slit and lick up all of her cream. “While I was stroking my cock, you rolled over and spread your legs for me, begging me in your sleep to touch you again. I couldn’t resist, wife; I pushed my finger back into your leaking cunt and finger fucked you.”

I slide my finger into her, and she clamps down, soaking my hand, her cunt vibrating and already close to release. “You like that, don’t you, Poison? You like the idea of me touching you while you’re asleep.”

Her muscles clamp down on me again and she sighs sexily, her hands balling into fists at her sides.

“Fuck, January, maybe next time, once you’re fully mine, I’ll wait till you’re asleep, sated and exhausted from taking my dick and I’ll fuck you again when you’re wet and slick with my cum.”

Slowly fucking her, I slide a second finger into her cunt, scissoring slightly to stretch her tight hole, working her clit in slow circles with my thumb. “Would you like that, wife? To be fucked to exhaustion, then violated while you’re asleep. Once I’m done and my balls are tight, I’ll pull out and come all over your tits, painting you with my release until you’re coated in me.”

Her orgasm hits and she tries to jerk her legs together, but I hold her, wrapping my arms around her thighs and keeping her still while I pump my fingers in and out, fucking her through her orgasm. When she’s done and her eyes flutter open, I look up at her, waiting until she’s watching me to run my tongue unapologetically through her folds.

Standing up, I crawl over her prone body and grab her face in my hands, pushing the fingers that were just inside of her into her mouth and rubbing her wetness all over her tongue, forcing her to taste herself.

“You’re mine, January. My wife, my Poison, mine. And it turns out I’m fucking crazy when it comes to you. Everything in your life is about to change and I’m not even slightly sorry about it.”

23

JANUARY

H is fingers are in my mouth, gagging me as he presses down against my tongue, stopping me from speaking. Although I have no idea what I’d say even if I could.

I feel like Alice after she landed at the bottom of the rabbit hole and everything looked the same but was completely turned on its head.

A part of me still thinks that he cheated, that he stacked the deck in his favor. But he’s right, there’s no way he could have had a team of security following me through the woods, I’d have seen them. All week his moods have blown hot and cold, but since he chased me, it’s been all hot, all the time and even while I try to fight my body’s reaction to him, I know I’m losing.

People always say that love and hate go hand in hand, but I disagree. For Clay and me it’s hate and lust. We’re not two people falling in love, we’re enemies who want to sate their hatred on each other’s bodies. Or at least that’s what I thought. Now I honestly have no clue.

My sex is pulsing between my thighs and my legs are trembling from the intensity of the orgasm he just gave me. I’ve touched myself before, but the orgasms my own fingers produced never felt like the ones he gave me last night and this morning.

A part of me feels like I should be rejecting his touch, but it’s hard to deny I want him when I’ve been attracted to him since the moment I first saw him. My husband is a truly beautiful man and as nervous and uncomfortable as I feel about being naked around him, seeing him in just his skin is a sight to behold.

His fingers are slowly thrusting in and out of my mouth, keeping my tongue pinned down as he pushes in farther until I gag. Smiling, he pulls them out again, letting a line of saliva drip from his fingers once they’re free of my lips.

All of a sudden, I become aware of the head of his cock grinding slowly against my stomach. I try not to, but my gaze dips down and I stare at it. I don’t have anything real to compare him to—I have no interest in remembering what my brothers’ dicks looked like when I had the misfortune of seeing them—but Clay’s cock is thick and long and terrifying. The head is red and dripping pearly-colored liquid and there’s a thatch of neat blond pubic hairs at the base.

“You can touch,” Clay teases.

“I...” My fingers reach out but then curl back into fists.

“How about you taste instead? On your knees, wife, it’s time to learn how to suck your husband’s cock.”

Rolling off me, he pulls me upright, swinging up and around, then lowering me till I’m standing. Twisting with me, he sits on the edge of the bed, his feet on the floor. I flash a look at him, wondering if I’ll see as much lust reflected back in his golden eyes as I feel. His gaze is nothing but need and desire. Reaching out, he cups my cheeks, then slides his palms down to my shoulders and pushes. Fear mixes with anticipation as I sink to the floor, taking the hand he offers me to help me balance until I’m kneeling at his feet, his hard cock bobbing in front of my face.

“Open your mouth,” he orders, his voice raspy.

Licking my lips, I slowly open my mouth, unsure if he’s going to shove his dick between my lips or expect me to make the first move. Instead of either, he pushes two fingers into my mouth again, slowly thrusting them in and out. “Curl your tongue around. Yeah, just like that,” he says, as he teaches me how to please him. After a few minutes, he pushes them as far into my mouth as he can reach and holds them there, not stopping when I gag and try to pull back.

“No. Breathe through your nose. Good girl, you’re going to swallow my dick so well, but you need to practice.”

His praise does something to me and my core heats up as I do as he says, trying to breathe through my nose until he slowly pulls his fingers free. Grabbing his cock, he coats it in my saliva; then he fists my hair with one hand and guides his length into my mouth.

“That’s it, Poison, take my cock,” he growls.

His dick is a lot bigger than his fingers, but I do my best to mimic the things he told me, licking, sucking and caressing him with my tongue while he guides my head, fucking my mouth.

“So good. You’re fucking perfect. I’m so close. I’m going to come down your throat, Poison, and you’re going to swallow it all. I don’t want you to waste any. But the next time your mouth is full of my dick, I’m going to come on your face and your tits. I’m going to coat you in my cum.”

His dick swells, getting even bigger as his thrusts get choppy and his hold on my hair tightens until he comes, filling my mouth with the salty liquid. The taste is disgusting, but with his dick still filling my mouth, my only option is to swallow.

Shuddering, his movements slow as he gently pumps his dick in and out until he pulls out completely and his dick flops from my lips. “Fuck, that was so fucking good. Your mouth. Fuck.”

His fingers relax in my hair, then tighten again as he tilts my head back until I’m looking up at him from my position on the floor. “Thank you, baby.”

Baby. The sweet endearment, instead of his usual insults, surprises me. I like it. I like the softness in his eyes too.

“Come here,” he says, untangling his fingers from my hair to pull me to my feet, setting me down on his lap like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

“I need a shower,” I protest weakly.

“Later, I need to explain the rules to you.”

“Rules?”

“You know them already, but I want to make sure you understand. You’re naked in our bed every night. You have your cell on you at all times, and if I call or text you reply straight away, no excuses. I’ll know if you ignore me and there’ll be consequences. Third rule. You eat. Three meals a day and snacks.”

“I eat,” I argue.

“Not enough. So now you eat when I tell you. Fourth rule, you don’t leave campus without me and finally, you don’t have any contact with your fuckwit family. It’s my responsibility to take care of you and they’re my problem to deal with now.”

“I’m eighteen, Clay, I don’t need rules and I can take care of myself.”

“You’re a mouse in snakeskin and you have no fucking clue how to take care of yourself.” He laughs. “But that’s okay because it’s my job now, even if sometimes you hate me for how good I am at it. I’ve been an asshole to you, but it turns out you’ve made me into a psycho with control issues, so I’m sure at times you’ll wish all I did was hate you. But you’ll still follow my rules because you don’t have another option.”

“If I follow your rules, will you get rid of the security team? I really don’t see why I need them on campus.”

“No.” He laughs again. “But you won’t know they’re watching. Ask Starling, hers have been with her for years and she’s never seen them.”

“And she doesn’t mind?” I ask, curious about everything that was alluded to last night.

Exhaling, Clay explains everything, telling me about how Sebastian and Starling got together, how she left, all the cruel things they did to her and how she ended up here.

I hold my breath while he speaks, shocked by his honesty and the things he’s telling me. “You ruined her life,” I whisper, appalled.

“Yes, we did.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s Bastian’s, and he’s hers, and he can’t live in a world where she isn’t with him.”

“Is she here because she wants to be or because he won’t let her leave?” I ask cautiously, unsure what I’ll do if he tells me she’s essentially a prisoner.

“A bit of both,” Clay admits. “She loves him though, that’s all real. If she really wanted to run, one of us would help her. Especially Evan. It’s hard for him that she still harbors a lot of hate for us all.”

“Are you like Sebastian?” I ask cautiously.

“If you’d have asked me that a few weeks ago, I’d have told you no. But then I met you. Now I’d say he and I are a lot more alike than I thought.”

“And if I run?”

“I’d stop you before you got to the edge of campus, then I’d make this life a prison with no option of release.”

He’s so calm. So completely honest as he’s confessing to all the awful things he did to the sweet girl who lives upstairs and alluding to how he’d do the same to me.

“But you’re not going to run, are you, Poison?”

“No,” I say, my voice shaking a little, fear crawling along my nerve endings and warning me from the inside out that trying to escape this man I’m tied to would be a mistake.

“Good girl. You’re going to follow my rules and we’re going to be so fucking happy, Poison. I’m going to worship you while I own you, and together, we’re going to ruin your family for ever having the audacity to hurt you.”

When he finally lets me up, I rush into the bathroom. My hands are trembling, and my reflection shows the shock and fear coursing through me. Hanging my robe on the hook on the back of the door, I reach into the shower and turn on the water, stepping under the stream the moment it’s hot enough.

My muscles feel heavy, and I’m tired, but my mind is spinning so fast I can’t really process everything that’s happened in the last day. If this is my new normal, I get the feeling I’m going to need to get more sleep to keep up with all the whiplash Clay is giving me.

“You want some company?”

“Oh my god,” I scream, spinning around to find Clay sitting on the counter watching me. “Get out, I’m in the shower.”

“So?”

“So, I’d like some privacy.”

“No.” He smirks.

“What?”

“No. I want to watch. New rule, I get to sit and watch you shower, I can even join you if I want to.”

“No. The bathroom is out of bounds,” I gasp, scandalized.

His scoff is dry and full of barely restrained amusement. “You don’t set the rules, Poison. I do.”

Grabbing my shampoo, I wash my hair as fast as I can, not bothering with conditioner, before I turn off the water and grab a towel.

“You haven’t finished.”

“I have, I’m done. The bathroom is all yours,” I say in a rush.

“You didn’t condition your hair. Get back in.”

“I’m fine.”

“Poison, get back in the shower and finish your hair properly. Now.”

Ignoring him, I give him my back as I dry myself off, squeezing the worst of the water from my hair. Turning to the door, I find Clay right behind me, still naked and unashamed as he works his hard dick with his hand.

“On your knees, Poison.”

I shake my head.

“On your knees. Now.”

The feral look in his eyes has me slowly sinking to my knees, the tiles cold and painful beneath me.

“Open your mouth.”

Parting my lips, I expect him to give me his dick again, but instead he holds me in place with his hand on the back of my head and jerks himself, his hand moving up and down in firm, practiced movements.

My fingers tingle, urging me to reach for him, but the moment I lift my hands, he growls. “Don’t move. Keep your mouth open.”

Frozen, I stay in place, my lips parted, my muscles tense, as he works his cock until a pained groan falls from his lips and cum bursts from the tip. The first spurt hits my mouth, but then he yanks down my head and his release coats my cheek, forehead and my hair.

Pulling my head back, he grins down at me, squeezing my cheeks and shoving his dick between my lips, pumping in and out, once, then twice, before he releases me and takes a step back. “Get back in the shower and wash your hair properly. I’ll watch.”

Instead of helping me up, he hoists himself onto the counter and smirks while I clamber to my feet, turn on the water and wash his cum from my skin, shampooing and conditioning my hair while his hungry eyes follow my every move.

24

CLAY

W hen she steps out of the shower for the second time, I grab a clean towel and wrap her in it, ignoring the way she flinches when I press my lips to hers, kissing her roughly. “Good girl,” I praise, loosening my arms from around her and stepping away to take my own shower.

I can barely take my eyes off her as she spends a long moment staring at herself in the mirror and drying her hair with a towel. I’m washed and stepping back out before she reaches for her robe. Grabbing my own towel, I wrap it around my waist and wait as she hides herself from me again, securing the belt on the robe like it will stop me from getting to her. It won’t.

Following her out of the bathroom, I step around her and retrieve her box of clothes from the sitting room, carrying it back into the bedroom and placing it down on the bed. Rooting through the box, I pull out the tiny denim shorts that drive me crazy and a pretty white flowy top, handing them to her. “Here.”

“I can pick my own clothes.”

“I know. But these shorts drive me fucking crazy and I want to watch you prance around in them today. You can pick a different shirt if you want, but the shorts have to stay.”

Handing her some underwear, I take the rest of the clothes to my closet and put them away, hanging the dresses beside my shirts on the rail and putting the rest of the stuff into the dresser that I emptied for her.

When all her things are put away, it’s clear to see she really, really needs more clothes. How did I ever think she was some pampered princess who couldn’t live without her stuff? She’s proved she’s the complete opposite, which only makes me want to spoil her and give her all the things she could ever need.

Grabbing a shirt and track pants, I dress quickly, then wait for January to get ready, enjoying the sway of her ass as it plays peekaboo from the bottom of her shorts. “You ready? Let’s go and get breakfast.”

She parts her lips, and I can already anticipate her argument.

“Rule three, you eat when I tell you to, remember?” I tell her, my eyes warning her not to argue.

She rolls her eyes when she thinks I can’t see, and I chuckle as I take her hand and tow her out of our room, down the stairs and into the kitchen. As expected, Hunter is at the stove, cooking something that smells delicious and Sammy is at the table, eating a bowl of fruit while noodling on her cell phone.

“Morning,” I say as I pull January by the hand into the room.

“Morning,” Hunter says, turning away from the stove and eyeing us cautiously.

“Good morning,” Sammy singsongs brightly. “How was your dinner?”

“Enlightening,” I say, pulling out a chair for January before I head for the refrigerator and pour us each a glass of juice. “Anyone else want juice?” Both Hunter and Sammy mumble no’s and I put the bottle away, carrying the glasses across the room and placing them on the table.

“Your timing is impeccable, I’m experimenting with vegetarian sausage,” Hunter announces, dishing up food onto four plates. “Most of the ones I bought are fucking disgusting, but I found this vegan deli that makes their own sausage on-site and it’s amazing.”

“I’ll grab silverware and napkins,” I announce while Hunter carries all four plates at once like a waiter.

He places one in front of each of us with a flourish. “Sausage, eggs, and hash browns.”

“Thank you,” January says politely.

I expect to have to prompt her to eat, but instead she takes a bite of the sausage and moans appreciatively. “Oh my god, this is amazing,” she gushes.

“Right. I’d almost given up the search for anything veggie that didn’t taste like cardboard, but then I found these. I’ll have to take you down to the store so you can see if there’s anything else you like. I’m not used to cooking for a vegetarian, the rest of us are carnivores through and through.” Hunter smiles.

“Please don’t go to any trouble for me. I’m used to just picking around the meat. My parents didn’t really embrace my vegetarianism.”

“Your parents are assholes,” I say, taking a bite of the meat-free sausage skeptically. Surprisingly it tastes good, and I take a second bite, turning to January, intent on prompting her to eat. But her plate is already half-empty and she’s humming happily as she chews.

“How was the date?” I ask Sammy.

“Boring.” She wrinkles her nose. “But did you hear? Sebastian got me my own set of badass ninja bodyguards. I knew he secretly liked me.”

“You actually want to be followed around by bodyguards?” January asks, her voice low and soft.

“Hell yes. But I’m not going to let them hide in the shadows. I’m going to spot mine and then make them into my very own reverse harem,” Sammy says with a giggle.

“What’s a reverse harem?” January asks.

“It’s a permanent gang bang with one woman and multiple men.” Sammy laughs, wiggling her eyebrows excitedly.

“Don’t let Evan hear you talking about that shit, he’ll lose his mind and finally claim you,” I warn, pointing my fork at her.

Rolling her eyes, she ignores me, looking down at her cell when it beeps. “Oh, Sebastian must be in the doghouse. Starling wants to go to a party tonight.”

“They had words last night. Her dad is still refusing to come to the wedding and Starling is refusing to get married without him,” I tell her.

“I mean, I get where her dad’s coming from. If I had a kid, I probably wouldn’t be happy about her marrying a psycho like him.”

January is silent beside me at the table and when I glance her way, she’s pointedly staring down at her plate, like if she tries hard enough, she can ensure she’s not involved in the conversation. “What do you think, Poison? Is Bastian a psycho?”

“It’s none of my business,” she says diplomatically.

“It is your business. This is your home and Sebastian is my brother, he’s always going to be a part of your life. Do you think he’s psychotic?” All eyes in the room are on her now and she visibly bristles with discomfort.

Lifting her chin, she fixes her gaze on me. “I think you all seem crazy.”

My smile is instantaneous and a low chuckle bursts from my chest. Hunter’s gravelly laughter comes from beside me and Sammy smirks as she giggles.

“What’s so funny?” Bastian asks as he and Starling walk into the room.

“January thinks we’re all unhinged,” I tell him with a smirk.

“Women do that to us.” He shrugs.

“I am not the reason why you’re crazy,” Starling snaps, glaring angrily at my brother.

“I lost my mind the first time I saw you,” he tells her, grabbing her by the back of her neck and dragging her into him for an intense kiss.

“God, his crazy is kind of hot though,” Sammy declares loudly.

Some of the anger has faded from Starling’s face when Bastian finally lets her go, lifting her hand and kissing the enormous engagement ring on her finger. “I love you, be good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“Maine.”

“What?” Her eyes go wide and her mouth falls open.

“You said you won’t get married without him, and not getting married isn’t an option, so I’m going to Maine to try and convince your dad I’m not as evil as he thinks I am.”

Tears well in her eyes and she throws herself at Bastian.

“Anyone up for a road trip to go pick up the rest of January’s stuff on Wednesday? We can skip class.” I ask.

“What?” January gasps.

“We can grab lunch, then we can hit the mall. January needs more clothes and things.”

“Oh yes, count me in,” Sammy says. “Any excuse to shop sounds like a good day to me.”

“Can I take your car?” Starling asks Bastian coyly, batting her lashes at him.

“Not a chance, Little Bird. If I’m not back by then you can ride with Sammy or one of the guys, you’ll probably need to take three cars anyway.”

Starling pouts, but Bastian leans in and whispers something in her ear that silences her and has heat staining her cheeks.

“I…” January starts. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“It’ll be fine, Poison. I’m sure your parents will be excited to see you.” I’m being an asshole. We both know her parents won’t care, but I want to see the house in the light of day. I want to see how the Burkes live and catch them off guard in their own space.

Bastian drags Starling out of the room to say a proper goodbye and January gets up to clear the plates.

“I can get those,” Hunter says.

“You cooked. I don’t mind cleaning up. But I’d appreciate it if someone showed me how to work the dishwasher.”

“I’ll help,” Sammy says, grabbing the empty glasses and following January to the other side of the room.

“You guys get things worked out?” Hunter asks me quietly.

“Pretty much. She knows she’s mine and that I don’t plan on letting her go. Last night was a clusterfuck. Her family are fucking ruthless assholes and they acted like she wasn’t even at the table during dinner. Her bitch of a mother even suggested Poison was fat and needed to watch what she ate.”

“The fuck?” Hunter snarls.

“Cliff never uttered a word to her the whole night and her brothers spent the whole time boasting about the girls they’ve fucked and fucked over at school while their parents sat there applauding them for being complete and utter dicks.”

“So why the fuck are we going to get her stuff? Why not just call a moving service and have them collect it?”

“Because I want her parents to see us all together and know that she’s not alone anymore. I want them to see her wearing the clothes I bought, looking hot as fuck sitting beside me in my car and backed up by my family. They need to know that she’s not their fucking victim anymore and this is the first fucking step.”

Hunter is usually the most placid out of all of us. He’s tall and built, so to make up for his intimidating size, he’s softly spoken and rarely raises his voice. “We’re going to make them suffer for how they’ve treated her, right?” he asks, fury lacing each word.

“Hell fucking right we are.”

Letting her go to class on Monday is harder than it should be. I haven’t let her out of my sight all weekend, so you’d think I’d be ready for some alone time, but watching her leave the house freaks me the fuck out. I have class, but I don’t bother to attend, obsessively stalking her through my screens instead. By the time her first class is done, I’m itching to speak to her, so I pull out my cell and type out a text.

Me: I think I might need to instigate a new rule.

Like the little psycho that I am, I watch my screen with bated breath as she pulls her cell out when it beeps and reads my message, her brow furrowing.

Poison: I think the newest rule should be that as an adult, I don’t require rules.

There’s a hint of sass in her reply and I can’t help it, I smile.

Me: I disagree. I think you need more rules, like you coming home between each class so I can eat your pretty little pussy.

The look of shock on her face as she reads my message is adorable. As is the heat that fills her cheeks.

Me: I love making you blush.

Almost immediately, her head swings around, searching for me, and I smile even wider.

Tapping at the screen of her cell, she looks around her like she’s paranoid I’m going to jump out of the bushes or something.

Poison: How do you know I’m blushing?

Rewinding the footage a moment, I screenshot her shocked expression and pink cheeks and send it over to her.

Me: **Picture**

Me: I told you there isn’t a single thing you do all day that I don’t know about.

A hint of annoyance creeps into her expression as she looks at the picture and reads my message, but she blanks her features a second later. I hate that she censors herself. I want to see her emotions, all of them both bad and good. I want her joy and happiness, her anger and frustration too. I want it all in whatever way it comes, even if it’s directed at me. I’ll take anything she has to give me.

The cell is still in her hand, but she’s not typing. She’s just holding it like she doesn’t know how to respond. My own anger surges to the surface as she pushes her cell into the pocket of the jeans she’s wearing and starts to walk.

She has a class that starts in ten minutes, but we have a fucking deal. I text, she replies, and this is the second time she hasn’t followed that rule. Her security continues to follow her at a distance, but close enough that I can watch as she glances behind her and from side to side every couple of minutes, like she’s trying to spot who’s watching her. She won’t see them, but she doesn’t know that.

Unlike what Sammy thinks, the girls’ security isn’t dressed in black or leaping around like ninjas. They’re dressed like normal college students and trained to blend into the background. They just happen to be wearing body cams and sitting in on all her classes.

I watch as she pushes into the building her next class is in and makes her way up the stairs to her classroom, taking a seat at the back, in the corner like she does every time. The room is slowly filling with people, but I still have a clear line of sight to her as she pulls her laptop out of her backpack and opens it, placing it on the desk in front of her. She still hasn’t replied, so I text her again.

Me: I text. You reply. I’m waiting.

She stiffens when her cell buzzes, but she doesn’t even take it out of her pocket and read what I’ve sent. Pissed, I glance at my watch. Her class is an hour long, then she has a break for lunch and one more class later on this afternoon. Apparently, the lesson I gave her yesterday in the bathroom wasn’t enough and my Poison needs another example of what happens when she breaks my rules.

25

JANUARY

M y skin prickles with the feeling of eyes on me and I glance around me for the hundredth time since Clay sent me the picture of me reading the text he sent.

He told me he had security following me. He told me he saw everything. But until that picture appeared on my cell, I hadn’t realized that he literally meant he saw everything. Now I feel violated. His watching me at home when we’re in the same room is a little weird, but it’s kind of sexy at the same time. Having a stranger trail my every step is creepy.

My cell has buzzed a couple of times, but I haven’t taken it out of my pocket, needing some time to process all of this. Class passes in a blur and I’m grateful that I haven’t been here long enough for the professor to call on me regularly because I haven’t listened to a word he’s said this whole time.

When the people around me all get up and start packing away their stuff, I’m shocked to find an hour has already passed without me being aware. Prompted by the people descending the stairs to the door, I close my laptop and shove it back into my backpack. As I wait for my row to clear, I contemplate how much drama it would cause if I decided not to go back to the house for lunch today.

The last couple of days, I’ve gotten on one of the large shuttle carts that commute back and forth to the dorms for the students who don’t have carts of their own. But today, all I want to do is hide, unseen. If that’s even an option anymore.

Exiting the classroom, I make my way to the main doors, following the herd of students all moving in the same direction. I only feel more exposed as I step out into the warm sunshine, and I glance nervously around, trying to figure out who is watching.

“Poison.”

Jumping, I lurch to the side, flinching instinctively when a hand grips my upper arm.

“It’s just me,” Clay says, pulling me forward, his firm grip guiding me to him until I’m pressed against his chest.

“What are you doing?” I gasp.

“I thought I’d meet my wife for lunch,” he says smoothly, like it’s something he’s done a thousand times before.

“Why?”

Leaning into me, he whispers, “You broke a rule, Sweet Venom. I text. You reply. Remember?”

“I was in class,” I say weakly.

“Would you like to see the footage of you reading the message I sent you, then ignoring it and putting your cell back in your pocket?”

I shake my head.

“You broke a rule,” he tells me again.

“I’m sorry. I’ll reply next time.”

Cupping my cheek sweetly, he nods. “I know you will. Let’s go.”

Releasing his tight hold on me, he links his fingers with mine and tows me over to the curb where our cart is waiting. I want to tell him I planned to eat in the cafeteria today, but I’m not fooled by the gleam in his eyes. He came all the way here to let me know he knows I didn’t reply to him and then ignored his other message. He’s planning something, I just don’t know what it is.

I know I should be wary, frightened even. But I’m not. My skin is prickling with fearful excitement and has been since the moment he pulled me to his chest and whispered in my ear.

Following him to the cart, I climb in and neither of us speaks as we make our way back to the house. He opens the door and I expect him to make a beeline for the kitchen, like normal, but instead he heads for the stairs, turning to look at me as I pause.

“Let’s go, Poison.”

Each step feels terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. Last night he promised to fuck me if I tried to run in the middle of the night and right now, him pinning me to a wall and helping me burn off some of this all-consuming lust doesn’t feel like it would be such a bad idea.

There’s no longer any point denying that I want my husband. Since he asked permission to open my robe and look at me, my body has been on fire for him and all his familiar touches and enticing threats. The orgasms he’s given me have woken the beast inside of me and even though I think he might well be crazy, I still want him to make me come again and again until I splinter into a thousand pieces.

Getting to Clay’s room seems to take forever, and when we step onto the landing, he stops and turns, taking my hand in his again before he steps into his room, towing me along behind him. The sound of the door closing and locking pulses through my bloodstream and it feels like my heart is jumping out of my chest with every beat.

“Why didn’t you reply to me, Poison?” he asks, dropping my hand and spinning around to face me.

“I-I,” I stutter.

“Is it because you wanted to piss me off? Or was it because you were angry that I reminded you that I see every step you take? Did you ignore me because you broke the rules? Or was it because you were embarrassed?”

“I—”

He speaks again before I get a chance to figure out what I was going to say. “I think you didn’t reply because you know I saw the look on your face when you thought about me eating your wet little pussy. I think you were excited and horny for your husband, and you didn’t want to admit it.”

“I—”

“If you’d been a good little snake, I was going to feed you lunch and then eat you for dessert. But you broke one of my rules, so instead of me feasting on your cunt, you’re going to put on a little show for me instead.”

His smile is wicked as he steps forward, closing the distance between us until the toes of my sneakers are touching his. “Strip.”

“What?” I whisper.

“Take off your clothes. Start with your shirt.”

“I don’t… what?” I ask, stumbling over my words as I shake my head.

“I like to watch, Poison. Surely you’ve figured that out by now.” His devious eyes run over my body. “I told you to do something, I make the rules, baby, and you follow them.”

“I don’t want…” I trail off because the truth is I do want to take my clothes off, but I want him to do it. I want him to undress me and then make me feel the way he did last night again.

“It’s okay, my Sweet Venom, I’ll help you.”

Some of the tension in my shoulders relaxes and I expect him to reach for me, but his hands stay firmly at his sides.

“Lift your hands to the hem of your shirt, then peel it up and over your head.”

“What? I thought…”

“You thought I was going to save you? No, baby, you broke my rule, and this is your punishment. Now do as I told you; shirt up and over your head.”

“Do I have another option?” I try to negotiate.

“No,” Clay says simply. “Do as you’re told, and maybe when you’re finished with your show, I might taste your cunt. But keep stalling and I’ll make you edge yourself and leave you wet and needy without release.”

I want to tell him I don’t actually know what edging is. But the moment he suggests leaving me wanting, my body protests and my sex pulses. Inhaling sharply, I squeeze my eyes shut, take hold of the hem of my shirt and pull it up and over my head as fast as I can.

“Good girl,” he practically purrs, and the praise settles over me like a warm blanket.

“Unbutton your shorts, then turn around.”

Unable to look him in the eye, I unhook the button on my shorts, then rush to spin around, grateful not to have to look at him.

“Now, unzip them and push them down over your butt, but don’t let them fall to the floor.”

My fingers fumble with the zipper, but after a moment, I get it, hooking my fingers into the waistband and peeling them down over my butt, keeping hold of the fabric just like he said.

“Drop them.”

As if my hands are completely under his control, I release the fabric and the denim slides down my thighs, pooling at my feet.

“Now the panties, push them over your butt, then bend over and pull off your shoes, shorts and panties.”

Cool air coats the skin of my butt as I remove my panties and bend over. He’s forcing me to put myself on display for him and even though I’m embarrassed, I can’t help being excited at the same time.

In a minute, he’s going to make me take off my bralette and turn around completely naked and then he’s going to see the proof of my arousal. How hard my nipples are and the wetness that’s been pooling between my thighs since I saw him waiting for me outside my class.

He says I’m his, that he knows I’m nothing like the rest of my family. But if that’s true, why is he punishing me like this? He’s using my body against me and even though I’m excited by this game, I can’t help feeling like he’s still trying to make me pay for the situation we’ve found ourselves in.

“Look at that pretty little cunt. I can’t wait to get inside of you, Poison. I’m going to fucking ruin you and I’m going to make you love it.”

There’s a hint of violence in his tone and I shudder as I respond to it. I know violence. I’ve lived with it for years, but I’ve never reacted to it this way before. What does that mean? Am I more messed up than I realized? Has the way my father and brothers treated me affected me more deeply than I thought? I’ve read books about women who come from abusive homes, subconsciously seeking out abusive relationships, but I thought it was just fiction, just made up. But could it be true? Could I be attracted to Clay simply because he treats me badly, and that’s what I’m used to?

“I don’t want to do this,” I say robotically, grabbing my clothes and getting dressed quickly.

“What?” Clay says. “Baby. January, are you okay?”

I can feel him close behind me, and I tense on instinct, my body still amped up with a mix of arousal and disgust. He doesn’t touch me and once my clothes are in place again, I wrap my arms around myself.

“Baby?”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, stepping forward and spinning around to face him. “I just…” I clench my jaw and shake my head. “I don’t want to do this. I apologize for not replying to your text message. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m hungry. Can I go and grab something to eat? I need to go to the library to research an assignment.”

His gaze scans me concernedly. “Baby, tell me what happened. You were—”

“Nothing happened,” I say abruptly, interrupting him before he can talk about how I was reacting to his humbling game. There’s no way I’ll be able to deny that the way he spoke and treated me was turning me on. Or that I liked the way he ordered me around, then praised me for being obedient.

It’s bad enough that I know I feel that way, there’s no way I want him to know. My stomach growls loudly and Clay frowns. “Come on, Poison, let’s feed you. We can talk about this later.”

I tense when he reaches for my hand but allow him to take it without snatching it back and he doesn’t let go until we’re in the kitchen. Starling is in Hunter’s usual spot behind the stove, making delicious-looking subs.

“January, would you rather have cheese or roasted veggies on your sub, or both?”

“Both sounds great, if it’s not too much trouble,” I tell her, forcing myself to offer her a small smile.

“No trouble at all. I’m going to have the same because I have no idea what Hunter’s done to these veggies, but they’re amazing.”

“Go sit down, Poison. I’ll grab you some chips and a bottle of water, unless you’d like a soda instead?” Clay asks.

“Water’s fine, thanks,” I tell him, not looking up at him as I slide into a seat at the table.

After we’ve eaten, Clay insists on coming with me to the library and sitting beside me while I study. He works on his laptop next to me, managing to touch me almost constantly. When I’ve done everything I can, he packs up his stuff and drives the cart back to the house, trailing behind me like a shadow you can’t run away from, no matter how hard you try.

My muscles are tense, and my head feels foggy and confused by the time we get back to the house. Heading straight upstairs, I pause at the doorway, wishing the couch was still there so my only option to sit wasn’t the bed.

Clay’s presence lingers behind me, and I drop my bag by the box that used to hold my clothes and head for the bathroom, hoping he’ll allow me a moment of peace and quiet. After two showers this morning, I should be clean enough, but the call of the hot water is too tempting and after locking the door, I strip down and step under the warm stream.

Closing my eyes, I exhale wearily as the hot torrent soaks my hair and skin, soothing my tense muscles and ragged nerves.

“Ready to tell me what happened earlier?” Clay says, stepping into the shower with me, naked and completely unashamed.

“How did you get in here? What are you doing?” I shriek.

“As if I can’t open the lock on my own bathroom door,” he scoffs. “And I’m taking a shower and figuring out why you went from so hot you were practically dripping to fucking glacial. Did I do something to trigger you?”

“I didn’t want to play your game,” I say coldly.

“Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said bullshit. You were as turned on as me. Your nipples were like spikes and your cunt was so wet you were dripping. So answer the fucking question. Did I do something to trigger you? I need to know, so I can make sure I don’t do it again.”

“It’s wrong,” I blurt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“What, that I made you strip?” His brow is furrowed in confusion. “I’ve seen you naked, January. Your body is beautiful. I know I keep saying you need to gain weight, but that’s only because you’re practically emaciated. I just want you to be healthy.”

“No, not that.”

“What then? Explain it to me because I have no fucking clue what’s going on here. You were into it. You were with me. Jesus, you practically came on the spot when I called you my good girl. You were fine and then you weren’t.”

“You said…” I swallow, struggling to get the words out. “You said you were going to ruin me.”

“Fuck. Baby, I didn’t mean it in a broken and bloody way. I meant I was going to ruin you for all other men. I meant I was going to make it so the only person you ever wanted was me. Did you think I meant I wanted to hurt you?”

“I… I don’t know. You were telling me what to do, and I was doing it and then you said that, and you looked so violent and…” My gaze locks with his, and I admit my shameful truth. “And I liked it.”

I expect to see revulsion or something in his eyes. But they stay the same, calm, searching, worried.

“You liked that I told you what to do?”

I nod.

“And you liked that I was talking dirty to you?”

I nod again.

“Okay, baby, I need you to break it down for me because I’m not seeing what the problem is here. I like telling you what to do, and I love watching you do it. I love telling you all the filthy things I want to do to you and watching the way you react to my words. I want you, wife, and you want me too.”

“It’s wrong,” I whisper again.

“What is?” His words come out on a snarl.

“My entire life, my family has told me what to do, and I’ve done it because I didn’t have a choice. I’ve been threatened with violence and hurt over and over. I hate my life; I always have, so it’s wrong that when you do those things… I like it.” I can barely get the last three words out, but I manage and then close my eyes, hating that we’re having this conversation naked in the shower when I have no way of hiding from him.

When his arms wrap around me, I jolt, shocked by his touch. “Baby, it’s not wrong. You had a fucked-up childhood, and your family are assholes, but don’t let them take this away from you now. There is nothing wrong with a little power exchange in a relationship. I’m a controlling bastard when it comes to you, and that’s not going to change, and knowing you like it in the bedroom is hot as fuck. Liking dirty talk doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you either. It’s okay to like what you like when it comes to sex and we’re going to figure out all your kinks together. You might like a little pain, you might want to be spanked, or to be tied up, or edged. You might like to give up total control or fight me for every ounce I give you. Nothing you like in the bedroom has anything to do with those fuckers hurting you, and I refuse to allow you to think that it is. If I have to, I’ll show you again and again and again that you and I have nothing to do with them.”

“It was only days ago that you hated me. How can I trust that this isn’t just some new way to mess with me?” I blurt.

“Open your eyes, Poison.”

His hands frame my face, and I allow my eyelids to part until I’m looking up at his beautiful face.

“I really wanted to hate you, January, I really did, and I tried hard to make it real. But it only took me three fucking days with you to realize that you are nothing at all like I thought you were. I won’t give you your freedom, Sweet Venom, but I’ll give you anything else. You started out as an obligation, but now you’re my obsession and I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you want me too.”

Before I have a chance to speak, he slides down to his knees, his hands holding my thighs apart as he shoves his face between my legs and licks.

“Oh my god,” I gasp. It’s my only rational thought before everything becomes about the way his tongue feels running up and down my sex, licking me, tasting me, devouring me.

Tuesday passes in a blur of touches and kisses and orgasms. I’m still pretty convinced that Clay is in the middle of some kind of psychotic episode, but every time I suggest it, he just laughs and kisses me. A part of me believes that he’s sorry for treating me so coldly when I first got here, but the other part is skeptical that hate could change to desire so quickly.

My life before Clay felt emotionless in comparison to all the feelings I’m experiencing since our wedding. I understand pain and apathy and sadness, but the man I married evokes a kaleidoscope of feelings that seem to jump back and forth like a spring, with no seeming end or beginning.

When I wake up surrounded by his arms, I feel warmth and security, but then when he unlocks the bathroom and helps himself into the room with me, I feel a mix of annoyance, invasion and sexual desire that can flip to heat or anger in a split second.

Since I got here, he’s smothered me with his emotions, and it’s left me doubting my own. I am one-hundred-percent sexually attracted to Clay. His kisses and touches are amazing, and it feels like I’m hyperaware of him whenever we’re together. But I don’t know if I like him as a person.

A part of me is still wary of his motives and what lines he’ll cross to get what he wants, and I don’t think that feeling is going to go away just because he’s claimed me as his and decided I’m not the monster he thought I was.

After our shower on Monday night, he said he would do whatever it took to convince me to want him, as much as he apparently wants me. But want isn’t the problem. A part of me thought after our talk, he might stop or at least tone down some of the things he thought triggered my emotional revelation, but he hasn’t. He still reminded me of his rules before I left the house for class and texted me several times with scandalous suggestions of things he wanted to do to me.

His behavior is unapologetic, and even though I like it, I don’t trust him. His confession about his part in Starling and Sebastian’s hatemance is the only time I’ve felt him being really honest. He didn’t paint himself in a rose-tinted light, he admitted to his role and the guilt he feels about it.

The problem is that I don’t know if I’m allowed to be angry at him because his behavior toward me was, in some ways, justifiable. My family blackmailed his. They forced this marriage and that’s all he knew about me at the beginning. I made assumptions about him too. I assumed he would hurt me, rape me even. I might not have been cruel to him, but I hated him a little in my own way.

“You’re thinking awfully hard, Poison,” he says, rolling me toward him until we’re both on our sides facing each other beneath the covers in his big bed.

“I was just realizing that I don’t really know anything about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he asks, brushing a strand of hair from my face and tucking it behind my ear.

“You told my family that you’re doing your master’s and a second degree.”

“Yep,” he says simply.

“So, you’re like crazy smart?”

His laugh is low but light and full of amusement. “Yeah, Poison, I’m crazy smart.”

“So why not just graduate and start making your millions or billions or whatever?”

“Because my brothers are here. We split up at the start of college, but it didn’t last. We hated being apart, so we all ended up back here together. They’re my family and I don’t want my life to race ahead of theirs. Our bond is important to me, and if I’m working seventy-hour weeks while they’re at school, it’ll change our dynamic.

“Our families’ businesses are so entwined that if I step up and start working now and my brothers don’t follow for a few years, I’ll be viewed as senior, and I don’t want that either. The guys are my family. We’d do anything for each other.”

I nod, but a weight settles in my chest.

“What’s that look?”

“I’ve never had that. I’ve never had a friend, let alone people that I consider family.”

“You have me now,” he says, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against my lips.

“That’s different,” I say between kisses.

“How?”

“We didn’t pick each other; we’re just making the best of a messed-up situation.”

His brow furrows and his lips dip down into a frown. “We might not have had that fairy-tale start, but you’re mine now, Little Snake, and I won’t set you free.”

Sighing, I nod. “I know.”

“Kiss me,” he demands.

Leaning into him, I kiss him and tension sizzles between us as his hands start to roam my body. At his insistence, I’m naked, so he has easy access to reach down and cup my breast, thumbing my nipple while his mouth devours mine.

His other hand slides between my thighs and I moan when he parts my folds and immediately finds my clit.

“So wet for me,” he purrs against my lips. “Do you want to come?”

I nod.

“Do you know what a sixty-nine is?”

My lust-addled brain struggles to process what he’s saying as I kiss him again, rocking my hips and encouraging him to do more.

“Up here, Poison, come and sit on my face,” he orders, rolling to his back and encouraging me to climb up his body.

“What? I can’t. You’ll...”

“I’ll have my face smothered by your cunt. Sounds like the perfect way to start the day.” His hand slaps my thigh gently, but I still jolt in shock. “Get up here.”

When I don’t move, he guides me into position, hovering over his face, my thighs by his ears and my body facing down toward where his hard dick is bobbing and dripping with clear liquid.

Curling his arms around my thighs, he drags me down until my sex is literally covering his face. From the first flick of his tongue, I’m gone. He eats me like I’m his favorite food in the world, and within minutes, I’m grinding on his tongue and orgasming with a cry.

“Lean forward, Poison, get your mouth around my cock. I want to come down your throat.”

Light-headed and still buzzing from my orgasm, I bend forward and enthusiastically take him into my mouth. This is only the second time I’ve done this, but the taste of him is familiar enough that I hum, enjoying the way he feels against my tongue.

He allows me to play for a moment, sucking him in and experimenting with how deep I can take him before he slides a finger into my sex and starts to lick at my clit again, pumping his finger in and out.

As if my arousal pushes me into overdrive, I suck and lick at his dick, sliding it in and out of my mouth. I’m not sure if I’m doing it right until he starts to lift his hips into my movements. I’m impressed with his ability to fuck my mouth when I’m literally sitting on his chest, but then all thoughts are lost when he pushes a second finger into me, fucking me roughly as I suck his dick like making him come will get me a prize.

Before I realize what’s happening, my mouth is full of salty cum, hitting my throat and making me gag. I try to pull off his dick, but his hand finds the back of my head, holding me in place while he finger fucks me, forcing me to swallow his release.

Something about the unapologetic hold he has on me, combined with his fingers inside of me and his tongue on my clit tips me over the edge and I scream around his dick, shattering into an orgasm that makes me feel like I’m dying and being remade into a vessel purely for pleasure.

I don’t remember moving, but somehow Clay gets me into his arms, holding me close. “Jesus, Poison, you’re perfection. I want to fuck you so bad. I want my cock inside of you, claiming you properly.”

I want that too, but I don’t speak up, my breathing too labored and my heart too conflicted with what it would mean if I gave myself to him like that. Sometime later, he carries me into the shower and cleans me, taking his time as he washes my hair and conditions it just like I do it myself.

“Get dressed, baby. We’re going to go get your stuff from your parents today,” he says, drying my skin with a towel.

Following me into the closet, he watches as I flick through my clothes, trying to decide on something Mother won’t find offensive. As if he can read my mind, Clay carefully guides me backward. Stepping past me, he picks a pair of black shorts and a cute cropped tank top with wide armholes that I haven’t been brave enough to wear after I tried it on and realized you can clearly see my bra.

“I can’t wear that; you can see my bra through it.”

“That’s the idea, Poison. Starling and Sammy wear this kind of thing all the time. Just put your black bralette thing underneath. That’s basically like a sports bra.”

“I can’t go out practically naked.”

“Just try it on, if you really don’t like it, or if it’s too revealing, you can change.”

Just like he has for the last couple of days, Clay grabs me a pair of panties and helps me put them on, cupping my pussy possessively once they’re in place. Once he’s happy, he grabs himself some clothes and wanders naked into the bedroom to get dressed.

Pulling the black athletic-style shorts on, I put on the black bralette and the red tank top and then turn to look at my reflection. The shorts hug my thighs. They’re tight but super comfortable and even have a tiny pocket on the side. There are two inches of my stomach showing between the top of my shorts and the bottom of the shirt, and from the side, you can clearly see the black cotton fabric and the white band with the brand name running around it.

I look… like every other teenage girl here on campus. I look normal and I love it. Pulling my wet hair up in my hands, I hold it back off my face and smile at the person I see in the mirror. I’ve never felt like I fit in because I’ve barely been a part of the world around me, but dressed like this, I feel like this is my life now. I’m a college student living away from home and wearing clothes that are cute and comfortable.

Grabbing my sneakers from the closet floor, I slide my feet into them and walk back into the bedroom, finding Clay leaning against the doorjamb in a pair of casual shorts and a polo shirt.

“Look at you, Poison. Do you like it?”

I nod, a shy smile curling at the corners of my lips.

“You look hot as fuck, baby,” he drawls, closing the distance between us and dragging me in for a hot kiss. “Come on, I need to feed you before I end up ripping those tempting fucking shorts off you and slamming my dick into your pussy.”

A week ago, if he’d said that to me, I’d have been terrified. But now, I can’t help it, I giggle. Rolling his eyes, he takes my hand and drags me down the stairs.

26

CLAY

T he kitchen is full by the time I tow January toward the table. She looks delectable in those shorts, and it’s taking every ounce of self-control I have not to drag her back upstairs, rip them off her and slide my dick into her virgin cunt.

I want my wife in a way I’ve never wanted a woman before. I wasn’t joking when I told her she’d become my obsession. I enjoy watching her when she doesn’t know, but I like being with her even more, and I’ve barely left her side since her meltdown on Monday.

I hate that she feels like enjoying a little dirty talk, and me ordering her around is wrong, and it only adds to the already extensive list of reasons why her family are fucking assholes. If she wanted me to beat the shit out of her, or she wanted to beat the shit out of me, maybe I’d be more inclined to think her childhood was impacting her sexual preferences, but nothing she’s enjoyed so far has been out of the ordinary. In fact, her kinks have perfectly aligned with mine.

It bothers me more than I’m willing to admit that she still seems so wary of me. I get that I was an ass those first couple of days, but I’ve apologized and done everything I can to make it up to her since I pulled my head out of my ass.

She knows she’s mine, and she seems resigned to it. But I want her to want it. To be as consumed by this as I am, and I have no idea what I’ll do if she never feels that way.

When I’ve fed her a bowl of fruit, followed by freshly baked croissants with grape jelly, I remind the others that we’re going over to January’s parents’ place to grab the rest of her stuff. We ride the carts down to the valet station to pick up our cars and head out in convoy. It’s a two-hour drive to the Burkes estate, but the sun is shining, and although January is quiet beside me, her energy isn’t as tightly wound as normal.

“Where’s your cell?”

“In your room.”

“Our room,” I growl, then smile as I realize what she said. She didn’t bring her cell. “What’s the rule, baby?” I pause, flashing her a triumphant look. “You carrying your cell with you at all times.”

“But I’m with you, and you’re the only person with the number,” she says incredulously.

“It needs to become a habit, Poison. I’m serious. I want it on you all the fucking time.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.”

“You can apologize properly on the way home,” I say with a smirk.

“I just apologized,” she says, her brow furrowed.

“A proper apology requires my dick in your mouth or cunt. Or ass if you’ve really pissed me off.”

Her gasp is so loud she chokes on air and starts to cough. “I. What?”

I can’t help it, I laugh. Her innocence and genuine reactions to the dirty things I say to her are adorably naive. “You heard me. There’re consequences if you break the rules.”

“Sex. The consequence of breaking one of your ridiculous rules is sex?”

“No, not sex specifically, just my dick in one of your holes. That’s how I expect you to apologize.”

“And how will you apologize to me?” she asks quietly, her cheeks pink.

“Maybe I’ll let you pick,” I suggest flirtily. I like her like this, embarrassed but fighting through it and playing along with this game.

“And if I pick my freedom or for you to get rid of the men following me like I’m a criminal?”

“No. Freedom won’t ever be an option for you, I already told you that, and the security is for your safety.”

“But you said I wasn’t in any danger.”

“You’re not in danger; no one out there is looking to hurt you. But I want eyes on you at all times anyway.”

The roll of her eyes and quiet huff of annoyance are adorable.

The drive is pleasant, and I’m surprised by how comfortable I am being silent with January. Neither of us tries to make small talk, and it’s nice just being beside someone without any expectation to be a riveting conversationalist. I like her peaceful presence. I like watching her relaxed and easy.

But the closer we get to her family’s home, the more she fidgets, her hands clenching and unclenching as she pulls at the hem of her shirt.

“What’s the matter?”

“Mother is going to lose her mind when she sees me in these clothes,” she admits easily, surprising me.

“You look beautiful and eighteen, which you are. Why would what you’re wearing be an issue?” I’m guessing it’s going to have something to do with the fact that Marilyn Burke doesn’t appreciate having a beautiful teenage daughter. By controlling January’s clothing, Marilyn got to downplay how stunning January really is and could make her look either significantly younger or dramatically older than she is.

The dress she had January wear to the contract meeting was appallingly childish and old-fashioned, yet the dress she packed for her to wear the day after our wedding was more suited to a Stepford wife than a teen bride.

A part of me wants to try and find a redeeming quality in the woman who gave birth to my wife, but the more I learn about her, the less plausible it seems that she’s anything but a bitter, jealous monster. Reaching over, I place my palm on January’s thigh, squeezing gently. “You’re mine now, Poison. You’re a Jansen. You can wear whatever the fuck you like and there’s not a thing your mom can do about it.”

She flashes me a slight smile, then goes back to fidgeting until we pull into the Burkes’ driveway and park outside the house. In the light of day, without a huge tent in the gardens and hundreds of people milling around, the house seems smaller. It’s a beautiful brick home, probably made to look older than it actually is, but impressive, nevertheless.

Killing the engine, I climb out of the car and walk around to open January’s door. Offering her a hand, I grip her tightly, helping her out and keeping hold of her once she’s standing beside me.

Sammy and Starling park behind us, then Evan and Hunter behind them in Hunter’s huge truck. Unlike me with my McLaren, Sebastian with his Ferrari, and Evan with his Maserati. Hunter drives a jacked-up custom Ford F-150 that’s his pride and joy. For years we’ve teased him about not driving something sexier, but he always argues that his dick is so big he doesn’t need to drive something that will make him look like he’s overcompensating. Truthfully, at well over six feet tall, Hunter is so fucking huge, I doubt anyone would ever look at him and think—I bet he has a small cock—No matter what he drives.

January tugs to free her hand from mine, but I hold tight, turning to look at her.

“We should have called ahead,” she says, biting at her bottom lip nervously.

“Why? This is your home, or it was until a week ago. Why would you need to call to schedule a visit?”

Her fear-filled eyes lock with mine, and fury builds inside of me. She’s terrified. This is her fucking home, and she’s scared to death to be here. “Do you want to wait in the car? Or the girls can take you to go and get coffee while I get your stuff.”

It’s obvious she wants to say yes, but her gaze glances to the front door, that’s now standing open with a pinched-faced man dressed in full livery waiting on the step.

“You can still leave,” I tell her, pulling her into me and cupping her cheek with my palm. “What’s your name, Poison?”

Her brow furrows.

“What’s your name? Say it,” I prompt.

“January.”

“Your full name.”

She falters.

“What’s your full name?” This time it’s a demand and she complies beautifully.

“January Lynda Jansen.”

“Say it again. What’s your name?”

“January Jansen.”

“Yes, Poison. You’re January Jansen, and you’re mine, not theirs. You belong to me. Say it.”

“I belong to you.”

“Good girl. Now we’re going to go in there, we’re going to be polite and get your stuff and then we’re going to leave. Once we’re in the car, you will never set foot in this house again. Do you hear me? I will make sure you never have to set foot in this house with those people ever again. Okay?”

Slow, melancholy tears fall from her eyes, and I catch them, wiping them away with my thumbs.

“Who are you?”

“January Jansen.”

“Who do you belong to?”

“You,” she whispers.

“That’s right, baby. They’ve got no hold on you anymore. You’re all mine.” Slamming my lips to hers, I try to kiss away her fear and pain, I don’t know if it works, but when I release her lips, she takes a shuddering breath and lifts her chin.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

27

JANUARY

B eing here at my parents’ home after a week of albeit, sometimes unpleasant freedom, feels like being caged underwater after basking in the air.

I hate this place. I hate the house, the occupants and all the memories that seem to seep from the walls like noxious gas invading my nerves and thoughts. But worse than all of that is the way I feel myself buckling beneath the weight of it all. I should be stronger than this. I should be more capable. I’m a married woman, for goodness’ sake. But the truth is that I’m a teenager with zero real-world experience, and even though my parents gave me away, I’m not really any freer than I was before I left this place.

Oddly, the man who, less than a week ago, I thought was just as big a monster as the ones who live in this house is giving me strength right now, and I need it. I’ll deal with the fact that his version of support is claiming ownership of me like I’m property later. Right now, I’ll take the strength from his words and his touch. I’ll take his ownership if it means I don’t belong here anymore.

When he takes a step forward, I follow, allowing him to lead me to the front door where Mr. Oliver, our house manager, is waiting.

“Mr. Jansen, Mrs. Jansen,” he greets, his tone frosty but just polite enough not to draw attention.

“Hello, Mr. Oliver,” I say, flashing him a cold smile.

You’d think the man who has lived in the same house as me for my entire life might be a little more welcoming, but just like my parents and grandparents, he was equally as disappointed when I was born a girl, not the requisite Burke Boy. He has a great relationship with my brothers. They even call him Olly. The one time I did, Father overheard and backhanded me for my impertinence.

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Burke expecting you?”

“No, we were in the area and thought we’d pick up January’s stuff,” Clay says, smiling widely.

“Of course. Please do come in. Mrs. Burke is in the morning room. I’ll let her know she has visitors.”

Clay leads me into the house, and the others all follow us into the vestibule. Barely a minute has passed when my mother appears, dressed in a pale-pink tweed twinset, with the obligatory string of pearls around her neck. She couldn’t be any more cliché if she tried.

“Clay, darling. You should have called and let me know you were coming; I’m hardly dressed for company,” Mother cries, greeting my husband excitedly.

“Sorry, Marilyn, we were in the area and figured we could swing by and grab January’s things.”

“Of course, of course,” she says, her eyes flashing excitedly when she sees who’s with us.

“You remember our friends Evan Morris, Hunter Rossberg, Starling Kennedy—Sebastian’s fiancée—and Samantha Hartley,” Clay says, introducing everyone.

“Well, goodness, let’s not loiter in the hall, come in, and I’ll have the kitchen make us some tea.”

She still hasn’t even glanced in my direction, but that’s okay. I’d rather be invisible to her than have to deal with her disgusted attention.

“I wish we had time, but we have lunch reservations, so if you don’t mind, we’ll just grab January’s boxes,” Clay says, squeezing my hand tight.

“Let me call the staff to come and fetch them.”

“That’s okay, Mrs. Burke. We don’t mind flexing our muscles,” Evan says, lifting his arm and tensing it dramatically.

Mother’s shrill laugh is so awful I have to hide my grimace.

“Come on, baby, lead the way to your room,” Clay says, dragging me toward the stairs.

“Well, oh. Well…” Mother mutters, fussing after the big fish in our group and ignoring both me and the two other girls.

My heart races in my chest as I lift my foot onto the first step. I don’t know why this feels so awful. This is my home. Was my home. For most normal people, coming home is a nice, warm experience, but not for me. Clay lets go of my fingers but places his hand on my waist instead, pushing me onward, even though all I want to do is turn and run as far away from this godforsaken place as I can get.

I swear each step makes my chest tighter until my breath is choppy. By the time I’m pushing open the door to my bedroom, it feels like when I eat strawberries and my throat closes up.

Clay follows me into the room, grabbing me and swinging me into his chest, holding me tight and rubbing my back. “Breathe, Poison. In and out. Slow and steady.”

I do as he says, sucking in air and then letting it out slowly.

“Here,” Starling says, pushing a brown paper bag toward me.

Grabbing it, Clay opens it, then places it at my lips. “Blow into this. In and out.”

With six people in my room, the air seems even thinner, but after several long minutes, my chest relaxes and breathing gets easier.

“Thank you,” I rasp, lowering the bag from my lips.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Starling asks. “I get panic attacks too.”

“It. I. It wasn’t,” I try to deny.

“It’s okay if it was. I’ve had them for a few years now. They don’t come as often as they did, but I still carry a paper bag in my purse just in case.”

Clay looks away, sadness coating his expression, and I think back on the things he told me about Starling and Sebastian the other morning. About how Sebastian refused to let her go, even after she fled to the other side of the country to get away from him. How he orchestrated her being at Kingsacre U and essentially forced her into a relationship with him.

I wonder if he’s the reason for the panic attacks? Given the guilty looks on all of the guys’ faces, I assume he is.

“Are you okay now?” Clay asks, palming the back of my neck and stroking up and down.

“Yes. I’m okay. Sorry, that was—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupts. “You have nothing to apologize for. I shouldn’t have brought you back here. This is on me. I’m so sorry, baby.”

Baby. He’s called me that a few times now and I like it, but it’s confusing too. When he calls me Poison or Snake, or Venom, it makes sense. He says he doesn’t hate me anymore, but he did. But baby? That suggests an intimacy we just don’t have.

I nod because it feels like the right thing to do, and he smiles. He has a great smile, straight white teeth and full lips that taste as good as they look like they should.

“Okay,” he says decisively. “Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s in my closet.”

The guys break off, pulling open the closet door, then pausing.

“There’re only three boxes in here. Where’s everything else?” Evan asks.

“There are the two suitcases too,” I tell him.

“Okay, but where’s the rest of your things?”

“In the boxes,” I say slowly.

“But there are only three boxes,” Hunter says, sounding equally bewildered.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s right. Although the one marked school I really don’t need to take, that’s just my homeschooling stuff. I don’t even really know why I packed it, I should have just dumped it straight in the trash.”

“Poison, where’s all your stuff?” Clay demands.

Turning around to Starling and Sammy, I ask, “Am I speaking English? I do have a habit of forgetting and slipping into Italian sometimes.”

“No, you’re speaking English.” Starling laughs. “I’ll translate the rich boy confusion for you though, because they had the same difficulty understanding me when I came to school. They’re surprised that you don’t have enough boxes to fill a mini-mansion, so they’re probably going to keep asking where the rest of your things are until you spell it out for them.”

“Oh.” I blink a few times, then spin around to face the three boys. “Those two boxes marked books are the only things that I want to bring with me. This is a big house full of stuff, but I only packed the things that were mine.”

The guys share looks with each other, and I hate the sympathy that fills their gazes.

“Okay, Poison, we’ll take it all, and you can dump what you don’t want once we get home,” Clay says, launching into action and dragging the boxes and cases into the bedroom. The guys somehow manage to take the boxes and both cases in one trip and the girls head for the door as I take one last look at the bedroom that I called my own my whole life.

Despite growing up in this space, it doesn’t feel like mine. The walls are tastefully decorated in a neutral shade of cream, with a splash of gold here and there. It doesn’t look like the room of a little girl or a teenager. It looks more like a generic hotel suite or a guest room.

But I guess that makes sense. Why decorate a room to the taste of someone who isn’t wanted or welcomed? And that’s what I’ve always been to my family an unwanted, unwelcome visitor.

Without a backward glance, I walk out of the room and close the door behind me. I’ll take being owned by Clay Jansen if it means I never have to step foot in this house again.

Mother gushes about how strong and capable Clay, Evan, and Hunter are, panting over them so hard it’s embarrassing. She invites them to stay again and even offers to have one of the staff go and get takeout from whatever restaurant we’d planned to eat at for lunch. When they politely decline her invitation again, she finally waves them off and closes the door without even glancing in my direction or uttering a word to me.

I think maybe Mother’s behavior should upset me, but honestly, I’m just relieved to get out of the house relatively unscathed.

“Miss January,” a familiar voice calls from the side of the house.

Glancing at the front door, I make sure it’s still shut before I turn and run, throwing myself into Martha’s arms. “Did you make sure no one saw you come out here?”

“Of course,” she scoffs, cupping my face in a motherly way and pressing a kiss to my cheek. “Are you okay? Is he treating you well?” she asks, turning to look at Clay, who’s walking toward us.

“It’s not perfect. But he isn’t hurting me and anywhere is better than here.” Martha has been one of my family’s maids for most of my life. She’s the one who found me that day when I was twelve, scared and alone. She told me how to use a tampon, taught me how to braid my hair, how to apply mascara. She also bought me ice packs and Band-Aids and bandages. She held me every time I cried because it was all just too hard and offered to help me run away every time she saw a new bruise. She’s the woman I wish was my mom and the first person to show me true human kindness. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too. But I’m glad you’re not here,” she says, pulling me into her chest and squeezing me tightly. “I got a new job working for a new family. It’s closer to where you’re going to school. I’ll email you the address.”

“You’re leaving?” I ask, shocked.

“I couldn’t leave you here alone, but now…” she says, clucking at me like I should have known that already.

“I hope the new family is nice and they treat you better than my parents and Mr. Oliver did.” Tears fill my eyes, but they’re not all from sadness, they’re tears of thanks and gratitude too.

“Maybe, if you are looking for a job once our house is built, would you consider becoming our house manager?” Clay says from behind me, moving to stand at my side.

Martha looks to me, then back to Clay. “I’m just a maid, Mr. Jansen.”

“It’s Clay, and it sounds like you're so much more than just a maid,” he tells her knowingly. “My family owns a fair few houses. One is right down the road from Kingsacre where January and I are at school. It has a great little house set right on the grounds that comes with the job and would be perfect for you and your family if you have one. Perhaps we could tempt you to come and work for us until January and I finish our degrees.”

“Perhaps,” Martha says slowly.

My smile is so wide my cheeks are aching. “Martha, you should at least go and look at the house,” I tell her hopefully.

Clay hands her a small card. “Here, my cell phone number is on there. Think about it and give me a call. Whatever your new job pays, I’m sure we can beat it, with full benefits of course.”

Martha’s eyes light up and she looks at me, her brows lifting as she silently asks me, Is he for real?

Glancing at Clay, I see the honesty in his eyes and look back to her and nod.

“Okay, Mr. Clay, I’ll give you a call.”

“It’s just Clay. But thank you, Martha, it’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

Then he holds out his hand, and my closest friend in this hellish house reaches out and takes it, shaking firmly, before glancing back to me and smiling.

“You take care of my girl now,” she says, a hint of how fiercely she’s cared for me for the last six years reflected in her tone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Clay steps back, and Martha cups my cheek in her palm. “Take care, sweet girl. I’ll see you soon.”

“Bye, Martha.”

Pressing a quick kiss to my cheek, she turns and scurries off toward the staff entrance at the side of the house.

“You ready to go?” Clay asks.

I nod, turning my back and walking away.

28

CLAY

T he moment January’s seat belt is clipped into place, I start the engine and get the hell away from this house. Gravel flies into the air as I spin my car around in the driveway and follow my friends back out onto the street.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have brought January with me. I should have just arranged for a service to get her stuff, but I was curious to see her bedroom, the space she grew up in.

A part of me wanted to test her again, even though I shouldn’t. I wanted to see how she’d react to being home, how she’d be in a familiar space. Only instead of the comfort of home, my Poison had a fucking meltdown.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget the horror in her eyes or the way she looked like a caged animal returning to its abusers the moment we got out of the car. This house isn’t her home, and I don’t think it ever has been. It was her own personal hell, and I just brought her back here for no other reason than my own curiosity.

The urge to take her home, back to school and to the safety of the campus where I have eyes everywhere, is so strong I almost text the others to tell them we’re no longer going to lunch. But instead, I inhale, squeezing the steering wheel until my fingers hurt, then slowly exhale, forcing my limbs to relax.

Repeating the action three more times, I manage to calm down enough to speak. “Your mom is a fucking cunt.”

I expect a gasp of shock or the usual silence that January uses to communicate more often than not. I’m not expecting her to giggle. A choked, gasping chuckle bursts from her, and then she’s laughing. Really fucking laughing, from the gut, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever fucking heard.

“Jesus, Poison, you’re all kinds of fucked up, aren’t you?”

I see her nod from the corner of my eye, and smiling, I reach over and grab her thigh. “What do you want me to do to them, baby?”

“To who?” she asks, not pushing my hand away.

“Your family. Do you want me to ruin them, bankrupt them, kill them? Name it and I’ll do it. Call it a wedding present.”

She laughs again.

“I’m fucking serious. Tell me how you want them to suffer, and I’ll make sure it happens. All of them, your fuckwit little brothers too. They all hurt you, and that isn’t okay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They’ve already forgotten I exist. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Now I just want to be free,” she says with a soft smile.

“Your freedom is the only thing I won’t give you,” I admit as I follow the others to a mall and park my car beside Sammy’s Mercedes. The girls claim January and walk ahead while Evan and Hunter wait for me to catch up.

“What are we going to do?” Hunter snarls quietly. He’s the most level-headed of us all, so to see him this bloodthirsty is especially unusual.

“People go missing all the time. Private planes crash, yachts sink…” Evan trails off.

“She says all she wants is to be invisible to them and to be free.” I scowl, keeping my gaze fixed on the girls a few yards ahead.

“That’s not enough,” Hunter argues.

“I know,” I agree. “But she doesn’t need to be involved. If she wants to be invisible to them, then that’s exactly what she’ll be.”

We have lunch, then spend the rest of the afternoon shopping. Sammy helps Starling and January spend thousands of my and Sebastian’s money, and by the time our arms are full of bags, I feel mildly better about the fact that my wife only has three boxes to unpack when we get home.

By the time we get back to school, it’s dinnertime and Hunter excitedly strides into the kitchen, eager to experiment with some recipe he’s seen. He’s taken January’s vegetarianism as a challenge to create delicious meals without relying on meat and he’s loving every moment. If we lived in a different world, I’m pretty sure he’d be a starving chef instead of the future CEO of a billion-dollar conglomerate.

“Are there any clothes in the cases from your parents that you actually picked yourself?” I ask January.

Her eyes widen as if I’m putting her on the spot, then she sheepishly shakes her head.

“Anything in there with any sentimental value? Anything you particularly want to keep?”

She shakes her head again.

Turning to the porter who brought all our stuff from the valet station, I motion to the two suitcases. “Could you find somewhere to donate all the clothes in the cases?” I ask, handing him a few bills.

“Of course, sir.”

“Thank you. The rest can go upstairs, I’ll show you which room.”

When all her things are in our bedroom, I sit down on the bed and crook a finger, urging her to come to me. She doesn’t move. I could demand she come, and she would, but I don’t want that, so I wait her out, not looking away until eventually she shuffles forward.

The moment she’s close enough, I part my legs and pull her to stand between them, running my hands up the backs of her thighs. “I’m sorry about this morning. I handled the situation badly, and I apologize.”

“You apologize,” she repeats, her words slow as if she’s trying them out on her tongue.

“Take your shorts off.”

“What. Why?”

“So I can say I’m sorry properly.”

Her expressive eyes disappear when she blinks, flashing back at me a moment later.

“Take off your shorts, Poison.”

This time there’s no mistaking the order in my tone, and her hands move, pushing the tight fabric over her butt and down her legs.

“Good girl,” I praise, my eyes scanning her tight cotton panties as if they’re the most exotic lace. Reaching out, I hook my thumbs into the waist and drag them down, not giving her a chance to protest. As her smooth pussy is revealed, my mouth starts to water, eager to taste her and make her come.

Leaning forward, I help her free her feet from the panties and shorts, running my hands back up her legs as I sit back up, hauling her closer as I grip her ass in my hands and press a soft kiss to her stomach.

She shrieks when I lift her off the ground, twisting her around and lowering her back down onto the bed. “Just relax, Poison.”

“What…” she says nervously. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to eat your cunt until you come on my tongue and scream yourself hoarse,” I tell her calmly. Standing from the bed, I drag her down until her butt is hanging over the edge of the mattress, then I lower myself to my knees between her parted thighs and inhale deeply. “Fuck, Poison, you smell like the sweetest fucking death.”

At the first swipe of my tongue along her slit, she gasps, trying to clamp her legs closed.

“No,” I snap, slapping my palm against her butt hard enough to shock her and stop her from moving but not enough to hurt her. “Keep your legs open.”

“Okay,” she whispers, relaxing her thighs and cautiously offering her cunt to me.

“Good girl,” I praise again. “You have the prettiest pussy, wet and pink and all fucking mine. Now be good and stay still while I show you how sorry I am.”

When I lick her again, it’s more than just a teasing touch. I lave at her cunt, lapping up all her cream and swallowing it down like it’s my favorite ice cream. She tastes so sweet and so fucking good that I lose control, licking and sucking until her butt is off the bed, and she’s pushing her cunt into my face, begging me for more.

My fingers find her slit and I push two into her, slowly working them inside her tightness. Trying to be gentle, I fuck her slowly, but as my tongue works her to a frenzy, she loses control, pushing herself deeper onto my fingers, fucking my hand while I flick at her clit until she cries out.

Not wanting to stop, I keep licking, scraping my teeth over her clit, testing her reaction to a hint of pain and she explodes again, her cunt clamping down on my fingers like she’s trying to break them off.

My dick is so fucking hard, it hurts, but I’m not going to fuck her yet. She’d probably let me, but right now, she’s only mindless. I want her desperate and she isn’t there yet. It’s only a matter of time though, and then once I fuck her, she’ll be mine for real.

“Oh god,” she pants, her hands clawing at the sheets.

“I’m sorry, Little Snake. Do you forgive me?”

“Oh my god,” she pants again, her voice raspy but not the hoarse I promised her.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m not done yet,” I assure her, dropping my head and eating her until she’s screaming so loudly I’m sure everyone else in the house can hear her too.

When I wake up the next morning, January is wrapped around me, her naked body pressed to mine like it’s the most natural place in the world for her to be. I don’t know what time it is, but I don’t care. I’m not ready to move yet. If I had my way, I’d stay here all day wrapped up in my Sweet Venom’s arms, teasing her and making her come over and over. But I know the moment her eyes open, she’ll pull away from me.

I don’t think she’s still scared of me, but she’s definitely wary. She wants freedom, but it’s the only gift I’ll never give her, and unlike Starling, who’s learned to love the cage Bastian keeps her in, I don’t think January will ever embrace hers because she’s been caged her whole life.

If I were a different person, I’d allow her the chance to live, but I can’t. She’s mine now and even considering giving her space to stretch her legs and experience life makes my heart squeeze in my chest and panic start to rise to the surface.

When she starts to stir, I band my arms tighter around her and keep her close while her limbs move, stretching and waking up.

“Good morning, baby,” I say, using the endearment that always makes her look at me like she’s questioning if I am actually talking to her.

“Morning,” she croaks.

Just like I promised, she screamed herself hoarse last night and I can’t even pretend that I’m not smug as fuck about it. But as soon as she realizes she’s lying on my chest, she tries to escape.

“Clay, let me up.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to use the bathroom,” she squeaks.

Reluctantly, I let her go, watching her naked butt as she rushes across the room and into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Sighing, I climb out of bed and pull a pair of basketball shorts over my hard cock. The clothes January bought yesterday are still in the bags, so I grab them and start to put them away, enjoying the sight of her clothes next to mine in the closet.

The bathroom door opens, and she steps out, wrapped in the robe that I’m absolutely going to put in the trash. “You don’t need to do that. I can put it all away,” she rasps.

“If we work together, it’ll get done twice as fast. You need to eat. We skipped dinner last night,” I tell her, not admitting that I’d happily eat her for three meals a day.

Silently, she moves beside me, pulling clothes from the bags and folding them into the drawers or hanging them on the rail. “I need to pay you back for all these clothes,” she says after a few minutes of working beside me.

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do. You shouldn’t—”

“Yes, I absolutely should. You’re my wife—”

Sighing, she shakes her head. “No. Not really.”

Spinning around, I grab her and swing her up into my chest, then slam her back against the wall of the closet as I rip the robe from her, holding her beneath her thighs and rubbing my rock-hard cock against her exposed pussy. “You’re my wife, Poison. In every way but one. I was going to wait until you were begging me to fill you with my cock, but I don’t like you doubting that you belong to me.”

Letting go of one of her legs, I use the wall to hold her up and shove my shorts down, letting my hard cock pop free. Reaching between us, I thrust two fingers into her cunt, fucking her fast and hard until she comes with a cry, coating my fingers with her arousal.

“Clay.”

Ignoring her, I pull my fingers free, grab my cock, find her entrance, and push into her, taking her virginity and truly making her my wife in a single thrust.

“Mine. You’re all mine, Poison. I’m coated in your virgin blood and your cunt is stretched around my cock. No one else will ever get to feel this. No one else will ever get to feel how fucking tight you are.”

Pulling almost all the way out, I slide back into her, slow and deep. My lips find her neck and I bite down as I rut into her, feeling her cunt clench on me tightly as I drive in and out of her.

Grabbing her face with my free hand, I force her to look at me, then pause at the tears that are trailing down her cheeks. “Fuck. I should have been more gentle,” I growl, angry at myself for not being more careful. “I’m going to make it feel good. I promise, baby. Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?”

A fresh batch of tears spills from her eyes, and I stop, my dick buried inside her. “Shit. Hold on to me. Let me get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Her arms tentatively curl around my neck, and I hold her under her butt, my dick still inside of her as I carry her back to our bed. Lying down on my back, I hold on to her hips and slowly start to guide her up and down the length of my cock. “Ride me, baby, fuck my cock. You’re in charge.”

Her cheeks heat and I smile, helping her move until she gets the rhythm and slowly grinds along my dick, soft sighs and pants falling from her parted lips. Releasing her hips, I grab a handful of her butt with one hand and push the other between her thighs to rub at her clit.

Her cunt clamps down on me and a feral moan bursts from her. Closing her eyes, she throws her head back, arching her back and pushing her bee-stung tits out to me. I want to be everywhere, touching every inch of creamy naked skin, but instead, I work her clit, rubbing in circles and gripping her ass tightly with my other hand.

She comes on a whimper, her movements stalling while her cunt tightens, and I feel her muscles pulse with her release. Unable to resist, I grab her hips again and start to fuck up into her, holding her still while I work my cock in and out of her tightness. When my balls tighten, I can’t hold back a moment longer, spilling my cum inside of her and claiming her cunt as mine without even an ounce of remorse.

29

JANUARY

I  am no longer a virgin. The thought sounds strange even inside my head. I’m hot, sweaty, and sore, still sitting in Clay’s lap with his dick inside of me.

A man’s penis is inside of me and not just any man, my husband. My husband’s penis is inside my vagina, and I am no longer a virgin.

Nope. No. That doesn’t feel real.

Clay’s hands are stroking me. I think he’s trying to comfort me, or maybe he’s not done. Although I think he finished, but then what do I know? I’ve never done this before.

“Baby,” he calls, using that nickname that makes me feel all soft and gooey.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

Without replying, I mentally check out my body. Everything above and below my waist feels fine. A little sticky, but there’s no pain. But my core feels raw, and there’s an aching throb that’s pulsing from inside of me.

Clay moves his hips, and I groan, wincing.

“Fuck, Poison, if you keep making noises like that, I’m going to flip you over and keep fucking you,” he warns, laughing when I immediately tense. “Calm down, I’m only kidding.”

Wrapping his hand around my hips, he helps me off his dick and out of his lap.

“I need to go—” I start, cringing at how wet everything feels.

“Nope. We’ll clean up in a minute. Get your ass over here.”

“Clay, I really need to use the bathroom.”

“Fuck me, wife! What the hell does a man have to do to get a cuddle with you?” he jokes, dragging me into him and forcing me to rest my head on his chest while his arms band around me, pulling me close.

A part of me wants to explain that before our wedding, I’ve never been hugged or hugged anyone else in return, but I’m already feeling too raw, too vulnerable. So much has changed in the last few days. Clay has gone from my enemy to my ally. But what does that even mean?

He offered me revenge on my family. He apologized with oral sex. We had sex, and I’m no longer a virgin. He took what I’m not one-hundred-percent sure I was ready to offer. I didn’t say no, but I’m not sure I actually said yes either.

He didn’t rape me, I was an equal participant, but it was like some part of me that was disconnected from my rational thoughts took over and enjoyed his touch while my mind took a back seat. Sex with him was… good. Painful but good, but I still felt separate from it, like I wasn’t in control.

Now everything just feels awkward. I don’t want to cuddle with him. I want to take a shower and wash this all away until I’ve had time to think about everything that’s happened in the last forty-eight hours.

“Clay, I really need to use the bathroom,” I say, prying myself off his damp skin.

His sigh is almost sad sounding, but I ignore him and climb out of the bed, grabbing my robe from where he dropped it on the floor and waddling to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind me.

Turning on the shower, I refuse to face my own reflection in the mirror, stepping straight into the water and scrubbing my skin until it’s pink and clean. I’m aware that how I’m behaving isn’t how normal people act after losing their virginity, but I don’t know how I’m supposed to react. Mother never gave me any kind of hint about how any of this was supposed to go and I don’t have any girlfriends I can ask.

“Open the door, January,” Clay shouts from the bedroom.

“I’m in the shower,” I call back.

“Then get out and open the fucking door,” he snaps angrily.

My heart races in my chest and for a second, I consider not doing as he asks. The door is locked, but that hasn’t stopped him in the past. He told me before that he could open it whenever he wanted.

“Poison,” he calls, then bangs on the door, making the wood rattle in the frame.

Turning off the water, I wrap myself in a towel and unlock the door, opening it an inch and peering through. “I’ll be out in just a minute. Sorry, I didn’t think I’d been that long.”

His fingers push through the gap, and I jump back, releasing my hold on the door as it swings open, and an angry, very naked Clay steps inside. “What the fuck is going on?”

My eyes scan the bathroom, looking to see what he could be talking about, but there’s nothing in here except me and now him. “Err. I’m taking a shower?” My words come out as a question, even though it’s obvious what I’ve been doing. I’m wet and wearing only a towel.

“Why are you hiding in here?” he demands.

“I-I, was, sticky. I-I was just having a shower.” I’m stuttering and fumbling over my words, but I can’t help it. He’s clearly angry, his chest heaving up and down as he glares at me, his dick still out and on display and covered in red that I’m pretty sure is my blood and I just don’t know what he expects me to say or do. My inner voice gets more and more panicked, and my heart starts to race.

“January,” he snaps.

“I was just taking a shower. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Wild eyes run over me, taking in my wet skin and hair and the towel I’m holding to me like it’ll protect me from him.

“Are you okay?”

I nod.

“Are you sore?” His eyes drop between my thighs, and I blush, hating the heat that rushes to my cheeks.

Unable to meet his gaze, I nod again.

“Let me see.” Dropping to his knees, he rips the towel from my grip and pushes my legs open. Careful fingers work at my folds, parting me wide so he can see. “Your cunt is all puffy and swollen. You took my cock so well, baby. I can’t wait to fuck you again. Next time I want to watch while my cum drips back out of you.”

My cheeks are so hot it feels like my skin is burning, and I close my eyes to hide from the shame of his words.

“Do you want my baby, Poison?”

“What?” My lids snap open, and my heart jump-starts, pounding in my chest like I’ve been hit with an electric shock.

“Despite what your family thought, I didn’t have any plans to have kids for a good few years. But fucking you raw, feeling how tight and wet your cunt got when you milked my dick. I don’t think I’d mind watching you swell with my kid inside of you.”

Shaking my head, my eyes fill with tears. A baby is the ultimate cage. I can’t let him do that to me.

Tilting his head to the side, he watches me carefully. “I’m not going to stop filling you with my cum every time I fuck you. I like knowing you’re full of me. That you smell of me. I’m pissed that you washed me out of you. So, if you don’t want my baby, we need to get you on some birth control.”

My nod is frantic. “I’ll start birth control.”

“Okay. I’ll arrange for the doctor to come out to the house. But from now on, if I give you my cum, you don’t immediately jump up and wash it off. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” I agree instantly. Right now, I’d probably agree to anything he wants if it means not being forced to have a baby at eighteen. My parents might have sold me as a breeder, but I’ll take any get-out clause he’s willing to offer me.

“Good. Now go lie down on the bed with your legs spread wide for me.”

I want to protest, to tell him I’m sore and that I’m not sure I’m up for more sex, but I don’t want to piss him off and end up carrying his kid, so instead, I walk to the bed and do as he says, lying down and spreading my legs for him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he admires, running his fingers from my clit down to my entrance, then back up again. “I really want to stretch you around my dick, but you’re sore, so instead, I’m going to lick you until you’re squirming, and then I’m going to come all over your poisonous cunt. And this time, you won’t wash off what I give you. Will you?”

“No,” I whisper obediently.

“Good girl.”

Leaning down, he locks our gazes while he licks me from clit to ass and back up again, never letting me look away when he forces his tongue inside of me, igniting a pleasure I wasn’t anticipating. Finding my clit with his thumb, he rubs in slow circles, working his cock with his other hand and pushing us both toward release.

My eyes roll back as I feel a wave of pleasure curl upward, ready to crash over me. But the moment I tense for the peak, he stops, leaving me hanging on the precipice of release. Blinking my lids open, I find him watching me, sitting back on his knees and jerking his cock, in fast, confident strokes, until jets of cum spurt from the head.

A pained groan escapes his mouth as his full lips part in pleasure. Streaks of cum land on my sex, coating me in his release, just like he said he would. “Look at you,” he growls, his voice low and raspy. “Covered in me.” Scooping some onto the tip of his finger, he brings it to my lips and paints it onto my mouth. “This is mine.”

He collects some more on his finger and wipes it over each of my nipples. “These are mine.” Smearing his finger into his cum again, he pushes his hand lower between my legs, finding my ass and rubbing his release all over my hole. “This is mine.” Then he uses his whole hand to rub the rest of his cum all over my mound, into my sex, covering my clit and pushing two fingers deep inside of me. “And this is all fucking mine. Isn’t it, Poison?”

I nod.

“Say it,” he orders.

“Yours.”

“What’s mine? Tell me.”

“Me, I’m yours.”

“Your mouth?”

“My mouth,” I repeat.

“Your tits.”

“My tits.”

“Your tight ass.”

“My ass.”

“And your hot, wet, greedy cunt.”

“And my”—I falter, clearing my throat—“and my cunt.”

“Good girl,” he praises, slowly sliding his fingers in and out of me, working my clit with his thumb as he leans forward and kisses me.

When I come, it’s not an explosion of pleasure, it’s a hot ache that’s wrenched from my body, pain, and ecstasy in equal measure.

“No one touches you but me,” he growls into my neck, pressing hot kisses over my racing pulse point.

Just like he said, he doesn’t let me shower again. Instead, he rubs what’s left of his cum into my skin and then helps me into some of the lace panties Sammy insisted I needed to buy when we were shopping yesterday. I prefer the cotton ones, but Clay doesn’t give me a choice, picking them out of the dresser and holding them out for me to step into.

I half expect him to pick out the rest of my clothes, but he doesn’t. His fingers slide over my stomach, and he steps into my back, holding me to him as he draws my hair over one shoulder and kisses where it meets my neck.

Releasing me, he walks into the bathroom, turning on the shower and stepping into the water without bothering to shut the door. His change of pace, from aloof to clingy, is giving me whiplash. Grabbing a pretty blue tea dress with cap sleeves and buttons that run down the front, I dress, then grab my hairbrush and try to brush out all the knots this morning’s activities have caused.

My hair dryer and straighteners are in the boxes from my parents’ house, but despite Clay crossing every physical boundary that I have, his being here when I unpack all the things that were important enough for me to want to keep, feels more intimate than anything he’s done to my body so far.

A part of me wants to hate him for touching me. But I can’t deny that everything he’s done to me has given me the type of pleasure I’ve never experienced before. Discovering a sexuality I had no idea existed inside of me has been eye-opening. But he still feels like a stranger and showing him all the things that hold meaning for me feels like I’d be offering him an insight I’m not ready to expose yet.

When he steps back into the bedroom, completely naked yet again, I do my best not to stare at his dick. This is the first time I’ve seen it soft. It’s still big but nowhere near as intimidating as when it’s hard. His body is incredibly beautiful, and I try not to be obvious when I watch him stride confidently into the closet. Coming back out a few moments later carrying what looks like shorts and a polo shirt.

There’s something oddly sexy about watching him get dressed, from the way the muscles in his arms bulge as he pulls his shirt over his head to the way his tight ass clenches as he pulls his boxers up. Maybe it’s his unwavering confidence that appeals to me. I’m not sure. Either way, I struggle to force myself to look away.

“You should leave your hair down, it’s beautiful,” he says, moving behind me and pushing my hands out of the way so he can finish the braid I’m halfway through, twisting a hair tie into the end.

Clay holds my hand as we wander down into the kitchen, that’s empty for the first time since I moved in. “Where is everyone? Don’t they have class?” I ask.

“I’ll text them and see. I don’t think Bastian’s back from Maine yet though.”

His fingers fly over the screen of his cell and a moment later, a flurry of beeps sound out. “Starling is upstairs. She doesn’t have class till eleven. Sammy is skipping so she can go to brunch with her cousin. Evan hasn’t answered, so he’s probably asleep. Hunter is at the library and Bastian is just about to board his plane to come home. So, it looks like it’s just us for breakfast. What do you fancy?”

“Oh. Err. I’m not too hungry.”

Clay’s eyes narrow. “We skipped dinner. You must be starving. So, I’ll ask again. What do you fancy for breakfast?”

“Is there any cereal?” I ask, unsure what his reaction will be.

Instead of answering, he moves to a cabinet and starts pulling out boxes of cereal. “We have Froot Loops, Cap’n Crunch, Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Lucky Charms, and oatmeal.”

I want Lucky Charms, but the sound of Mother’s voice in my head stops me. “Oatmeal, please. I can make it.”

“Stay put. I’ll make it. Can’t believe you’d pick oatmeal over Froot Loops, though.”

His cell beeps a few more times as I sit at the table and watch him make me breakfast. The staff at my parents’ house—I refuse to think of it as home anymore—made oatmeal all the time. But as per Mother’s instructions, mine was made with water, no sugar or syrup, and only a sprinkle of chopped nuts or seeds. Clay doesn’t make it like that. The bowl he slides in front of me is rich and creamy and drizzled with sticky maple syrup and thickly sliced banana.

“Thank you,” I say, humming with pleasure at the first spoonful.

“Where’s your cell?”

“Upstairs.”

“I know I’ve told you more than once to keep it on you. The girls are messaging you.”

“What girls?” I ask with my mouth full.

Amusement flitters across his features. “Starling and Sammy of course. Where is it? I’ll go grab it for you while you eat.”

“Err. In my backpack, I think.”

Scowling again, he leaves the room, coming back a few minutes later with my cell and a charger cable in his hands. “You have to keep it charged, Poison. What’s the fucking point of a cell with a dead battery?”

Plugging it in, he hands it to me, and I watch as the screen lights up. A moment later, it starts to chirp with a series of beeps and a notification for ten new messages appears.

Feeling him watch me, I tap the notification, and a text stream pops up. It’s a group chat, but what confuses me is why I’m in it. Scrolling up, I glance at the message Clay typed asking where everyone else was, then see everyone’s response before Sammy and Starling start addressing messages to me.

Starling: @January, there’s a party in the woods tomorrow night. We’re going.

Sammy: Hell Yes!!!

Starling: You’ve been here for two weeks, it’s time for your first college party. You can wear one of the gorgeous outfits you got yesterday.

Sammy: Oh. You should wear that gold dress.

Starling: Yes! That one was hot.

Sammy: @January?

Starling: @January?

Starling: @Clay why isn’t she replying? She doesn’t need your permission to go to a party with us.

Clay: @Starling calm down. Her cell is upstairs. Going to fetch it now.

Sammy: @Clay Good boy

Looking up from the screen, I glance at Clay. He’s watching me while he eats, his eyes hooded and full of some kind of emotion that I don’t know him well enough to distinguish.

“They want me to go to a party.”

“I know. Do you want to go?”

“I’ve never been to a college party.”

His lips lift into a soft smirk. “I know, Poison. Do you want to go with them? Sammy is a little wild, but she’s good fun. I think you should.”

“Did you tell them to ask me? They don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m your wife.” Heat fills my cheeks. I swear I’m perpetually shocked or embarrassed around this man and I think he likes me being off-kilter.

“I didn’t tell them to ask you, Poison. They want to get to know you. Starling is going to be family in a few weeks. Go to the party, have fun, but your cell stays on you, in your hand all night. I text, you reply. I call, you answer. No excuses.”

“I…”

“You’re going to the party, baby. But just remember, you’re mine, and I’m watching. Don’t let anyone touch what belongs to me.”

My cheeks heat to thermonuclear level as I remember him making me tell him that my mouth, breasts, sex, and ass were his.

“Baby, if you keep thinking those dirty thoughts, I’m going to haul you over my shoulder and take you back upstairs. Now reply to the girls so they stop thinking I’m being a tyrant.”

There’s a slight tremor in my fingers as I slowly type out a reply, then hit send.

January: If you’re sure you want me to come, I’d love to. Thank you.

Their replies are almost instant.

Sammy: @January hell yes!!! PARTY BABY

Starling: Of course, we want you to come @January

Sammy: This is going to be awesome and you girls can help me find a man to keep me entertained. I’m single and ready to mingle.

Several more messages pop up from Sammy. They’re all GIFs of people crazy dancing, drinking out of shot glasses and kissing. I can’t help but smile.

After we eat, Clay drives us both to class, kissing me possessively before he lets me head to my business class. He’s waiting outside the building once my class has finished, and his eyes heat wildly when he spots me. “Hey, Poison. How was your class?”

“It was good,” I tell him, my cheeks heating with embarrassment as my core pulses and twinges, reminding me of what we did before we left the house this morning.

When he notices the heat in my cheeks, a smirk tips the corners of his lips and he reaches for me, reeling me into him and pressing a blistering kiss to my lips. “Are you sore?”

Glancing around us, I check that no one can hear our conversation before I nod.

“Good. I like knowing that you’ve been feeling me all morning.”

At my scandalized expression, he chuckles, throwing an arm over my shoulders. “You have class in an hour, right?”

“It’s a seminar study group for my English project.”

“Okay, let’s go and get lunch from the coffee shop instead of going home then.”

I agree, and he leads me across campus to a small, cozy coffee shop that smells of roasted beans and cookies. I might not drink coffee, but I like the smell and I inhale deeply, enjoying the rich aroma.

Clay orders us food and drinks and then pulls me to a sofa, sliding so close to me I’m practically on his lap. “The doctor is coming to the house this afternoon,” he says.

“Doctor?”

“To get you set up with some birth control unless you changed your mind about me filling you with my baby.”

“No,” I say quickly. “Birth control is good.”

His smile is salacious as he slides his hand over my flat stomach. “I don’t know, Poison. I don’t hate the idea of filling you with my cum until your bred with my heir.”

My expression must show how horrified I am at that idea, and he laughs again. “Calm down, wife. I’m only kidding.”

After lunch, he walks me to my next class and tells me he’ll be waiting for me when I’m done, but I can barely concentrate on my professor as my mind swirls with panic. I might have been a virgin, but Clay wasn’t, and we had unprotected sex. I seriously doubt he’d put any woman at risk, but I need to ask him, no matter how awful the idea of that conversation sounds.

“Are you clean?” I blurt the moment I reach his side at the end of my class.

“What?”

“We had.” I lower my voice. “Sex. Unprotected sex. So, are you clean?”

“I’ve never fucked anyone without a condom before you, wife, but yes, I’m clean. I got tested before the wedding.”

Relief washes through me, and I exhale a shaky breath. “Okay. Me too, obviously.”

“Obviously.” He smirks.

He drives us back to the house, and an hour later, the doctor arrives. “Stay here, Poison. I’ll go and fetch him.”

He’s out the bedroom door before I can suggest I come downstairs, so I stand up warily, twisting my fingers together. I asked Mother about birth control before the wedding, and she’d point blank refused to allow it; she wouldn’t even listen to my reasons for wanting it.

The bedroom door opens and Clay steps inside, followed by a smiling older man with an old-school leather medical bag clutched in his hand. “Mrs. Jansen,” he says, stepping forward to greet me with his hand outstretched.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.”

“Clay said you’d like to get some birth control.”

“Yes please,” I squeak, heat exploding in my cheeks.

“No need to be embarrassed. Now, there are a few options we can talk about. You can have an oral tablet, a shot, an implant that’s surgically implanted under the skin on your arm, or an IUD that’s inserted into your womb to prevent pregnancy. Have you had any thoughts about which option you’d prefer?”

“Err,” I stall.

“At your age, and given your situation here at college, I’d recommend either a birth control shot or implant. That way, you don’t have to worry about remembering to take a pill. An IUD is an option, but I’d need you to come into my office to have that fitted. It’s not something I can do today.”

“She’ll get the implant,” Clay says, ignoring me and speaking to the doctor.

“What?” I ask sharply.

His eyes turn to me, and his face is serious. “It lasts the longest and when I decide to knock you up, we can just get it taken out.”

“We?” I question. “It’s my body.”

“And you’re my wife, and I’m telling you to get the implant. Or Dr. Harris can leave, and we can just see what happens.” He arches his brow imperiously, silently warning me that he’ll send the doctor away if I don’t do what he wants.

“I…” Dr. Harris starts.

“I’ll get the implant, please. I need a Plan B too; we haven’t been very careful.”

“Oh.” Dr. Harris clears his throat, then purses his lips and nods. “Okay then, give me a moment. I have everything I need with me.”

“The bathroom is just through there,” Clay says, smiling widely as he points to the door behind us.

My smile is brittle as I sit down on the edge of the bed and wait until I hear the sounds of the faucet turning on before I spin around and glare at Clay. “What was that?” I demand.

“Having the implant makes sense. It lasts up to five years, but you can get pregnant pretty much right away once it’s taken out.”

“You don’t get to make choices about my body.”

“Don’t I?” He lifts one brow, challenging me.

“No, you don’t.”

“You might want to check that contract you signed, Poison. I have control over all medical choices. Your parents signed those decisions over to me with your trust fund.”

“What?” I feel the color drain from my cheeks.

“You’re mine, Mrs. Jansen. I like to be in control and when you signed that contract, you signed away all your rights. You’re collared and chained, and only I have the key.”

“No,” I gasp.

“Yes. Fucked up, isn’t it? Your parents took away your free choice. Are you sure you only want to be invisible to them?” He’s taunting me, but I don’t understand why.

Before I get a chance to ask him, Dr. Harris comes back into the bedroom with a kidney tray full of medical paraphernalia.

“Okay, Mrs. Jansen, are you happy sitting there, or would you rather we do this somewhere else?”

“Here is fine.”

The doctor talks me through what he’s going to do, but I’m not listening. My mind is swirling with the knowledge that I don’t have control of any aspect of my life. I flinch when Clay’s hands cup my cheeks, my eyes snapping upward to where he’s standing over me.

Leaning down, he captures my lips, his hands keeping me in place as I try to deny him. Then I sense someone touching my arm. I feel coldness, then a sharp prick. Moments later, there’s a dull pulling sensation before more coldness.

“There you go, Mrs. Jansen. All done,” Dr. Harris announces.

Clay releases me, but doesn’t step back, still crowding me, even as he stands upright, so my head is level with his stomach.

“Thank you, Dr. Harris,” Clay says confidently.

The doctor talks about aftercare and then leaves me a script for Plan B before he follows Clay out, leaving me alone in the bedroom.

“You pissed at me, Little Snake?” Clay asks, leaning against the doorframe, his hands braced above him, highlighting his defined muscles.

“You don’t get to control what I do and don’t do with my body. I don’t care what that stupid contract said.” I’m willing to back down on some things, the ones that are truly beyond my control or the things that I don’t care enough about to fight. But this. This is my body, my choice.

“Your body belongs to me.”

“No, it doesn’t. My body is mine.”

“Want to bet,” Clay taunts.

“Wagers with you don’t seem to work out too well for me.”

“I bet you I can make you lose all control of your body in under five minutes.”

I don’t just blush, my whole body heats as I think about what he’ll do to make me lose control.

“Ahh, you like that idea, don’t you, Poison? It’s because you know that even when I’m taking control, I’ll still take good care of what’s mine. You enjoy ceding control, but you don’t think you should, so when I remind you that you’re owned, you push back.”

I don’t know when he moved, but suddenly he’s not in the doorway, he’s between my legs, sinking down to his knees, his face level with mine.

“I like it when you push. I like it when you fight.” He pauses, a soft smile spreading across his lips. “I like it when you run. As long as you remember that when it comes down to it. You. Belong. To. Me.”

In my mind, I know I should be angry at his high-handedness. I should be fighting, arguing, standing my ground. But even though I’m angry at him, I still want him. I still want this.

“Tell me who owns you,” he breathes against my ear, his fingers running over my throat.

“Tell me you’ll accept that all medical issues that concern my body are my choice,” I barb back, my strong words ruined by how breathy and wanton I sound.

Neither of us backs down, even though his palm finally collars my neck and I arch into his touch. Somehow, we come to a silent agreement that we want this, here, right now, more than we want to fight.

Before I really know what’s happening, I’m naked, bent over the side of the bed as he slides into me from behind, his hands holding my hips while he slams into me until I’m speaking in tongues and practically delirious.

When I come, it’s like my psyche splinters; something inside of me is fundamentally altered, and the parts that don’t fit anymore are just broken at my feet. So much has changed in the last two weeks and the weight of it hits me. I’m free of my parents but shackled to Clay instead. He makes me feel alive with pleasure, but I don’t know if that’s worth sacrificing my free will.

“You’re thinking awfully hard for someone who just came.” Clay laughs, rolling me to the side and curling into my back, his huge body wrapping around me.

“Is this how my life is going to be from now on?” I ask.

“What are you talking about, Poison?”

“I mean that you do something messed up, and when I call you on it, you try to control me with threats and manipulation.”

“Jesus, baby. Say it how it is, why don’t you?”

“I’m serious, Clay.”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he says, shocking me. “You’re right, it’s your body, and when it comes to your own health, as long as you’re not doing something that would hurt or harm you, then I won’t interfere.”

His capitulation surprises me, and I glance at him over my shoulder.

“Don’t look at me like that. I can compromise.”

I don’t know what he sees on my face, but he laughs, rolls me to my back and starts to kiss me.

“Once you’ve finished, we can go and unpack your boxes before Sammy decides she needs to help you get ready for the party,” Clay says to me the following afternoon as I take my last bite of the delicious pesto pasta Hunter made for lunch.

“Oh, I can unpack them. It’s fine. I don’t need any help.”

His eyes narrow. “It’s three fucking boxes. I know you don’t need any help, but I’m going to anyway. Then we can chill out for a couple of hours. Maybe take a swim.”

“I can’t swim,” I admit.

“What? Your parents have a pool. You’ve been out by our pool,” he says, half shock, half suspicion.

“I don’t need to be able to swim, to sit on a lounger and read.”

“Why don’t you know how to swim?” His brow is furrowed with suspicious confusion.

“I was never taught.”

“I get that,” he snarls. “But why? Can your brothers swim?”

“Yes, they can swim.”

“So why not you?”

Looking down at the bowl in front of me, I blurt. “When the instructor came to teach us… Mother didn’t want anyone to question the bruises. Wearing a swimsuit, I wouldn’t have been able to hide them.”

“Those motherfucking bastards,” Clay growls. “Spineless, fucking bastards. I’m going to kill them all.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You already knew Father and my brothers weren’t very nice to me. Why are you reacting like this now?”

Feral eyes snap to mine. “Ridiculous. You think I’m being ridiculous? Your dad and brothers put their hands on you. What they did was so much worse than not very nice. Jesus. How often? How often did they leave you with bruises?”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” I tell him, looking down at my plate.

“How often, January?”

“It doesn’t matter. You said I don’t have to go back there. You said I wouldn’t have to see them.”

“We don’t, and you won’t. But I still need to know. How often did they hurt you?”

Looking away, I close my eyes and sigh. “A lot when I was younger. Father’s disappointment in me being a girl made his temper quick and his patience short.”

“What did he do? How did he hurt you?”

“Does it matter? It happened, but I’m fine.”

“You flinch. Did you know that? You flinch if anyone reaches for you too quickly.”

His hand snaps in my direction, and I lurch back, unable to prevent my body’s natural reaction to touch.

“It wasn’t like what you’re thinking. It wasn’t like he was putting me in the hospital every time he lost his temper. He’d slap me, and sometimes he’d punch me in the ribs or stomach. But mainly, it was a lot of shoving.”

“And what about when you broke your arm, or your wrist, or your fingers?”

My lips fall open in shock. “How did you…?”

“I had our family doctor get your medical records so he could prescribe some more EpiPens for you. He warned me that you were clumsy. That you’d fallen over your own feet and broken bones several times over the years. But you’re one of the most graceful women I’ve ever met. I knew there was no way you tripped. So, tell me, how did your bones get broken?”

“Do we really need to talk about this? It’s done. Rehashing it isn’t going to make it not happen. I just—”

“Tell me,” he snaps.

“Father broke my arm by throwing me into a table. My wrist was when Lucious thought I’d gotten him into trouble for stealing from Mother’s purse. And my fingers were from various times when Father and my brothers decided to… teach me a lesson.”

Shame settles on me, and I close my eyes, hiding from Clay and the memories that descend on me.

A hand grazes my shoulder, and I jump, my heart racing as adrenaline pulses through my bloodstream and tells me to run. The chair falls to the floor as I scramble to my feet and bolt.

“Hey,” Clay shouts after me.

But I’m not coherent enough to realize it’s him as I bolt up the stairs and into the bedroom. Closing the door, I turn the lock and then fall into a heap in the corner, hiding from him and myself and the shame I feel from admitting how pathetic I am.

If I’d fought back. If I’d done something, anything other than just sit back and take the abuse, maybe it would have stopped. But I didn’t. I never did a thing because I’m just a girl, and I never stood a chance against Father and my brothers.

The door handle rattles a moment before he shouts my name. “January, open the door, baby.”

A part of me knows it’s his room and that I should open the door and let him in, then have my meltdown somewhere else, but I just don’t seem to be able to push my limbs to move. Instead, I curl up smaller, trying to be as unobtrusive and invisible as possible.

I feel pathetic and worthless and sick with guilt and repulsion. I hate this side of myself. I’d fooled myself into thinking that if I got away from my family, I’d suddenly become a different person, but it was all a lie. I’m not different, I’m just in a different place, and apparently that doesn’t alter who you are at your core, and I’m a coward.

Clay calls my name again, but I ignore him, too far into my pity party to care that I’ve stolen his bedroom. I don’t even realize he’s opened the door until his arms are beneath me and I’m in the air, held against his chest.

“I’m an asshole. I’m sorry. I won’t ever ask you about it again, I promise.”

His warm, comforting scent surrounds me, and I inhale deeply, trying to use it to anchor me to the present so I stop freaking out. But it doesn’t work, and as I inhale the familiar scent of mint and soap, my muscles seem to tense more and I become like a corpse, frozen in rigor mortis in his arms.

“Tell me what to do to make this better.”

“I don’t know,” I confess.

“Then tell me which of these you’d prefer. I can hold you, kiss you, make you come. I can fuck you, or I can leave you the fuck alone. Or fuck, I don’t know. I can get you chocolate and ice cream and whatever else you want, and we can sit and watch the movie version of that paperback you read over and over.”

“You want to watch the movie Pride and Prejudice?”

“This isn’t about what I want. This is about what’s going to make you feel better. I’m a demanding asshole with you. Not with anyone else normally. But you drive me fucking crazy. I want to know everything. Every tiny, inconsequential detail, as well as all the big things. I want them all and I don’t have enough patience to not push for them, even when you’re telling me to stop. So help me make this better. Tell me what to do.”

“Donuts,” I whisper.

“Donuts? What type?”

“Jelly or glazed.”

“I can do that, baby. You want anything to go with them? Tea or one of those fancy iced blended things?”

“I don’t mind.”

“How about a thick shake?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, Poison, I’ll order some.”

30

CLAY

H er eyes are still haunted when the delivery driver drops off the boxes of donuts and the shakes that I ordered. Everything with January feels like one step forward and two back. Our bodies connect in a way I didn’t know was possible. She’s fucking perfect. Submissive, expressive, insanely sexy. I had no idea I even liked to be truly in charge until her, and now I can’t imagine anything else.

Her inexperience is like a beacon, urging me to teach her how much pleasure I can give her and how amazing sex can be. But more than that, I want to mold her, shape her into something that’s so intrinsically mine she would wilt without me. It’s fucked up, but I don’t care. The longer I’m around her, the more I understand the lengths Bastian went to to ensure Starling couldn’t live without his particular brand of crazy.

When the girls texted her about going out tonight, I didn’t object because it was the perfect chance to give her a taste of how things were going to be. She’s collared and chained, but I’m not a complete tyrant. I’ll allow her just enough freedom so she forgets how tethered she is.

We spend the rest of the day in a heap, eating junk food and watching hours’ worth of period drama in our bed. January isn’t chatty, but I’m not sure if that’s because she doesn’t want to speak to me or if she’s just quiet by nature.

Someone orders pizza for dinner and we eat with the others. Almost the moment we sit down, the girls pull January into a conversation about what they’re going to wear to the party, and I stop listening. It doesn’t matter what Sammy thinks my Poison should wear. If I don’t approve, I’ll cut it from her body and throw it in the trash.

The rest of the guys are quiet, and a dark, brooding energy is oozing from Bastian, his eyes shadowed and angry.

“How did it go with Starling’s dad?” I ask quietly.

“Not well,” he snarls.

“He’s still not coming to the wedding?”

“His exact words were. ‘I’ll convince my daughter not to tie herself to a psycho like you if it’s the last thing I do,’” he says through gritted teeth.

“What are you going to do?” Evan asks.

“He wants Starling to go and visit for a couple of weeks without me.”

“The last time she went to Maine, she didn’t come back for two years,” Evan says quietly, the now familiar guilt obvious in his expression.

“I think she should go,” Hunter announces.

Shocked, I turn and stare at him. “What?”

“Look at it from her dad’s point of view. Two years ago, she ran from you. She was wrecked, broken, and it was your…” He stops. “Our fault that she felt that way. She hid from us, from her mom, from everything for two years. And then you forced your way back into her life and tricked her into coming here, and now, a few months down the line, you’re not only together, but you’re getting married. Can you really blame him for thinking this is all really messed up? For thinking you’re forcing her into this.”

Blinking, I exhale and nod. “He’s right. Send her to Maine. Let her show her dad that this is her choice and that you’re not forcing her to be here and with you. He’s testing you, and if you refuse to let her go, you fail.”

“I don’t want to not be with her,” Bastian grumbles petulantly.

“This isn’t about what you want,” Evan snaps.

“Clay, you don’t mind if we use your room to get ready, do you?” Sammy asks, pulling my attention to her.

“No, of course not. It’s Poison’s room too.”

“I told you he wouldn’t mind,” Sammy tells January, jumping up from the table and pulling my Poison with her. “Come on.”

Starling laughs as she jumps up from the table too and helps herd a reluctant January out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I watch them go, ignoring the guys until I can’t see her anymore. My fingers itch to access the cameras in our room, but I don’t want to mistakenly see Sammy or Starling while they’re getting changed. Pulling out my cell, I type out a message.

Me: Send me a picture of your outfit once you pick it.

I wait for the dots to appear. They don’t, so I type out a second message.

Me: What are the rules, Poison? I text. You reply.

Again, the messages go unread, so I open the camera app, clicking into the one in the sitting room first and finding Sammy and Starling—thankfully fully dressed—holding up clothes and chatting. Switching to the camera in the bedroom, it’s empty, but the bathroom door is closed. I have a camera in the bathroom too, so I activate it and watch as a naked January tips her head back and lets the water wash the suds from her hair.

The urge to march upstairs and mark her body with my cum is so strong I have to force myself to stay in my seat. Thinking about letting her go to a party not wearing my scent and brand makes me unreasonably angry.

“Back in a minute,” I tell the guys, not looking at them as I climb the stairs two at a time, racing to get to her before she gets out of the bathroom.

My bedroom door is shut, so I knock. “Everyone decent?”

“Yeah,” Starling says, opening the door with a smile. “We’re picking outfits, and January is in the shower.”

“We don’t have time for you to go caveman on her,” Sammy tells me with a scowl.

Flashing her a glacial warning, I barge through the room, open the door lock with the app on my cell and march into the bathroom, where January is wrapped in a towel, blotting water from her hair.

“Clay?”

Closing and relocking the door behind me, I stride right up to her and rip her towel off. “On your knees.”

“Clay, I just—”

“On your knees, Poison. Now.”

Slowly, she sinks to her knees at my feet.

“Take my cock out.”

There’s a slight tremor in her hands as she pushes my pants down, but she doesn’t falter, grabbing my dick that’s hard and standing at attention.

“Open your mouth.”

Pushing her hand aside, I fist my cock, brushing the head over her parted lips before sliding it into her mouth. “Suck.”

Her nipples pebble and her pupils dilate as she reacts to my order. She likes this, even if she doesn’t really understand it. I expect her to be tentative, but instead, she goes to town on my dick, dragging a moan from me and making my balls pulse with the need to come within seconds.

“Enough.” Pulling my dick from her mouth, her eyes widen, and she looks up at me like a guileless fucking sex doll. She’s a fucked-up mix of concubine and innocence that is driving me fucking wild. Offering her my hand, she looks at it for a moment.

“I thought…” she trails off.

“Up, baby.” I help her to her feet, then turn her to face the counter, taking each of her hands and placing them on the basin one at a time. “Keep looking at yourself,” I say, talking to her reflection in the mirror as I sink to the floor behind her.

A gasp falls from her mouth as I lick her from clit to ass and back down again. The sound urges me on, and I eat her until she’s panting and whining. “Oh god. Oh. Oh.”

Standing, I kick her legs farther apart, brace one hand on her back and push my cock into her in one slow thrust. Arching up onto her toes, I watch her eyes fall shut through the mirror.

“Eyes open, Poison. Watch me make you come.” Curling a hand around her stomach, I find her clit and rub circles, fucking her slowly, not wanting to hurt her, needing to make this all about her pleasure.

“Clay,” she pants, her fingers turning white as she holds on to the basin with all her strength.

Lifting the hand that was splayed on her back, I bring my thumb to her mouth and push it past her lips, rubbing the pad against her tongue before pulling it free. Still rubbing at her clit with one hand, I bring my wet thumb to her asshole and rub over the tight, puckered hole, taunting her with a forbidden touch.

“I’m going to stretch out this tight hole till you can take me, then I’m going to fuck you here and fill you full of my cum. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Poison?”

She comes on a strangled cry, her cunt clamping down on my dick so hard, I’m worried she might break it. “That’s it, baby. I love feeling you come on my cock.” My dick pulses, but I hold back my own release until her orgasm starts to subside. Pulling my dick out of her, I wrap my fist around my length and jack quickly, making my balls pull up tight as I blow my load all over her ass and cunt, until my cum is dripping from her and hitting the floor between our feet.

Falling forward, I press my lips against her spine. “Fucking perfect,” I whisper.

Her body heaves with ragged breaths, but I don’t move, keeping her pinned in place, my dick gradually softening as the need to brand her calms within me.

“Why did you… why did you do that?” she asks, stumbling over her words.

“Because I won’t be able to let you leave if you’re not covered in me,” I tell her, lifting my weight from her. Placing my finger on her back, I trace a path down her spine and between her ass cheeks to where she’s covered in my cum. In slow circles, I rub the pearly liquid into her skin, making sure I cover her asshole, her clit, and her sex before pushing my finger inside of her, coating her cunt in my release.

“You’re mine, Poison. You can go to a party without me, but you’ll do it wearing my cum like fucking perfume.”

“That’s…” She pauses, her pupils blown wide.

“What, Poison? What is it? Hot? Crazy? Controlling? With you, I’m all those things. But you can demand the same from me.”

Pushing two fingers inside her, I pump them until they’re wet with her arousal before I slide them free. “I’ll happily wear you all fucking day long.” Lifting my hand, I wipe her arousal into my face and neck, rubbing it in until it’s absorbed into my skin.

Her mouth gapes open, but I just smile widely, pressing a kiss to her cheek and smacking her naked ass as I step out of the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

31

JANUARY

I  hear the door close with a quiet snick sound, but I can’t move. He’s done it again. Silenced me with his audacity and his sexual control, leaving me in a permanent state of shock and awe that I’m not sure I hate as much as I’m trying to convince myself I do.

Just thinking about the things he says or the things he does to me makes my cheeks heat and my core clench. It’s either excitement or fear, or it could be a heady mix of the two. Clay Jansen enjoys the way he flusters me. He likes that I’m teetering on a precipice. For days, he’s pushed me to see how much force would be required to make me tumble over the edge, only to drag me back to safety when he nudges me too far.

I feel emotionally wrecked but oddly expunged too. He’s forcing me to acknowledge things that have happened to me. Only I’m just not sure if it’s healthy venting or psychological warfare.

This could all just be a game.

My inner thoughts rush in. Drop that nugget of doubt and rush back out again. It’s a possibility. If what he told me about Sebastian and Starling was true, I wouldn’t put gaslighting and mental coercion out of his wheelhouse. But for some reason, I don’t think he’s playing with me. At least I hope he isn’t.

Prior to the big switch up, where my husband went from my archenemy to my supposed number one fan, I would have assumed the worst of him. But there’s a small part, deep inside of me, that wants him to be truthful and honest.

The way he touches me feels honest. He wants me. His body reacts just as strongly as mine does, and the things he does to me are beyond my wildest dreams. He’s given me more pleasure in the last week than I’ve ever experienced in my whole life, and now that I’ve had a taste of sexual freedom, I don’t think I ever want to go back to my repressed innocence.

A flash of red, high up in the corner of the ceiling, catches my eye, and I still, wondering what it could be. It only takes me a millisecond to remember what he told me. He sees everything.

Climbing up onto the counter, naked and sticky from all the cum he rubbed on me, I search out the tiny red light. It’s a small black camera, no bigger than my thumb. He said he saw everything, but I’d assumed he meant where I went and who I spoke to. I hadn’t considered he’d be watching me in the house. In the bathroom. But why hadn’t I thought of that? He found me that day in the pool house. If there are cameras in the bathroom, I bet there are cameras all over the house and yard.

I should be appalled. I should feel violated. So why is my core clenching and a shock of heat pooling in my stomach at the thought of him seeing me through the cameras right now? I don’t hate that he’s watching me. I should, but I don’t. I don’t hate it so much that I think I might like it. And how fucked up does that make me?

Climbing down from the counter, I consider if I should test out my theory. He barged in here because he wanted me covered in his cum, so what would he do if I got back into the shower and washed it away?

“January, hurry up,” Sammy calls impatiently from the other side of the bathroom door.

Glancing up at the camera one last time, I exhale, grab my robe from the back of the door and pull it on. Maybe it’s time I embrace the crazy and enjoy the new life I’ve been shackled into. It might not be the freedom I hoped for yet, but it’s a hell of a lot closer than I’ve ever been before.

For the hundredth time since I put this dress on, I tug at the hem, trying to make it six inches longer. The gold silk feels weightless, but that only accentuates the feeling of being practically naked.

“Stop tugging at the hem, you look amazing, and it really isn’t as short as it feels. The skirt is past midthigh, and I promise you’re completely covered up. No chance of an accidental nip or clit slip,” Sammy assures me.

“You look beautiful,” Starling says sincerely.

“Not like you guys… you look amazing.” And I mean it. Starling is wearing tiny fuchsia-pink tailored shorts and a dressier version of the top I wore to my parents’ house. Only instead of being cotton, hers is black silk, and beneath it, she has a matching pink bandeau bra that plays peekaboo through the extra-wide armholes and slashes in the back. In contrast, Sammy is wearing a skintight dark-green dress with capped sleeves and a hem that apparently lands as high as mine feels. The material clings to her sexy curves, and I feel like a shapeless stick insect in comparison.

“Ready?” Starling asks, grabbing her cell and sliding her student ID and some cash into the back of her case.

“I don’t have any money,” I blurt before I can think better of it.

“You won’t need any. Starling just brings a fifty in case she needs to run from Sebastian,” Sammy says with a laugh.

“You make it sound bad,” Starling gasps, shoving Sammy in the shoulder. “Did Clay tell you about mine and Sebastian’s… history?”

“He told me a little,” I tell her apologetically.

She waves me off. “It’s fine. Easier him telling you than my having to. Although, I’ll bet my version is a little different from his. Nevertheless, sometimes I like to remind Sebastian that I’m not actually caged by running. Then he tracks me down and convinces me I don’t want to be free anymore. The last time I did it, we ended up engaged. He’s a big bag of crazy, but I love him more than I hate him most days.” Her confession is followed by a giggle and a shrug. “So basically, I like to take a little money out with me just in case I decide to torture my fiancé.”

Blinking, I try to decide how to even respond to that. Is that normal? It doesn’t seem normal, but then I don’t have any real frame of reference, so what do I know?

“Come on, let’s go. I think January needs a drink to process all the crazy.” Sammy laughs.

Grabbing first my hand, then Starling’s, she marches us out of the room and downstairs to where all the guys are sitting drinking beer in the kitchen.

My eyes land on Clay, and he smirks, prowling toward me. “Look at you, Poison. You look positively dangerous in this dress.” Leaning in, he whispers against my ear. “Remember who you belong to, wife, and that I’m always watching.”

“I…” I trail off as he lifts my left hand, slides my wedding ring off, and pushes a huge bloodred ruby ring in its place before sliding my wedding ring back on behind it. “What?” I question, my eyes stuck on the huge, mesmerizing rock.

“I never got you an engagement ring. I know diamonds are customary, but this seemed more you. Complex and beautiful.” Lifting my hand to his lips, he kisses the knuckle just above the rings. “Do you have your cell?”

Nodding, I lift the purse hooked around my wrist up to show him.

“Is it charged?”

I nod again.

“Good girl,” he purrs against my lips before closing the distance between us and kissing me like he wants to overwhelm me into staying home. “Have fun. And remember the rules.”

I barely get a chance to nod before Starling and Sammy whisk me out of the room and into a golf cart.

“Whew, who knew Clay could be so… intense,” Sammy says, dramatically fanning at her face with her hands.

“Right,” Starling agrees, miming wiping drool from her mouth. “I take it y’all have got things sorted between you now?”

“I…” I trail off, unsure of what to say or even if I’m allowed to say anything. Is it okay to discuss your new husband with girls you only just met but are his friends?

“Come on, spill the tea,” Sammy encourages.

Sighing, I wrinkle my brow and then decide to just tell them some things and see what they say. “He’s… confusing,” I say finally.

“Confusing how?” Starling asks, twisting to face me.

“Obviously this wasn’t a love match. We hadn’t even spoken to each other before we got married, and you both know what he thought of me at the start.” I cringe, remembering the conversation Sammy and I overheard where Clay told Starling exactly what he thought of me and my family.

“But obviously something changed,” Sammy comments, driving along the paths that lead down toward the main campus buildings.

“I guess. He says that he knew almost instantly that I wasn’t like my parents but that the meal with them convinced him, although he was acting strangely even before we had dinner. He’s apologized, and he seems sincere, but… I don’t know.”

“You don’t trust him,” Starling says, a knowing look in her eyes.

It seems wrong to agree with her, but it’s the truth. “No, I don’t.”

“I think you’re right to be skeptical,” Starling says, stark honesty in her tone.

“You do?”

“These boys,” she sighs. “They’re ruthless, and they’ll do whatever it takes to get what they want. It’s pretty clear Clay wants you, but just because he’s saying the right things now, doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have some kind of hidden agenda.”

I glance from Starling to Sammy and find her flicking her glance between the road ahead and her friend with sympathy in her eyes.

“I’m not sure I have anything that he would want. He already has control of my trust fund and everything else I apparently signed away when I agreed to the marriage contract. I don’t have anything else.”

“What do you mean?” Sammy shrieks, pulling the cart to a stop beside several others at the edge of the woods.

“I got access to my trust fund when I turned eighteen, but my parents assigned guardianship of it to Clay as part of the contract. He has control of all my money, and if I try to spend above a certain value, he has to approve it. But I don’t even have a credit card, so I can’t spend anything even if I wanted to.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?” Sammy shrieks, spinning all the way around in her seat until she’s kneeling on it and facing me. “So, you’re completely reliant on him?”

I nod, hating how small admitting this makes me feel.

“How much is in your trust?” she asks.

“Sammy, you can’t ask her that,” Starling gasps.

“It’s fine,” I assure her. “I have no idea how much is in it. I was hoping that I’d be able to use it to escape, but the moment I turned eighteen, my parents told me they’d found me a husband.”

“They didn’t give you a choice about getting married?” Starling asks, aghast.

“None. I told them I didn’t want to marry a stranger, and they told me if I refused, they’d kick me out with nothing. I didn’t have anyone else to turn to,” I admit reluctantly.

“Fuck, January. I’d pretty much guessed it from meeting your mom yesterday, but your family sounds like assholes,” Starling says, her voice full of so much pity I have to fight my cringe.

Shrugging, I nod.

“Why doesn’t Clay just sign over the trust to you now that he has control of it?” Sammy asks.

“He mentioned it last week, but he hasn’t said anything else since. On the few times I mentioned paying him back for the clothes and things, he just shot me down. I mean, it’s entirely possible there is no trust, and my parents lied, or I could be worth billions and Clay won’t let me have it because he knows I’d disappear,” I blurt.

“You’d leave? Even now, when you and Clay are getting along better?” Sammy asks.

“I…” My instant reaction is to say yes, but the thought of leaving Clay and never seeing him again does give me a moment’s pause.

“I get it,” Starling says, interrupting my thoughts. “I love Sebastian, and I still have moments when running seems like the best option. Not the way it used to when he first tricked me into coming back here, but when he does something crazy or talks about putting me in a cage and never letting me go, I do think maybe I should just disappear.”

My mouth falls open, and I stare at Starling, wondering if we should be looking for a way for her to escape instead of me.

Her eyes soften and a wry smile tips at the corners of her lips. “I can see what you’re thinking. I don’t need an escape route, I promise. I’m here because I want to be. Now at least anyway. He might be certifiable, but I love his particular brand of crazy.”

“And she has a tracker in her neck, so she can’t run from him even if she wanted to,” Sammy says with a laugh.

It’s not the first time the trackers have been mentioned, but this time I can’t keep the words from escaping. “You have a tracker in your neck?”

“This is one of those crazy moments I talked about. When we first met back in high school, Sebastian sedated me and had a doctor implant a tracking chip in my neck. I didn’t know about it at the time. I actually didn’t find out until a few months ago when he used it to find me.”

“That’s… so…”

“Invasive. Unforgivable. Psychotic. Yes, it’s all those things,” Starling agrees simply.

“And you’re just okay with that?” I ask.

“No. I’m not okay. Not at all. Truthfully, there are so many things I’m not okay with about my and Sebastian’s relationship that I could probably write a book. But I love him so much that I tolerate a lot of stuff.”

“They all have them,” Sammy says, interrupting the intense moment.

“All?” I question.

“Sebastian, Clay, Hunter, and Evan. They all have trackers, and their parents too. Apparently, there were a lot of kidnap plots and some actual attempts when the guys were kids, so they all had trackers implanted just in case. They don’t see it as that big of a deal because they’ve had them for years. Starling even has an app on her cell where she can track Sebastian.”

“You do?” I gasp, shocked that he’d allow her to keep tabs on him.

“Wanna see?” Starling laughs, waggling her eyebrows at me as she pulls her cell out and taps at the screen. “Here.” I take her cell and stare down at what looks like a map with a flashing red dot.

“The red dot is Sebastian, and here…” She taps at the screen, and the map changes and a pink dot appears. “This is me.”

“Do you use it? To track Sebastian, I mean?” I ask, intrigued.

“No.” She laughs. “But I know Mr. Crazy Pants is probably watching it to see where I’m at right now.”

“And your security team will be reporting back every five freaking minutes,” Sammy says, rolling her eyes.

“Clay has security following me too,” I tell them. Pausing, I debate asking the question that’s spinning circles in my mind, then just blurt it out. “Did you know there are cameras in the house?”

“You mean like security cameras? In the driveway?” Sammy asks.

“No. I mean, I’m pretty sure there are some out there too. But I mean in the actual house. I found one in Clay’s bathroom, so I’m guessing they’re everywhere else too.”

“There’s a camera in your bathroom?” Sammy shrieks.

Turning, I look at Starling, who hasn’t said a word, but at the way she’s nibbling nervously on her lip, I’m guessing the cameras aren’t a surprise to her. “You knew?” I ask.

“I…” she trails off. “Sebastian had cameras installed so he could stalk me. I didn’t know there were any in your room. I thought it was just in my old room and the shared spaces in the house.”

“There’s a camera in my room?” Sammy gasps.

“There was, but I told him to take it down before you moved in.” She looks at me. “Clay installed them. He set them up so the footage could be accessed from Sebastian’s cell. He hacked all the security cameras at our high school too, so Sebastian could keep track of me during class. I assumed now he and I are together, no one was using the ones in the house for anything except actual security purposes.”

“God, I need a man crazy enough to stalk me,” Sammy sighs dramatically. “Oh well, let’s go and get our dance and drink on. I can hear the cocktails calling me from here, and nothing cures man drama better than shots.”

32

CLAY

W atching the cart pull away from the house makes my skin crawl. I don’t like her leaving without me, and it’s taking all my willpower not to advise her security team to break cover and remand her until I can get to her and bring her home again.

It’s official. I’m worse than fucking Bastian.

Opening the tracking app on my cell, I watch as the red dot that is January gets further and further away. Why the fuck am I letting her do this? Why did I encourage her to leave the house and go to a fucking party of all places? My wife is hot. I’m one-hundred-percent sure she has absolutely no idea, but I know, and so does every fucking hot-dicked or pussy-swollen college kid that goes here.

Her innocence will be like a beacon to every guy or girl in a ten-mile radius, and I just sent her off with Starling and Sammy to drink and dance without me. I’m a fucking moron. But I can’t go after her now. If I do, it’ll be like me announcing to her and everyone else that I won’t allow her even an inch of freedom, and I can’t do that—even if I want to.

The only thing my wife truly wants is to be free, and that’s the one thing I’m not willing to give her. But I am willing to give her the illusion of it if it’ll help her come to terms with being mine.

If I were a better man, I’d allow her to sign up for those travel study programs she wants to do, but I know I won’t be able to let her go. This thing between us is too new, too untested, too fragile to survive time apart, when we’re barely keeping our heads above water in this goldfish bowl of a life.

January might like the world of sex and pleasure I’m introducing her to, but right now, if I were to offer her the choice between me and as many orgasms as she could ever wish for, or an independent life of her choosing, I know I’d end up on the losing side. And I get that. I even understand it. I’m consumed by her, but she’s just confused by me.

I know she wants me, likes me even. But I need her to love me, to need me, to crave me, and I need to figure out how to make that happen.

For a moment, I consider trying the Sebastian school of romance. He set Starling free and then ignored her. His reverse psychology game is high, plus he had two years of being the monster beneath her bed. It worked, but no matter how much Starling loves him, there’s still a part of her that hates him too.

I don’t want that. I don’t want January to love me in spite of me, I want her to love me because of me, and right now, instead of obsessing over where she is, I need to use this time to brainstorm ideas for how to make my wife fall for me.

“I think you’re right,” Bastian says, shocking me and jolting me from my inner dialogue.

“What?”

“I think sending Starling to her dad’s will prove to him that I’m not coercing her into being with me,” he says, a fierce scowl etched across his lips.

“Can you do that?” Evan asks.

“I have no fucking clue,” Bastian snarls, his hands curled into fists so tight his skin is white.

“You could send Sammy with her,” Hunter suggests. “Maybe her bringing a friend would show her dad that you’ve stopped cutting her off from people.”

“No, she needs to go alone. If anyone goes with her, he’ll assume I’ve sent them to keep an eye on her.” A vein in Bastian’s head starts to pulse. “Clay, I’m going to need eyes on her. Can you break into her dad’s house and install cameras?”

“No, he fucking can’t,” Evan shouts, slamming his palm down on the table. “For fuck’s sake, Sebastian, haven’t you learned anything? Give her some space and let her dad see that she isn’t the broken little bird who ran from you years ago. Call off her security, turn off the tracker, stop trying to control every single aspect of her life and trust that she loves you enough to come back.”

“I can’t,” Bastian admits shakily.

“Why not?” Evan snaps.

“Because what if she doesn’t?” The fear is so evident in my brother’s eyes that I reach over and squeeze his shoulder.

“She loves you,” I tell him.

“I know. But even the best-trained bird will fly for the window if their cage is left open,” he chokes out.

His admission stuns us all into silence for a moment. “No. She had a chance at freedom. She could have run. She could have fled from you months ago, and she didn’t. It was only a few weeks ago that she taunted you into turning on her tracker and hunting her ass down. Starling is sharing your bed, wearing your ring, and marrying you in less than two months. She isn’t a captive. She’s the woman who loves you despite all the fucked-up history you share. And I think if you give her this time to fix things with her dad, she’ll come back to you happier and more whole than when she left.”

Bastian is pensive for a moment while Hunter gets up and grabs bottles of beer, handing us one each. He slides back into his seat just as Bastian nods. “You’re right. I fucking hate it. But you’re right. I can’t call off her security, but Starling knows that’s a limit for me, and she doesn’t care as long as she doesn’t have to see them. Which she won’t. I’m going to go give her dad a call before I talk myself out of this.” Rising from the table, he strides from the room, like a death row inmate being taken to his reckoning, his cell to his ear.

“Right, that’s one of us sorted. Now for you,” Evan says, looking at me expectantly.

“What?” I question.

“What are you going to do about the Burkes?”

Sighing, I lift my beer to my lips and take a pull. “I don’t know,” I answer eventually.

“The fuck? Did you see January at her house? Did you see the way that bitch Marilyn just ignored her daughter like she didn’t even exist?” Evan says, outraged.

“I asked January how she wanted me to make them suffer, and she laughed,” I admit. “She said she didn’t want me to do anything, that all she wanted was to be free of them.”

“Do nothing?” Hunter says in shock. “No. Abso-fucking-lutely not.” Hunter is the most placid of us all, the peacekeeper, the one who usually reins us in. Only now he looks angrier than I’ve seen him in a long damn time. “No way do they get off scot-free for what they’ve done to her.”

“Agreed,” Evan says.

“I need to tread carefully.”

“Bullshit. I say we take them down. Fuck it, let’s have them killed. Surely one of our parents knows someone who could arrange for a gas leak while they’re all in the house, or something,” Evan says passionately.

I can’t help it, I laugh. “I thought Bastian was the crazy one? And now you want to kill off my in-laws.”

“Those fuckers deserve it,” he cries.

“I agree. But I’m pretty sure my wife would know I had something to do with it, if her entire family drop dead only days after I ask her how much she wants me to make them suffer. Right now, I can’t give her another reason to want to be free of me. What we have is tentative at best, and I need to convince her to want to stay with me, not give her another excuse to leave.”

“You guys have looked pretty cozy the last few days. I thought things were going well?” Hunter asks.

I shrug. “She likes the way I make her come, but she doesn’t like me that much. I think half of her still thinks me being nice to her is a trick.”

Evan clicks his tongue like he’s dying to say he told me so, but I carry on speaking before he has a chance. “I know I was an asshole to her. I get that it’s going to take time for her to learn I’m not as much of a dick as I was to her the first couple of days. But I fucking hate that she doesn’t trust me and that I haven’t given her a reason to.”

“I’m sorry, bro,” Hunter says, his anger gone in the face of my anguish.

“I’m sorry too,” Evan says. “But I fucking told you not to be a dick to her. Things would have been different if you’d just been nice to her from the start.”

“I know,” I snap. “You think I don’t know that? But if you’d been in my shoes, knowing who her family is and what they did to arrange this marriage, would you have assumed she was innocent or as much of a snake as the rest of her kin?”

Evan deflates. “Fuck. I guess you’re right. I’d have probably assumed she was just like them too. So, what are you going to do?”

“I have no fucking clue. Keep being nice and hope eventually she starts to like me.”

Hunter cringes. “Wow, that’s…”

“A shitty plan. I know,” I agree. “But all she wants is to be free, and that’s the only thing I can’t and won’t give her, but I don’t want her to hate me. I want her to…”

“To want you. We get it.” Evan rolls his eyes.

“You should give her what she wants,” Bastian says, walking back into the kitchen, his eyes dark and brooding.

“She wants her freedom,” I snap.

“No, she wants independence. Which is something she’s never had. So, give her some.” Bastian says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“And how exactly do you suggest I give her freedom and independence without letting her leave me?” I ask angrily.

“Give her her trust fund,” he says with a shrug.

“I can’t. There’s a clause that basically says she can never get full control of it, it’s either family or husband in charge.”

“How much was it worth?”

“A fucking million. I bet her brothers have ten times that much,” I snarl.

All three of my brothers look shocked. I’m sure to many people having a million dollars would feel like a fortune, but to us, it’s fucking chump change.

“So put a million dollars in an account for her and give her control of it,” Bastian says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world… and fuck… it is obvious. Why haven’t I thought of that?

“Teach her how to drive, let her leave campus, give her the freedom she wants, all while making sure she comes home to you every night.”

I want to punch Bastian in the face for how obvious he’s making this all sound.

“Winter break is coming up. She wants to travel, so why don’t you take her away somewhere,” Hunter suggests.

“Or take her to see the plot and ask her about your house. We need to get things started with the plans now anyway, so they’ll be ready for us when we graduate,” Evan says.

“Show her why a life with you is the right choice, and then while she’s falling for you, you give her the best gift in the world,” Bastian says.

“I ruin her family,” I say, almost to myself.

“Yes,” all three of my brothers say in unison.

Get my wife to like me, give her the independence she deserves and the freedom she craves, all while not allowing her to actually leave me and destroy the family who hurt her without having them killed…

Easy. Right?

33

JANUARY

T he music is so loud I can barely hear Sammy ask me what I want to drink. At my shrug, she smiles and starts ordering from a bartender with pink-and-orange-dyed leopard spots shaved into her head and several facial piercings. Her arms are muscled as she reaches for bottles and immediately starts mixing liquors in a shiny metal cocktail shaker. The black leather corset she’s wearing barely flexes as she gyrates, shaking the creation from side to side before eventually pouring it into three glasses and sliding one to me with a playful wink.

I’m not attracted to women, but I blush. She’s gorgeous and so confident that I can’t help but be in awe of the self-awareness that exudes from her. Is this what a girl crush is? I’ve heard the phrase but never understood what it actually meant before.

I’m not sexually interested in her, but I kind of want to stand beside her and see if some of her confidence rubs off on me. She’s beautiful and strong and comfortable in a way I’ve never even dreamed of being. I’m not saying I suddenly want to shave my head and get a ring through my lip. But I wish I was a tenth as happy in my skin as she is.

Before I can ask her what her name is or if she’d be willing to teach me her ways, Sammy drops a tip into the jar and drags me and Starling to the dance floor a few feet away. When we parked the cart at the edge of the woods, I was expecting a bonfire and some coolers full of beer, but this party is so much more than I could have ever imagined.

LED Lights have been wrapped around the trees and a fully lit-up dance floor has been laid. As the DJ plays music, the floor and the lights above us all pulse and change color to the beat, making the entire space feel alive with the music. There’re hundreds of people here, but the space has been easily divided into areas for sitting, dancing, and drinking and an area that, at first glance, appears to be a sort of communal make-out space.

“To sexy girls and strong drinks,” Sammy says, holding her glass in the air.

“What is this?” I ask, eyeing the orange drink in my hand skeptically.

“Long Island Iced Tea, and it tastes good.” She laughs, taking a long pull.

Not wanting to act like a child who’s never drunk before, I take a tentative sip. The cold, sweet, tangy drink coats my mouth, and I hum, taking a second, longer pull.

“Good, right?” Sammy laughs.

I nod.

“Right, let’s dance.” Sammy grabs Starling, who in turn grabs me, and I follow because I have no idea what else to do. She leads us to the center of the dance floor, and I pause, watching the way the others around us lose themselves to the music, swaying and grinding to a sensual beat without an ounce of inhibition.

I try to mimic the way they roll their hips, but instead of looking sexy and provocative, I’m pretty sure I look like I need the bathroom. For a moment, I consider stopping and running, but as I glance around me again, I realize that I don’t know any of the people around me. Sammy and Starling are dancing, lost to the music, smiling at me like I’m one of them. But the other guys and girls are all strangers.

Suddenly it dawns on me that it doesn’t matter if I make a fool of myself because who will remember? Who will care? I’ve been isolated for so long that I’m almost anonymous, and for the first time, that knowledge is freeing.

Taking a gulp of my drink, I look up to the twinkling stars above me and start to dance, enjoying that no one cares who I am. They don’t know my name. They don’t know my family. They don’t know me, and I don’t know them and all that matters is the delicious drink in my hand and the song and the beat.

Time passes, glasses empty, and songs come and go while I bask in my anonymity. My head feels fuzzy and light, yet my limbs get more sluggish. I feel weird, sad, yet giggly.

“I can’t believe your crazy fiancé isn’t here yet,” Sammy tells Starling, rolling her eyes dramatically, while a huge guy dances behind her, his arm banded tightly around her waist.

“He trusts me,” Starling says, swallowing the last of her drink and handing it to a girl who passes with a trayful of empty glasses.

“No, he doesn’t. He’s a big ole ball of crazy. I bet he’s here, stalking you from behind a tree or something.” Sammy throws her head back, almost headbutting the guy she’s dancing with as she laughs.

“I love him,” Starling says, stopping dancing and pausing in the middle of the dance floor. “He’s such an asshole. But fuck, I love him.” She turns and looks at me. “You know what I mean?” she asks.

I have no idea what she means, but after my third drink, it feels like I understand completely. So, I nod. I don’t know why, but instead of just my head moving, my whole body moves too and I stumble forward a step and then back.

“You get it, right? I mean, Clay is a dick,” Starling tells me.

“They’re all dicks,” Sammy says loudly.

“I’m not a dick,” Sammy’s dance partner tells her.

She pats his arm consolingly but otherwise completely ignores him.

“Exactly. Sebastian is a dick, and Clay is a dick, but we love them. Right?” Starling looks at me, waiting for me to answer.

I shake my head. This time my whole body moves from side to side, and I throw my arms out wide, whacking the person beside me as I try to stop myself from falling. “I don’t love Clay or Sebastian.” My words don’t sound quite right, so I say them again, slower this time. “I. Don’t. Love. Clay. Or. Sebastian.”

“I love Sebastian.” Starling nods, but I don’t know what she’s agreeing with. “You love Clay.”

I shake my head again, stumbling to the side. “I like the orgasms.”

“Me too,” Sammy shouts, putting her hand in the air like she’s a kid being called on in class. Her movements dislodge the guy at her back, but he just laughs, spinning her around and kissing her.

“Sebastian gives me the best orgasms,” Starling says solemnly. “He’s normally here by now.”

“He’s coming?” I ask, confused.

“He follows me, and he always shows up at parties. I miss him.” Her eyes get weepy, and she spins slowly in a circle, staring out into the crowd of people, searching. “Why isn’t he here?” she asks me when she spins all the way around and ends up facing me again.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her, although I’m not sure what I’m sorry for. “Maybe you should call him.”

I don’t know if that’s the right thing to say, but her eyes light up, and her cell is in her hand a moment later.

“Why aren’t you here?” she demands when I assume he answers. “Oh.” A soft smile spreads over her lips and she turns again, slowly scanning the crowd until she stops.

Following her gaze, I spot Sebastian marching through the partygoers with Hunter, Evan, and Clay following behind him.

Starling practically bounces on the spot until they reach us, and she throws herself into his arms. Hunter shakes his head and Evan glares daggers at Sammy and the guy she’s still making out with.

“Having a good time, Poison?” Clay asks me, invading my personal space until he’s pressed into me, his chest brushing against my nipples.

“Yes.”

With him this close to me, my head spins, and suddenly, it feels like we’re the only two people out here. Like the music is playing just for us. Leaning down, his hot breath tickles against my ear.

“Everyone is staring at you.”

Shaking my head, I deny his words.

“There’re ten fuckers with their eyes on your ass right now and when you were dancing, there wasn’t a soft cock or a dry pussy in the whole fucking place. They all want in you. But only I get to fuck you. Only I get to sink my dick into your wet, greedy cunt.”

I can’t help it; a soft whine falls from my lips.

“Naughty Little Snake. You like that they’re looking at you, thinking they get to touch you. But you know who owns you, don’t you, my Sweet Venom? You know there’s only me who gets to sample your sweetness.”

Somehow, we get even closer, his arm around my back, my chest pressed tight against his until there’s no air between us. The music echoes through my ears, and we start to dance, moving to the sensual beat as Clay’s thigh slides between my legs, grinding against my core.

“Is your cunt wet for me? Do you need one of those orgasms you like so much?”

I freeze.

“I see everything,” Clay reminds me, a soft chuckle vibrating through his chest.

“I…”

“I like making you come, Poison. I’ll do it a hundred times a day, all you have to do is ask. Do you need one now? Is your needy little pussy ready to flutter for me? Ask me, and I’ll give you anything you want.”

I don’t know if it’s the drinks, the music, the knowledge that I’m a stranger here, or a combination of it all, but it barely feels like me speaking when I whisper. “Please.”

Warm fingers pinch my chin, tilting my face back. “Good girl.”

“We’re out,” Clay tells his friends, lifting me into the air and guiding me to wrap my legs around his waist as he makes a beeline straight into the dark trees at the edge of the party.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Somewhere I can make you come without anyone seeing,” he tells me.

The noise of the party starts to fade as we walk farther into the darkness, but I’m not scared. His hold on me is tight and reassuring, even though it shouldn’t be. After a moment, he stops, backing me up against a wide tree trunk, the bark scratching at my spine.

“How was your first college party?”

“Good.”

Pulling my legs from around his waist, he lowers me to the floor, positioning me with my legs wide as he lifts my dress, exposing me to his eyes and the moonlight.

“So, you don’t love me, but you do like the way I make you come?” He chuckles.

“Clay.”

“It’s okay, Poison. I’m going to make you fall in love with me. I’m going to make you fall for me so fucking hard you can’t take a single breath without knowing it’s for me and because of me. I’m going to make you crave me, and apparently the way to do that is by making you come over and over and over until you’re an addict, desperate for your next fix.”

“Clay.”

A sharp sting of pain is followed by cool air as he rips my underwear away. “No more panties for you, Poison. I’m going to need easy access to your cunt at all times from now on. I want you wet and dripping for me, so each step you take reminds you you’re mine.”

His fingers part my folds and slide inside me, filling me in that delicious way that both hurts and feels amazing all at the same time.

“So fucking tight, even now, after my dick’s been in you, you feel like a fucking virgin. I’m going to make you come on my fingers and then you’re going to turn around and present that pussy to me. You’re going to hold on to the tree and beg me to fuck you, to fill you with my cum.”

His dirty, demanding words, combined with the way his fingers are pumping into me, make my fuzzy mind snap into focus. Sparks of pleasure start to fly through me, and I try not to rock into his fingers, but I can’t help myself, and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m parting my legs wider and begging him to make me come.

“I want to chase you, Poison. Do you think you can run from me? Catching you would make the pleasure I give you so much sweeter.”

“Clay, god, please. Oh god. Please, please, please.”

“You’re too far gone, aren’t you, baby? That’s okay. I’ll chase you another day.”

He adds a third finger, stretching me until I’m so full it’s almost painful.

“That’s my good girl. Fuck your husband’s fingers. You’re so wet it’s dripping from you. My beautiful Poison’s cunt is begging for me.”

Release sneaks up on me, bursting to life before I even realize it’s coming. “Oh, oh,” I cry, bearing down on his fingers and squeezing my eyes shut.

All I can feel is his hands on me, the reassuring presence while I ride out the joy and rapture of giving myself over completely to him and trusting that he’ll keep me safe. My eyes flick open, then close again, and somehow, I’m in his arms.

“Come on, Poison, let’s go home.”

“Sex, tree,” I mumble.

“You’re drunker than I thought, baby. You only had three drinks, but apparently you can’t drink for shit. I’m not going to fuck you when you won’t remember in the morning. Going to take you home instead.”

I mumble again, but his chest is warm, and my muscles are like mush after the orgasm he gave me, so I don’t argue. Instead, I rest my head against his pec and close my eyes.

Warm. So warm and so comfortable. That’s my first thought as I open my eyes.

“Morning, Poison,” Clay’s gruff voice says.

Blinking, it takes me a minute to realize I’m in bed, in Clay’s room, my head resting on his stomach.

“How you feeling?”

“Fine,” I croak.

“You’re a lightweight, baby. You only had a couple of drinks, but you were asleep before we even got through the door last night.”

“I…” My mind grinds to a halt, and whatever I’d planned to say dissolves and fades away.

“How’s your head? Do you need some Tylenol?”

I take stock of my body, but surprisingly I feel fine. “No, I’m okay, just hungry.”

His chuckle vibrates through his chest and beneath my head. “Shower first, baby. Then I’ll feed you.”

Unsurprisingly, he follows me into the bathroom, boosting himself naked onto the counter to watch while I wash away the residue of the night before. The sight of the room ignites a memory, and I glance up to the corner of the ceiling where I found the camera, only there’s no red light.

“Why is there a camera in the bathroom?” I ask him, turning on the water and stepping under the spray.

“There are cameras in every room,” he says easily, following my line of sight to the ceiling.

“Why?”

“I installed them before Starling got here for Bastian to be able to watch her.”

I don’t know why I expect him to deny it. He’s been surprisingly forthcoming about what he did to aid his friend’s bad behavior. “So why didn’t you take them down?”

“Because I like them,” he confesses.

“You watch your friends in the bathroom?”

“No.” He laughs. “I like having the ability to watch if I want to.”

“So, you don’t watch them?”

“No. I barely even opened the app until you moved in.”

“You.” I swallow thickly. “You watch me?”

“You know I do.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re mine. You’ve bewitched me, Poison. I don’t just watch you. I can’t look away and more than that, I don’t want to.”

“Have you been watching me poop? Because that’s really creepy.”

“No.” He laughs again. “Yesterday was actually the first time I turned the camera on in here.”

“But you watch me in other rooms in the house?”

“Yes.”

“And by the pool?”

His smile is all dangerous mischief. “Yes.”

“So that’s how you found me?”

“I saw you on the camera at the front of the house, then watched you walk back around and climb the fence in the yard. You looked so smug.”

“I think using security camera footage definitely classes as cheating,” I tell him, rubbing shampoo into my hair.

“I disagree. I think it’s bringing hide-and-seek into the twenty-first century.”

“Where else do you watch me?” I ask cautiously, wondering if he’ll answer.

“Everywhere. In the bathroom, the bedroom, downstairs, by the pool, when you leave the house, in class. I told you, I can’t look away.”

There’s not an ounce of shame or guilt in his penetrating eyes as he confesses to stalking me. But as much as I’m expecting revulsion and anger, all I feel is heat. It’s wrong, so wrong, but I’ve never had anyone care enough to want to watch me, to need to keep tabs on me. Maybe it’s weird to find it sexy how invasive his form of attraction is, but I do, and I like it, a lot.

“I’ve always enjoyed the power of observing people without them knowing, but now, with you, it’s so much more than that. Watching you makes my dick hard; it makes me feel powerful, knowing that I’m in control.”

I shudder, but it’s not fear. It’s unrestrained need.

Tilting his head to the side, he looks at me, taking me in with assessing eyes. “You like that idea though, don’t you, Poison? That I see everything, that I’m watching, always watching. How does it feel knowing that the house could fall down around us, and my eyes would still be on your naked body?”

“I—”

“Is your cunt all wet knowing that when we’re together, the outside world doesn’t exist to me, that all I see is you?”

My core clenches, and I take a sharp inhale. I can’t say the words, but it’s intoxicating to think that what he’s saying is true.

“Slide your hand down your stomach.”

Freezing, I look at him.

“Do as I say, baby. Slide your fingers down between your legs and stroke your pussy while I watch.”

God. He’s asking me to masturbate for him, with him, while he sits there and stares. I moan, a soft, desperate sound that comes from somewhere deep inside of me.

“My Sweet Venom, you like that idea, don’t you? Do it now. Part your folds and touch yourself.”

It doesn’t feel like my hand is my own as I slide down my wet body until I reach the smooth mound of my sex. When Mother took me to get my hair lasered off, I hated it, but now as his eyes dip between my thighs, I’m glad that he can see the way my fingers part my folds, finding my clit and slowly rubbing over the tiny ball of nerves.

“Spread your legs, hold your lips open so I can watch you play with your clit.”

His orders only make my own touch feel more intense, and I do as he says, opening myself to his heated gaze.

“Fuck. Slide a single finger into your cunt, and tell me how hot and wet you are.”

I’ve given myself an orgasm before, but I’ve never fucked myself like this. But I follow his demands, still rubbing at my clit with one hand while I slide the other lower, finding my entrance and dipping the tip of one finger inside.

“How does my cunt feel?” he rasps, his voice low and rough.

“Warm and soft,” I choke out through my arid throat.

“Push your finger in farther, all the way inside of your cunt, then slowly pull it out. I want to watch you fuck yourself.”

My eyes swing to the camera, then back to Clay.

“The camera’s not on. I’m a voyeur, not a freak. I don’t keep the footage of you. I just watch. Now do as I say and push that finger all the way into your tight cunt.”

Biting my lip, I inch my finger deep inside of me, then slowly slide it out.

“Add a second finger and fill yourself back up again.”

Heat pools in my stomach as I finger myself while he watches, his cock hard and dripping against his stomach.

“Good girl. How does it feel? Do you like fingering yourself as much as you like it when I do it to you?”

I shake my head, and he smiles, a devious, wicked smile that tugs at my clit, making me want to beg him to take over.

“My sweet, Sweet Venom. Add another finger. I want to see you fuck yourself with three fingers. I want to see you make yourself come.”

“Clay,” I gasp, sliding a third finger in beside the other two, feeling the twinge of my muscles stretching. It feels good, but not like when he touches me, and I lose myself in the sensation. Having his eyes on me is good, but his hands, tongue, and dick are better, and I’m ready to stop playing. “Clay, please.”

His hand covers mine a second later. He doesn’t take over, but he does guide my fingers, using me to pleasure myself, a puppet master moving my strings until I explode, coming on my fingers and soaking them with my release.

My knees buckle, but he bands an arm around me, keeping me upright and pressing me against his hard dick.

“Such a good girl, my precious Poison. All mine. All mine,” he growls against my ear. “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

When he lifts me off the floor, I bind my legs around him, crossing my ankles to keep me in place as I try to hold on to his wet shoulders. His dick slides into me, filling me and stretching me more than my own fingers had done.

“Hold on tight, baby. I need to own you right now.”

Wrapping my arms around his neck, I bury my face into his shoulder and cling to him while he holds my hips and fucks me in deep, hard strokes that force the air from between my lips each time he fills me.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so fucking perfect. I need you so much, want you so much.”

His teeth find my shoulder, and he bites down, giving me just a hint of pain as he rails into me, fucking me and claiming me and owning me until I come with a scream that echoes around the steam-filled bathroom. The sound bounces off the tiles, and he wildly bucks up into me, pulling me down to meet each brutal thrust until he comes with a groan, filling me with his hot release.

The next week follows in relative normalcy, well, normal for us at least. We go to class, we eat with the rest of his housemates, and we fuck every chance we get. Clay has become obsessed with making me come, and the moment we’re alone, he’s touching, licking, or kissing me until I’m gasping and writhing beneath him.

I can tell it’s hard for him, but it’s clear he’s trying to allow me at least the illusion of freedom. He suggests shopping trips and brunches with Sammy and Starling and even offers to fly me out to join Starling for a weekend when she goes to visit her dad.

But despite all his attempts at being a normal guy, I know he still watches me compulsively. I’ve found the locations of almost all the cameras in the house and grounds, and unlike the one in our bathroom, their tiny red lights stay constant, always monitoring me.

I wish I could say I hate it, but I don’t. I’m not sure when it happened, but I’m starting to enjoy the knowledge that Clay is always paying attention. I fall asleep in his arms and wake up sprawled all over him. We shower together, and then he helps me into my panties like it’s become a ritual that he has to lay claim to my pussy before he allows me to get dressed.

For someone who spent their entire childhood either being ignored or focused on for the wrong reasons, it’s invigorating to be the center of his world.

I don’t hate the way he makes sure I’ve eaten or that he takes every opportunity to spoil me. His closet is now full of clothes I’ve picked for myself, and his bathroom is an explosion of every sweet-smelling product on the market.

The guys treat me like I’m one of them, seeking me out to speak to me without involving Clay in the conversation and somehow, after just a few weeks, Kingsacre is starting to feel like home.

Clay promised me that I wouldn’t have to see or speak to my family again, and true to his word, he’s made this happen, fielding all their attention and shielding me from their gazes.

I’m… happy, and it’s making me nervous. I don’t hate my husband anymore. I don’t even dislike him anymore, but I’m still not sure I one-hundred-percent trust him yet, and it’s stopping me from truly giving myself over to our marriage and accepting that this is my life now.

He tells me daily that I’m his, but can I ever really be his if I’m only with him because he refuses to let me go?

Thoughts of freedom haunt my waking and sleeping thoughts, and my dreams are visions of me becoming the wind and flying away. But I always wake up before I find out if I fly north or swirl and swirl, returning to the start.

I can feel myself on a precipice teetering on the edge of total submission, but my doubts and fears keep pulling me back, never allowing me to fall.

“I thought we’d go and visit my parents this afternoon,” Clay tells me, lifting me out of the shower and wrapping me in a towel.

“Why?”

“So you can have a chance to get to know them better,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

I don’t fight him when he reaches for my hand and leads me out of the bathroom and into the closet we share. “Do they think I’m like my family too?” I ask quietly.

“I don’t know, but after ten minutes in your company, they’ll see you like I do.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help the words slipping from my lips. “How do you see me?”

“Like the sweetest poison I’ve ever known.”

It’s not even really a compliment, but his words heat me from the inside out, and I blush, dipping my chin to hide myself from him.

“If you keep looking all sweet like that, I’m going to need to dirty you the fuck up again, so unless you want to choke on my cock and have my cum for breakfast, you need to stop being so fucking cute and get dressed.”

For a second, I seriously consider staying put. My mouth waters at the idea of having his dick in my mouth again, but then my stomach lets out an embarrassingly loud growl.

“Come on, baby, pick something to wear, and I’ll feed you.” Slapping my ass gently, he chooses a pair of panties from my drawer and bends down, sliding them up my legs, pressing a soft kiss to my mound before he stands, grabs his own clothes, then leaves.

Dressing for school every day has been easy. Most of the female students wear casual yoga pants, jeans, or shorts, so I do the same. But picking out something to wear to see his parents is completely different.

If Mother were here, she’d expect me to choose something demure and modest, and I’d probably end up looking either much younger than I am or like I’m wearing her clothes instead of my own. Now that I’m choosing my own things, it’s harder to know what’s right.

My eyes land on an emerald-green tea dress with tiny white polka dots. The hem is midthigh, but the neckline is modest enough that my underwear won’t be showing. I loved it the moment I saw it in the store, and both Starling and Sammy agreed.

Pulling on a pretty cotton bralette, I slide the dress over my head, lifting my wet hair off my shoulders as I smooth the fabric down. Out of habit, I turn to look at my reflection in the full-length mirror and remember there isn’t one. Instead, I step out of the closet and turn to go back into the bathroom.

“Fuck, you look sexy in a dress, Poison,” Clay drawls from beside the bed, his shirt halfway over his head, his toned abs still clearly on display.

“Do I look okay to go to your parents? I wasn’t…”

“You look beautiful, but you don’t need to worry about dressing up for Mom and Dad. They wouldn’t care if you came in your pajamas.”

Once I’ve brushed my hair, I follow Clay downstairs and into the empty kitchen. “Where is everyone?”

“Probably still in bed. Bastian is hoarding Starling to himself before she leaves to go to her dad’s, and Sammy went out last night.”

Handing me a bottle of water, Clay putters around in the kitchen, returning to the table with a plateful of flaky croissants, a jar of grape jelly, and a bowl of sliced melon. We eat in companionable silence and considering three weeks ago we’d never spoken to each other, this feels comfortably domestic.

“Do you need to dry your hair before we go?” Clay asks.

“I probably should,” I groan.

“You want to stop off at a salon on the way?”

I want to say yes so badly, but it feels spoiled and bratty when I can so easily do it myself.

“Grab some shoes, and I’ll make a call,” Clay says with a smile.

“No, it’s—”

He silences me with a kiss.

Two hours later, I’m sitting beside him in his car, relaxed and thoroughly pampered. Clay didn’t just arrange for me to have my hair done, but a mani-pedi too. The entire time, he sat in the waiting area, watching me, like I was the most interesting thing he’d ever seen.

“Where do your parents live?” I ask, feeling like I should already know the answer.

“North Acres, all our parents live in a gated compound they built before we were born. After lunch, I’ll take you out to our plot so you can see where we’ll live.”

We. It’s such a small, innocuous word that somehow means so much. We. As in Clay and me. Obviously, I knew we’d live together. We’re married, for goodness’ sake, but sharing a room in a house at school seems so far removed from living in a home of our own together someday.

What happened to my plan to escape? What happened to traveling and seeing the world?

He did. My subconscious answers the question for me. Is this why women have been considered the weaker sex for so many years? Because we wilt at the first good orgasm we receive. I’m confident that if I was still sleeping on his couch with an intact hymen, I’d still be desperate for freedom. But sweet, attentive, horny Clay has shattered my instinct to escape and made me a prisoner to my own pleasure.

Maybe I should just buy a vibrator. I’ve never used one, but I know about them. I’m pretty sure with enough tools, I could make myself come as hard as Clay has. Running now would leave me penniless and disowned by my entire family, but I don’t need much.

I could survive. I’m good at being alone.

But do you want to be alone? My inner voice questions. Over the last couple of weeks, I’ve glimpsed what it’s like to be wanted. Clay wants me. Hunter has fed me. Evan has tried to protect me. Sammy and Starling have befriended me. Even Sebastian has done what he can to stop scaring me. And Clay… Clay has fucked me, licked me, kissed me, watched me, stalked me. Clay has shown me more attention in the last seven days than I’ve had in my whole life, and I like it.

I like not being alone. I like having someone stand up for me. I like having people I can call friends. I like having people care enough to try not to scare me, and I like having someone want me.

“Poison.”

Clay’s voice drags me from my internal musings, and I blink, taking in my surroundings. I grew up immersed in wealth, but the house we’re parked in front of makes my parents’ home look like a dollhouse in comparison.

Palatial doesn’t come close to describing the mansion, and I’m still staring in awe as Clay helps me from the car, twining his fingers through mine and leading me to the front door. Unlike the house I grew up in, Clay doesn’t knock or wait for his parents’ staff to open the door. Instead, he opens it himself with a key and leads me inside.

“Mom. Dad.” His voice echoes around the vaulted ceilinged entrance hall, light spilling from the lanterned roof high above us. “Come on. Mom’s probably out on the patio.”

There’s no way in a house this size that there aren’t staff, but we don’t see them as Clay leads me through a beautiful sitting room and out onto a huge patio.

“Hello, darling,” Mrs. Jansen says when she spots Clay, jumping up from the couch she was lounging on as she rushes to greet him, hugging him tightly. Unlike my mother, who always dresses formally, Mrs. Jansen is wearing navy-blue shorts and a fine-knit white sweater. Her feet are bare and her toes are painted a pretty silver color. She’s beautiful and youthful, with her hair gathered off her face in a loose ponytail.

“Hi, Mom,” Clay says, hugging her with one arm, keeping hold of me with the other.

Releasing her, he pulls me into his side.

“Hello, January,” she says with a soft smile, her eyes dropping to our joined hands before lifting to my face again.

“Nice to see you again, Mrs. Jansen.”

“Heather or Mom, if you prefer,” she says, lifting her hand and cupping my cheek softly.

Mom. I’ve never even called my own mother Mom. There’s no way I could call Clay’s mom that, especially knowing what my family did to arrange my and Clay’s marriage.

“You look beautiful, dear. That color is lovely on you,” she says, hooking her arm through mine and towing me toward the couch and away from Clay. “Clay, your father is tinkering in his workshop, go and fetch him and remind him that he’s supposed to be grilling.”

“Grilling?” Clay chuckles.

“His new hobby,” Heather says, rolling her eyes as she pulls me down onto the couch beside her. “I’ve eaten so much steak in the last month, I’m considering turning vegan just to get him to stop. Antonio is threatening to quit; all he’s been allowed to make for weeks is sides and salads. He’s plotting a revolution.”

“I hope you reminded him that January’s a vegetarian.” Clay laughs.

“It’s fine—” I start.

“Of course he knows. He’s been perfecting his vegetable kabobs and slow-roasted cauliflower for days.” Heather laughs sweetly.

A burst of shock falls from my lips. Despite us having a chef and a team of kitchen staff, my family refused to cater in any way to my food preferences or allergies. In the end, Martha made sure that nothing I ate had strawberries in it, simply because no one else cared.

I became a vegetarian ten years ago, but I have never once been served a vegetarian dish in my parents’ home, so I’ve just gotten used to picking around whatever meat product was on my plate. To have people care about me and make adjustments to their meals to accommodate me makes me feel seen in a way I’d never experienced before marrying Clay.

Winking at me like he can read my thoughts, he strides back into the house, leaving me alone with his mother.

“What would you like to drink?” she asks.

“Club soda would be great if you have it.”

“Lime?”

“Please.”

Standing, she crosses the patio to a wet bar I hadn’t noticed and makes us both a drink, handing me mine before sinking back down beside me. “How are you settling in at Kingsacre?” she asks.

“Okay, I think I wasn’t expecting to attend school this year, but the dean has been incredibly accommodating, and I’ve managed to sign up for some interesting classes,” I say politely.

“What classes are you taking?”

“A business class, English, math, Italian, and Mandarin.”

Her brow rises like she’s shocked at my choices, and then she smiles. “That’s very impressive. How are you finding the language courses? Mandarin isn’t the easiest dialect to learn.”

“I’m actually already fluent in both, but I enjoy languages and I’ve already learned so much since I started,” I gush, my excitement at having the opportunity to attend college spilling from me.

“What college did you plan to attend?” she asks with a soft smile.

The joy leaches from me. “Oh. Err. My parents are a little old-fashioned…” I trail off, unsure how I can phrase it. “They hadn’t. Err. They didn’t…” I swallow thickly. “I hadn’t applied to any schools,” I blurt, heat pooling in my cheeks.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t know about what my family did to force Clay to marry me.” The words come without my permission. “I’m so sorry that they did that. Blackmail…” I need to stop speaking, but I can’t help it. I want her to like me. More than that, I need her to know that I’m not like that. That I would never resort to that kind of behavior.

A soft exhale comes from Heather, and her hand covers mine. “January.”

Lifting my chin, I look at her.

“You’re a Jansen now. The one good thing about getting married and changing your name is that if you want to…” She pauses. “Or need to. You can shed the past and leave it behind you. However it happened, and whatever path brought you to us, it’s given you an opportunity to be someone new, to forge your own path with your own rules. January Burke is gone, and in her place is January Jansen. You are strong, capable, and intelligent, with a bright future ahead of you. Sometimes fate drops you exactly where you’re supposed to be, with exactly who you’re supposed to be with.”

Tears prickle at the back of my eyes, and I part my lips to speak just as Clay and his dad burst through the patio doors, their voices shattering the intensity of Heather’s and my conversation as they argue animatedly about some kind of business deal.

“January, how are you, sweetheart?” Clay’s dad asks, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek as he pulls me in for an affectionate hug.

“I’m great, thank you, Mr. Jansen.”

“Eric,” he scolds warmly.

Smiling, I allow myself to relax a little. Clay grabs himself a drink, checking that his mom and I have one, before sitting down beside me and draping his arm over my shoulder.

When we behaved like this at the dinner with my family, it all felt fake and forced, but now his touch feels natural and expected. For days he’s had his hands on me whenever we’re in the same room, but I hadn’t realized how used to it I’d gotten until now.

Eric brings out platters of food from the refrigerators in the outdoor kitchen and loads them onto the grill. Soon the smell of BBQ sauce and spices fills the air, making my stomach growl appreciatively.

While he cooks, Eric asks me a slew of questions. How am I settling into the house? How do I like school? Do I need anything? Have I made any friends? Am I excited about Starling and Sebastian’s wedding?

It’s so odd to be included in the conversation, but it doesn’t take long until we’re all chatting away like we know each other, like I’m a part of the family. Clay tells his parents about Martha and how he offered her a job until our home is built, and she can come and work for us.

Eric immediately accepts it, throwing out ideas about where and when and how she could fit into their current staff. No one asks who my parents’ maid is to me or why she’s important, they just find a solution, and before I can even question it, I’ve handed over Martha’s cell phone number to Eric so he can call her.

We eat on the patio, a feast of food from the grill and delicious sides delivered by the staff, who all laugh and joke with Clay and his parents as they come and go. This home is nothing like my parents’ and when it’s time for us to leave, I’m not ready to go.

“I’ll text you, and we can arrange to meet for lunch, just us girls,” Heather says as she hugs me again.

“I’d like that,” I tell her, genuinely meaning it.

“Goodbye, sweetheart. Remember to call me if you need anything at all,” Eric says, kissing me on the cheek as he opens my car door for me.

“Bye, thank you for lunch,” I call as Clay climbs into the driver’s seat and rolls down the windows.

“Bye, guys,” he shouts, waving to them as he pulls away from the house.

“Your parents are lovely,” I tell him.

“They’re yours now too, Mrs. Jansen.” His hand lands on my thigh, squeezing lightly.

“I thought they’d hate me after everything my family did,” I confess.

“They know that wasn’t you. They’re excited to have a daughter now; you’ve completely charmed them. Do you want to see where we’re going to live once we graduate? I have the preliminary plans the architect drew up in the back, but we need to finalize things together.”

“It’s your house.”

“It’s our house,” he insists. “And it’s not too far from here.”

Thirty minutes later, he slows to a stop, turns off the car and climbs out. Opening my door, he offers me his hand, and I take it, letting him help me. I’ve never seen a building plot before, but I guess I expected a fence or something. Instead, there’s nothing around us, only the beach and the glistening of the sun off the water ahead of us in the distance.

“What do you think?” Clay asks.

“I. Where?”

“Our parcel of land is everything from here to the water.”

“Which bit?” I ask, glancing at the expansive empty land as far as the eye can see both to the left and right.

“All of it. There used to be houses on it, but a developer bought them all, intending to build a resort on the land. The homeowners in the area protested the plans, and the developer went under before he had a chance to do anything apart from knocking down the old properties. Hunter saw the parcel come up for sale and we bought it when we graduated high school and came into our trusts. We each plan to build a home here, so our kids can grow up together like we did.”

“So, you guys own all of this land,” I say, waving my arm in front of me.

“Yep. Plenty of space to have four homes and some breathing room. Would you like to see the initial plans?”

I nod, and he smiles, reaching into the back seat and pulling out a leather tube. Opening it, he pulls out huge blueprints, laying them down on the hood of his car. “Come here, Poison. Let me show you our house.”

The first drawing shows plans for the whole parcel of land, with huge walls circling the plot on three sides, with the fronts of each property open to face the water. It’s hard to grasp the scale of each home on paper, but I can see the basic outlay. The next drawing is of an actual house, and Clay talks me through it, telling me about the walls of glass, so we’ll have the best views of the sea. The roof terrace, basement gym, and indoor/outdoor spaces.

“Anything you don’t like or just want to change, you can. This is your home, January.”

Everything he’s saying is so sweet and thoughtful, but I can’t help feeling disconnected. My desire for the life he’s dangling in front of me is warring with my need for freedom, and I don’t know how to balance those two things.

I married Clay because I didn’t have any other choice. I said, “I do,” thinking I could make the best of the situation or bide my time until we could divorce and I could start over somewhere new. Never in all my musing did I consider building a home and actually wanting to be there.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clay says, pulling his wallet out and handing me two credit cards.

“What’s this?”

“This one…” He holds up a black credit card. “Is for your everyday expenses, anything you need, you use this card to cover. This one.” He holds up a silver card. “Is for your personal account. The trust fund your family set up for you is bullshit. It’s ridiculous for you to have to ask my permission to spend your own money. So, I put the same amount as your trust into an account in your name, and that credit card is linked to it.”

He says it so simply, like it’s nothing.

“I don’t understand.”

“You can spend as much of my money as you want, baby. What’s mine is yours, but I refuse to be part of you having to ask permission to spend your own money.”

“I…” Swallowing, I clear my throat. “So, this card is…” I lift the silver card into the air.

“A credit card linked to your personal bank account.”

“So, the money in there is mine,” I clarify.

“Yes.” He nods.

“How much?” I shake my head. “How much is in there?” I know I shouldn’t ask, but I have to know.

“Two million.”

“Two million dollars,” I breathe shakily.

“Yes, baby.”

“I have two million dollars?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s mine. In this account? So, if I wanted to, I could withdraw it. No one would stop me.”

“You can have it all in ones if you want. It’s your money.”

My legs give way, and I sink to the ground, the sidewalk rough beneath me.

“I don’t understand,” I say again.

“I can’t let you go, January, but I want you to be free.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. If you run, I’ll chase you and bring you back to me.”

“Then I’m not free, am I?” I question.

“You’re free. You can do as you please, go where you like, be whoever you want to be, but you’ll always be mine, and you’ll come home to me at the end of the day. That’s the freest I can allow you to be.” He’s so earnest, so open and gentle, while he shatters me, telling me I’ll always be tied to him, always chained. Never truly free.

34

CLAY

S omething in her eyes dies as I speak.

I thought this would help. I thought me giving her the independence that only truly comes with money would make her happy. But she looks broken, splintered in two, beyond repair.

This week she’s smiled and laughed. She’s curled into me, kissed me, and sought me out. She’s given herself to me, and I’ve cherished her like the gift she is. I’ve tried not to demand too much of her, tried to allow her to settle into her new life, to find her place in my world.

But I’ve been so excited to bring her here too, to show her where we’ll live. I wanted to get her input on our home, to design it together as the place where we’ll eventually start a family.

Was I stupid to think she’d be excited to finally have access to the money that should always have been hers? Bastian said she’d like this, the others agreed, and it made sense to me. I want to be the one to provide for her, but if having her own money makes her feel more comfortable in our marriage, then I’d happily give her every penny I have.

She doesn’t argue as I open the car door for her and help her into the seat. I wait for a reaction. If she’s mad, I want her to blow up, to shout and yell at me. But it doesn’t come. She doesn’t scream or argue. She’s just silent.

When we get back to the house, she goes straight upstairs, changes into shorts and a tank, and climbs into bed. If she were a different kind of woman, I’d think she was pouting, but she’s more contemplative, like she’s reasoning out her thoughts in her head. I just wish she was sharing them with me.

A part of me wonders if I should leave her alone or overwhelm her with sex and pleasure. Can you orgasm someone into loving you?

Deciding to give her some space, I press a kiss to the top of her head and then leave. As usual, the kitchen is full of my family, Hunter making pasta at the counter, Starling and Bastian sitting at the table.

“Are you okay?” Starling asks as I slide down into the chair beside her, exhaling wearily.

“No, not really,” I confess.

“Did you and January have a fight?”

“No. I took her to my parents’ for lunch and then out to the beach to see where our house is going to be built.”

“Was lunch awkward? Do your parents think she’s like the rest of her family?”

“No,” I say quickly. “My parents really like her. Lunch was great. She liked the plot, and I showed her the preliminary blueprints for the house.”

“Did you give her the credit card?” Bastian asks.

“Credit card?” Starling questions.

“Her trust fund is all jacked. It’s her money, but she has to have my permission to spend it. So, I put double the value into an account in her name and gave her a credit card for it. I thought she’d be pleased,” I say with a tired shrug.

“She wasn’t?” Bastian asks.

“I mean, she wasn’t angry about it. But she just seems sad more than anything else.”

“Were you expecting her to jump for joy because you gave her back what was hers to start off with?” Starling asks sarcastically.

“No, I mean… I just thought she’d be happy or something.” Lifting my hand, I rub my eyes. “The only thing she’s ever asked me for is freedom, but I can’t give her that. If I let her go, she’ll run, and I’ll never see her again.”

Starling’s brow furrows. “Do I need to remind you again that life isn’t always about what you want and need? Sometimes the best thing you can do for someone is to think about what they need. Let me guess, you gave her the card and then pulled some alpha male bullshit where you told her she was yours and you’d never let her go or something equally stupid.”

“Well…” I trail off.

“God, Clay, did the last two and a half years of mine and Sebastian’s drama not teach you anything? Right now, you’re him two years ago, wanting what he wanted, regardless of how that affected me. Do you want to push her till she breaks and does anything to get away from you?” Starling shrieks.

From the corner of my eye, I see Sebastian flinch.

“I want her to want to stay,” I confess, hating how broken I sound.

“Then you need to let her go.”

No, no, no, no, I chant inside my head. She can’t leave. I can’t lose her. But if I’m forcing her to stay, do I really have her?

“Fuck,” I hiss.

“Seriously, did you actually just listen to me and then come to the same conclusion and agree with me that quickly?” Starling asks, sitting back in her seat, shock etched across her face.

“I don’t want the only reason she’s with me to be because she doesn’t have another choice.”

“Seriously,” Starling shouts, turning to Bastian and throwing her hands in the air. “It took him like two minutes. Why did it take you nearly three years?”

“He is a genius,” Bastian deadpans.

Flipping him the bird, she turns to me again. “So, what are you going to do?”

She’s quiet for two days. Two days where she barely speaks to me, still accepting my touch but never seeking it out. And then she just seems to accept things, and life moves on as it was before. She never mentions the credit card or the money. It’s like she just pretends that it doesn’t exist and decides to get on with her life.

A part of me thinks I should be happy. That I should enjoy her acceptance and carry on bingeing on my wife and living my life on every single one of my terms. Only Starling’s words refuse to go away, constantly swimming through my mind, reminding me that as much as I can try and make my wife happy if she’s only here because I’m forcing her to be, none of this will ever be real.

Realizing that I’ve fallen in love with an illusion is a bitter pill to swallow.

It takes me another two days to decide if keeping my Sweet Venom chained to me will hold her close or ultimately push her away, and in the end, I do the one thing I never thought I would. I set her free.

“I don’t understand,” I hear my Poison say as I hide like a coward behind the wall, listening to Starling give January the letter I wrote her.

Poison,

If you love something, set it free. If they come back, they’re yours; if they don’t, they never were.

I’ll be waiting.

Clay xoxo

Attached to the letter are the details of the study abroad program I signed her up for, starting after winter break in just over a week’s time, as well as a plane ticket to Rome, details for the hotel I booked her into until her program starts and an open-ended plane ticket to come home to me if she wants.

Everything about this feels so fucking wrong, but Starling was right. If I keep January chained to me against her will, eventually she’ll break, and she’ll run. This way, there’s still hope she might find her way back to me.

Unable to stand here and listen to the woman I realized I’m in love with be excited about leaving me, I slip out the front door, taking the cart to the valet station to get my car. I can’t be here when she packs because I know I won’t be able to physically let her go. She’s mine, she always will be, but if she doesn’t want me to be hers, then all I’m doing is forcing her to stay, and I don’t want to be just another abusive presence in her life, forcing her to comply.

The engine of my car burbles and roars as I accelerate down the freeway, needing to get as far away as possible from Kingsacre and the woman who started as an obligation but is now so much more.

I drive until I reach the beach, then I check into a hotel and get blind drunk, staring at the tracking app on my cell and watching as my Poison leaves me. Two more days later, Bastian, Hunter, and Evan hunt me down, and the four of us spend the next week alternating our time between drowning our sorrows and plotting revenge on my in-laws.

I haven’t asked the guys about January; in fact, I’ve lost my shit any time they tried to bring up the subject of my absent wife. They all know what I did, and I think Hunter and Evan even understand it. But Bastian is so buried under his own turmoil he doesn’t have time for my marital drama.

Apparently, January and Starling shared a town car to the airport. Starling is spending time with her dad, and it’s taking all my brother’s self-control not to fly out to Maine and bring her back to him.

At least Starling’s coming back. I have no idea if I’ll ever see January again. She has everything she’s ever wanted—freedom, independence, and the ability to make her own choices—why the fuck would she ever come home?

“Bro,” Evan chides, pulling me from my dark thoughts and dragging me back to the present. “Did you speak to your dad about having the DA look at Burke enterprises?”

“Yeah, Dad had them checked out, but apparently they’re clean, all aboveboard and legit. Wherever their skeletons are hiding, it isn’t in the family business,” I tell him.

“Did anyone find out what prompted the Burkes to look for an alliance?” Bastian asks, scowling as he stares at his cell as if he’s trying to make it ring through sheer will alone.

“What do you mean?” Evan asks.

“The Burkes could have been fostering marriage arrangements for January for years, but they didn’t. She didn’t have a coming out party or attend any cotillions or social events. They basically kept her a secret, and then all of a sudden, they’re blackmailing you into marrying her, knowing that an alliance between the Burkes and Jansens would give them an authenticity that they couldn’t get alone. So what deal were they chasing?” Bastian asks, going back to glaring at his cell the moment he stops speaking.

“Well, fuck. That’s a really good fucking question,” I say, grabbing my laptop from the coffee table in the hotel suite we’re still in. Once I’d sobered up enough to start looking into how to ruin the Burkes, I decide to hack into my father-in-law’s email and cell phone, and whoa, boy, is it interesting reading material.

Cliff Burke is a naughty, naughty boy. The asshole is cheating on his wife, juggling multiple women, including a twenty-three-year-old ex-employee who lives in a condo paid for by Cliff with her three-year-old son, Clifford Burke junior.

According to the various emails Cliff’s received, January’s brothers Lucius, Gabriel, and Holden are not just assholes, they’re misogynistic, violent little pricks who are on their last chance at St. Helacious Academy. The only reason they’re still attending is purely because of the size of the donations Cliff gives the school every time his precious sons do something horrific.

It only took me minutes to access the school’s computerized records and find their extensive list of crimes and misdemeanors, which include but are not limited to being found in possession of and distributing revenge porn, explicit sexual material of a minor, Rohypnol, and cocaine. Bullying and harassment of female members of staff, attempted coercion, violence toward younger students as well as multiple other incidents where police reports were filed.

My brothers and I might be assholes, but the Burke boys are walking red flags. I don’t know the extent to which they hurt January, but I plan to pay back any hurt they caused my Poison tenfold, starting with them being expelled from their families’ alma mater.

It only took one anonymous well-written email to the school’s principal, reminding him about the revenge porn laws in this state and a first draft of a newspaper article, naming both the Burkes and St. Helacious to make him revoke their school places and expel all three of them with immediate effect.

I might have also sent a copy of the article to all the other private academies in the country to make sure the only schools willing to take them are the local public school and the military academies I’ve chosen for them to attend.

Gabriel and Holden still have time to turn things around before they start to apply to colleges, but Lucius getting kicked out of school a couple of semesters before graduation, and the copy of his real school records and transcripts that I send to all the colleges he applied to, mean things aren’t looking good for him.

“Hunter, did you speak to your mom about Marilyn? Other than her being a first-rate bitch, all I can find on her is that she’s the typical society wife. Lots of societies and charities she’s involved with that save things like the opera and preserve rare art. Nothing we can use to do any real damage.”

“Mom said they don’t really associate in the same circles, but when she did some asking around, it was clear that Marilyn is not well liked. But no one told her anything damning.”

Sighing, I tap my finger against the table. “Maybe we’ll have to rely on her being collateral damage to make her pay. She enjoys her lifestyle and reputation. If we can ruin both of those things through Cliff and the guys, then Marilyn with sink by association.”

The guys nod just as Bastian’s cell starts to ring. Jumping up from his seat, he lifts his cell to his ear as he heads for his room. “Little Bird. Fuck, I miss you.”

His bedroom door closing drowns out the rest of his conversation, but it’s enough to make the gaping wound in my chest feel like it’s ripping a little wider. I haven’t seen my Poison in over a week, and I hate it. Every moment without her feels endless, and all I want to do is track her ass down and then bind her to me so tightly she’ll never be free of me again.

I miss her. But judging by how silent my cell has been since she read my letter to her, she’s not missing me.

Unlike Starling, who is still being stalked by her security team, January has been surveillance-free since the day she left. I even refused to give in to the temptation to hack into the cameras at the airport or the hotel in Rome just to see her.

I let her go, and it feels fucking awful.

A tiny, hopeful part of me thought she might not go. But she did. She got on a plane and left me without even calling me to ask me why or say goodbye. She chose her freedom over me, and now all I have left of her is an aching chasm in my chest and a thirst for vengeance against the people who hurt her, including me. My penance for treating her like shit is being without her, and I can’t imagine a more fitting punishment than losing the person I fell in love with.

And I did. I fell in love with my wife. Ironic, isn’t it? I married her, fully intending to hate her, and within weeks, I was her slave, obsessed and consumed by her. But she doesn’t feel the same way, and there’s nothing I can do about that.

If the only thing I can do for her now is to get revenge in her name, then I’ll make sure the payback is swift and thorough and that her family knows that they’re going to lose everything because they fucked with January Jansen, the daughter they hurt, ignored and terrorized.

Turning back to my laptop, I get to work.

35

JANUARY

I ’m in Rome, Italy.

I’ve been here for almost two weeks now, but it still hasn’t sunk in. I boarded a plane and flew to the other side of the world on my own. I’m in another country, free. I’ve never had this much independence in my life. I can go where I like, do what I want when I want it.

My study program started two days ago, and I’ve immersed myself in the culture, speaking entirely in Italian, and it’s amazing. I never imagined I’d have this kind of opportunity. Even when I was playing silly games with crazy odds with Clay, I never really envisaged what it would be like to win.

Freedom was some far-off fairy tale, always there just beyond my fingertips, always out of reach. But now I’m living it, and it’s… strange.

When I moved into the house with Clay and the others, I didn’t miss my parents’ home or anyone in it except for Martha. But after being alone for two weeks, I started waking up craving the amazing food Hunter was always making, the noise of a busy house full of people, constant friendly company, and the warmth and security of sleeping in Clay’s arms.

I miss him, which is ridiculous because I barely knew him. We were only a part of each other’s lives for a few weeks, but he was a catalyst for so much change. In me, in my mind and thoughts and body.

He was my first kiss, my first everything. He told me I belonged to him, that he’d never let me go, and then he changed his mind and set me free with a bullshit letter and a plane ticket.

I don’t know what happened, but I’m not a stupid woman. When someone hands you exactly what you’ve always wanted, you don’t question it. You grab it with both hands and hold on tight in case it’s all a trick, and at any second, someone could rip it all away.

So I packed my bags, got on a plane, and checked into the sumptuous suite Clay booked for me. Then after indulging in all the touristy wonders Rome has to offer, I showed up for my first day at the Sapienza University of Rome and tried to settle into my new life.

I’ve wandered the streets of the city, eaten in tiny sidewalk cafés, and marveled at the sheer size of the Colosseum and Vatican City. I’ve experienced true freedom for the very first time, and it’s exhilarating.

It’s also a little lonely.

I should be used to being alone. I’m the unwanted child, forgotten until I was forced to face my family’s wrath. I’ve spent my entire life craving freedom and solitude, but being here and being truly alone isn’t what I thought it’d be.

A part of me keeps expecting to turn around and find Clay following me or glance up and see a camera blinking red in the corner of my new single dorm room. But I’ve searched every nook and cranny, and I can’t find any cameras watching me.

When Starling gave me Clay’s letter, she told me he’d called off my security and that he promised he wouldn’t follow me. That if I ever decided to come back to him, it’d be my choice, but that he understood if I never did.

I just don’t understand how he could go from watching my every move to sending me to another country without any explanation apart from that godforsaken letter.

The moment I think about it, my hand automatically dips to my pocket, where the stupid letter is folded into a square. Pulling it out, I unfold the creased piece of paper and stare at his handwritten words.

Poison,

If you love something, set it free. If they come back, they’re yours; if they don’t, they never were.

I’ll be waiting.

Clay xoxo

That’s it. One sentence to explain why he was sending me away.

He wasn’t sending you away, he was setting you free like you told him you wanted. My inner voice chides. But he told me he’d never set me free. He told me over and over that I was his, that I belonged to him, that he would never let me go. So, what the hell is this letter?

If you love something, set it free.

We never spoke about love. We never talked about anything that real and deep. We talked about sex and ownership and stupid bets. We never ever talked about love, and yet that’s what he put in his letter.

If you love something, set it free.

Is this some kind of declaration? If it is, why write it down? Why not just tell me? I’ve asked myself these questions a thousand times, but I’m still no closer to understanding how a man so possessive he had me under constant twenty-four-hour surveillance, even when he was sleeping beside me in bed, could just let me go.

A part of me knows I should be grateful he gave me the opportunity to escape. I’m alone, untethered, independent, free. This is exactly what I’ve always wanted. So why does it all feel a little hollow? There are nine other students in the foreign study program, but other than me, they’re all seniors, doing a three- or six-month placement in their final few semesters at college before they graduate. I’m the only freshman, the only one who isn’t part of the group.

On the first day of the program, they all stared at me like they weren’t sure why I was even there. I haven’t declared a major yet. I only took classes for a few weeks before I flew here, and even though I earned my way into the advanced classes through placement tests, and my Italian is clearly better than almost all the other people in the program, I’m still an outsider.

When I first arrived, I refused to even think about him, reveling in being free and spending my own money without having to ask permission or explain away every purchase. Only each time my credit card allows me to pay for something, I’m reminded that it’s all because of him. He gave me my independence, and he arranged all of this, including the study program admittance, a great single room, and the highest-tier meal package.

I miss him.

Every time I pull out my cell, I expect there to be a text from him, just something to check that I’m okay or ask how the gelato I’m eating tastes; but there’s been nothing.

I shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t matter that he hasn’t checked on me because this is what I told him I wanted. But maybe wants and needs can change and adapt. Maybe being free doesn’t have to mean being completely alone.

No. Shaking away my wavering thoughts, I focus on the first assignment we’ve been given. This is what I wanted, what I fought so hard for, and I won’t cave just because I miss the man who tried to tie me to him.

Two more weeks pass, and each day is somehow longer than the last. Rome is a beautiful city. The people are chaotic but friendly. My classes are engaging and interesting. I’m living my best life. Only I feel adrift.

I’ve been debating if I should text Starling and Sammy for over a week now. I think we’d started to become friends, but neither of them has contacted me, and I don’t know if that’s because they were only nice to me because of Clay or if they’re just waiting for me to contact them.

Typing out a message, I hover over the send button on the group chat I created, then delete it, place my cell down on the table, then pick it back up again, rewrite the text, and hit Send before I can talk myself out of it.

Me: Hey

For several long moments, the screen stays blank, and then, instead of a message, a video chat request pops up. I press the button to accept it, then brace myself for their rejection or, worse, their anger.

When the video screen appears, both Starling and Sammy are squashed into the frame, heads pressed together.

“Oh my god,” Sammy shrieks. “How’s Rome?”

“It’s, err… it’s good. How are you guys? Where are you?” I ask, noticing a sandy beach, sea, and boats in the background.

“We’re in Maine.” Starling laughs. “Sammy was bored without me, so she came out last weekend. We’re actually flying home tomorrow.”

“You’ve been at your dad’s all this time? Has Bastian lost his mind?”

Starling’s cheeks blush pink. “He hasn’t enjoyed me being away for so long. But me and my dad needed this time, and it’s gone a long way to bridge the gap between my dad hating Sebastian and them learning to tolerate each other. Dad has agreed to come to the wedding and give me away too.”

“That’s amazing. I’m so happy for you. I know how important having him there was to you,” I say earnestly, and I am happy for her, because she’s marrying the man she loves and having her dad give them his blessing.

“So, tell us everything. How beautiful are Italian men? What’s your dorm like? How’s the program? Do you love it? Is it everything you hoped for?” Sammy asks, speaking so quickly I can barely keep up.

“Err, well, I haven’t really spent a lot of time looking at the guys, but it’s really fashionable, and there’s a few people I’ve seen around school who look like they should be models. My dorm is nice, more what I expected a dorm room to look like than the house at Kingsacre. The program is interesting, although everyone else is a senior, apart from me, so that’s a bit strange. I…” I sigh tiredly. “I like it here.”

“You hate it.” Sammy laughs.

“Sammy,” Starling chides.

“What?” Sammy says, glaring at Starling. “She hates it. Look at her, it’s obvious she hates it.”

“Do you?” Starling asks, a little…hopeful.

“I don’t hate it. It’s just…”

“The wrong place, with the wrong people,” Sammy says, pursing her lips knowingly.

“Have you spoken to him?” Starling asks.

I shake my head.

“This is all my fault,” she blurts, then slaps her hand over her mouth like she didn’t intend to say anything.

“What? How?” I ask.

“The day he took you to the beach plot, you were all sad and quiet, and he came down into the kitchen. I told him that he needed to stop using all that alpha male mojo bullshit and let you go, because if he was forcing you to stay with him, eventually you’d snap and leave anyway. I didn’t know he was going to send you to the other side of the world.” Starling confesses.

“It’s Italy. It’s hardly the other side of the world.” Sammy rolls her eyes.

“I’m so sorry, January.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I tell her. “This is exactly what I wanted. He just did what I said I wanted.”

“So how is it really?” Sammy asks pointedly.

Inhaling, I let out a weary sigh. “Lonely. I’ve spent so long dreaming of getting away, of being free of my family and just being in control of my own life. When I first saw the study abroad program, it seemed like the perfect way of being free, so I told Clay that it was what I wanted.”

“What happened that day on the beach?” Starling asks. “You don’t have to tell us, I just thought…” she trails off.

“We went to his parents’ for lunch. They were so nice to me, they treated me like family, and honestly, it was great. Then he drove us out to the beach and showed me the plans for his house, and he gave me a credit card. I’m not sure if you remember me telling you that my parents put clauses on my trust fund, so I had to ask Clay every time I want to buy more than a pack of gum. Well, he put the same amount of money that’s in my trust into a different bank account in my name and gave me the card.”

“It was double,” Starling says.

“What?”

“He put double the amount of the trust in the account.”

I’m stunned silent for a minute. Why would he do that?

“What else happened?” Sammy asks, interrupting my turbulent thoughts.

“He told me that he couldn’t give me what I really wanted, which was my freedom, but that he hoped the money would give me the illusion of it. He said something along the lines of that I could do what I wanted, go where I liked, but that I’d never be free, that I was his, and that I’d always be chained to him.”

“Wow, that’s hot in a fucked-up kind of way,” Sammy says.

I can’t help it, I laugh. “I guess it is, yeah.”

“So what else happened?” Starling asks.

“Nothing. After that, we went home, and I was sad and trying to decide if I could accept that, if I could live with being permanently caged. A few days later, you handed me that envelope, and I left.”

“So, he never spoke to you about it, he just gave you a plane ticket, and you left?” Sammy asks in her cannonball way.

“Yes.”

“And you haven’t spoken at all since?”

I shake my head.

“Wow, both you and Clay are idiots.”

“Sammy,” Starling gasps, turning to stare slack-jawed at the girl beside her.

“What. It’s the truth,” Sammy protests. “January, how do you feel about Clay?”

“I don’t… I don’t know.”

“Bullshit. You know how you feel, so be honest. How do you feel?”

“I miss him.”

“That’s a good start,” she says. “Are you attracted to him?”

“Yes.”

“And the sex was hot, right?”

I nod.

“I’m guessing he’s got some freaky-deaky kinks, right? He likes to watch or whatever.”

“I don’t—”

“I’m not kink shaming. I like to be spanked and not just a playful whack on the ass when a guy is doing me doggy. I like to be held over a guy’s knee and spanked till it hurts to sit down. So, if Clay gets off on watching you and you get off on him watching, there’s zero shame coming from me. I’m just confirming that your kinks align, and he wasn’t pushing you to do weird stuff you weren’t into.”

“Err.” My face feels red and hot. Sammy likes to be spanked. Well, okay then. “Everything we did, I liked.”

“Okay. Cool. I’m going to ask you a load of questions, and I want you to say the first thing that comes into your head. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agree.

“Coffee or tea?”

“Tea.”

“Summer or fall?”

“Summer.”

“Dogs or cats?”

“Dogs.

“Red or blue?”

“Blue.”

“Are you in love with Clay?”

“Yes.”

My eyes widen, and my heart starts to pound wildly in my chest.

“You’re in love with him?” Starling asks.

“I…”

“I think you know you’re in love with him, and maybe you hate that, maybe not. But is being alone in Italy what you really want when you could be here, with Clay and us? We miss you too, January,” Sammy says, making a lump form in my throat and tears pool in my eyes.

“I miss you guys too,” I confess, feeling an even greater pang in my chest at being so far away.

“According to Bastian, Clay’s been staying at a hotel. He says he can’t stand to be in your room without you,” Starling admits.

“He hasn’t even texted me to make sure I got here safe,” I sigh, looking away from the screen.

“Well, he’s been obsessively watching the tracker app.” Sammy laughs.

“What?” both Starling and I say at once.

“What?” Sammy asks. “Every time I’ve seen him, he’s been staring at the tracker app, the one you have for Sebastian’s tracker.”

“I don’t have a tracker,” I tell her.

“Are you sure?” Starling asks. “I had one for years without knowing.”

“I’m sure.” But I don’t sound sure, and from the look on both girls’ faces, they agree.

Turning to the side, Starling lifts her hair off her neck and then points with her fingers. “Put your fingers under your hair, right up to the hairline, and then rub backward and forward. Now I know where mine is, I can feel it. It’s only small, but it’s hard, like a grain of rice.”

Copying her movements, I pull my hair to the side and stroke the pad of my finger back and forth over the spot Starling’s pointing at. There’s nothing, just my skin and hair. And then I feel it. A tiny oval-shaped bump beneath my skin.

“Did you find it?” Sammy asks.

“I’m not sure. I can feel something, but how could I have a tracker? I never agreed to it and never knowingly had it inserted.”

“Sebastian sedated me to have mine done. Clay could have done the same.” Starling shrugs. “He’s definitely ruthless enough to do it.”

“Of course he did. Why else would he be staring at the app? It’s not like he was tracking anyone else. But you’re being pretty calm about it,” Sammy says.

I smile. It’s messed up and so ridiculous, but the idea that he sedated me and had a tracker fitted is all kinds of adorably psychotic. So is the thought that he’s still watching me, even if it’s only a dot on a map thousands of miles away.

“Jesus, I know that look.” Sammy laughs. “Why did I pick friends who both like crazy guys? What are you going to do when I marry a normal, rich CEO? You’re both going to hate him, and you won’t want to be friends with me anymore.”

“We’ll still love you even if you marry an accountant,” Starling reassures her, patting her on the shoulder. “But we’ll deal with your love life later. January, what are you going to do about Clay?”

“I have no idea,” I confess, but for the first time in what feels like forever, my blood hums with the familiar feeling of being watched.

We chat for a bit longer, then Starling’s dad gets home, and the girls say goodbye with a promise to video chat again in a couple of days. Speaking to them and hearing that they miss me fills me with warmth and reminds me that I have more than just a hateful family and an absentee husband in my life. But by the time I get back to my dorm room, the sense of hollow loneliness has returned, and thoughts of Clay fill my head.

Did he somehow arrange for me to be fitted with a tracker? If so, when? And why am I not more mad about it? The fact that I had no idea suggests that if it is a tracker I can feel beneath my skin, my husband used some underhanded methods to arrange for its insertion. The rational side of my brain knows that I should be more than furious, but the part of me that has gotten used to Clay’s quirks is excited that he’s still stalking me even after he promised to stop.

I’m confident that if I was a normal, well-rounded eighteen-year-old with normal supportive loving parents and annoying but lovable siblings, I wouldn’t feel this way. But I’m not normal, and I don’t come from a normal family. I can’t act and feel the way a normal person would because my life view has been so skewed. And the thought that Clay is watching me, even if it’s only my location on a screen, makes me feel all gooey inside.

The warm feeling in my stomach and the distant aching between my thighs doesn’t make it any easier to decide what I should do next. My life is exactly as I dreamed it would be, but now that I have everything I want, I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.

Being free is great, but am I truly free if a part of me wishes it was chained to someone else?

That night as I fall asleep, instead of the wind, I dream of a beautiful man watching me from afar, silently stalking me. But instead of being terrified, all I feel is comfort, security, and need. When morning rolls around, I’m wet and needy and craving the way that Clay makes me feel.

I’m in love with him, and I have no idea what to do now.

A week later, and I’m done. I’m lonely and homesick and I miss my husband and our friends. If this is freedom, then hand me the shackles because I’ll be a willing prisoner if he still wants me.

I’ve spent hours agonizing over what to do. He bought me a plane ticket, I could book myself onto the next flight home and be crawling into the bed beside him in less than a day. But just going home to him doesn’t feel like enough.

Instead of looking for flights, I open up the group chat and call Starling and Sammy. The call connects almost immediately, and their faces appear in two separate squares. “I have an idea, but I’m going to need your help.”

36

CLAY

I  hate this. I fucking hate this so much that I’ve booked flights to Rome six times and then immediately canceled them because she doesn’t want me. She left. She ran from me the moment I gave her the opportunity, because I’ve fallen for her, and she hasn’t fallen back.

Fuck.

Being in the house is too hard. I tried, but the moment I stepped into our room, all I could smell was her. All I could see was her naked in our bed, her head thrown back that last morning as I’d licked her pussy until she’d screamed her release, telling me over and over again that she was mine.

But it wasn’t the truth. I owned her body but nothing more. So, I moved to a hotel and I fucking hate that too. I hate being alone, I miss my friends, and more than anything, I miss her. My Poison.

The first couple of weeks, I had hope that she might come back, that she might text or call me, but she hasn’t, not once, and it’s been a month now. A month without seeing her, touching her, kissing her, fucking her. This is my hell, my perpetual purgatory, and it’s my own fault for allowing myself to fall in love with my fucking poisonous bride.

The tracker app is my new best friend. I watch it obsessively, just to know that she’s alive, that she’s moving. Eventually I’ll need to give that up too, but right now, without any other contact, it’s the only thing keeping me sane.

My life now consists of school and systematically destroying January’s family. It turns out when you lose the most important thing to you, it’s easier to cope if you can focus all your energy in a single direction and that’s what I’ve done.

When St. Helacious advised the Burkes that all three of their sons had been expelled, Cliff lost his mind. His emails to the school were impressively angry, and according to the surveillance team I assigned to watch my father-in-law, his tantrum was epic when the headmaster refused to let him buy his sons’ way back into the school.

It took him a week and multiple emails and phone calls to all the private schools in the state before he reached out to my dad. Dad is aware of what I’m doing and when he heard how the Burkes have treated his new daughter-in-law, he was more than happy to help.

Just like I asked him to, Dad pretended to reach out to his contacts, then offered Cliff the only options I wanted him to have, which were two separate all-boys military academies on opposite sides of the country for Gabriel and Holden. He also gave him the bad news that the only school prepared to have Lucius was the local public high school.

It shouldn’t please me so much to hear that all three of January’s asshole brothers are having a rough time of it in their new schools. Together they might have been a force to be reckoned with, but apart, they’re just three rich little pricks who think their shit doesn’t stink.

After a few well-placed emails to the parents of the girls the boys have abused and then blackmailed to keep quiet, there are now several police investigations in progress, as well as multiple civil suits.

I’m going to really enjoy the next few months as Lucius realizes that not only won’t he be getting acceptance to any of the schools he applied to, he won’t be getting into any college ever unless he has his sights on the local community college. Even private colleges like Kingsacre understand that bad press holds more weight than a big donation, and so it doesn’t matter how much money Cliff tries to throw at his alma mater, they won’t be accepting his eldest son.

The Burkes’ skeletons are no longer in the closet, and over the next month, all their dirty laundry is going to be aired in a very public way, starting with the introduction of Cliff’s youngest son to polite society.

It turns out the various women Cliff had been cheating on his wife with all thought he was on the verge of divorce, and none of them were happy to learn that not only did he have no intention of leaving Marilyn, but that they weren’t the only ones competing for his disgusting attention. Angry women are apparently pretty vengeful… who knew? Well, the whole world will soon after the media starts to report on Cliff’s indiscretions.

Apparently, the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree and Cliff’s dad has a dark and sordid past too. His includes six illegitimate children and a string of domestic abuse charges he’s managed to brush under the carpet with bribes to the right people. Guess what? The media now knows about all of that too.

Burke Enterprises has proved a harder nut to crack. Evan was right when he suggested that there must have been a specific reason why January was suddenly thrown into the marriage market. It’s taken me forever to find out, but now I know why Cliff was so adamant about his daughter marrying me. It’s because he’s been trying to buy up stock options in both my family’s and my brothers’ family’s businesses.

Normally this wouldn’t be an issue. The Jansens, Morrises, Lockwoods, and Rossbergs all retain the majority share in all our companies, so there’s no chance of a hostile takeover, but if Cliff were to buy into all our families’ businesses, he could try to cement himself as one of us.

That won’t be happening. The moment I brought the information to the families, they immediately bought any stock options that came up, locking Cliff out. But I don’t just want to piss Cliff off. I want to fucking ruin him.

Luckily it doesn’t take much to sink a rotting ship. A few well-placed emails to decent journalists, a few meetings with our parents’ connections, a few computer viruses and a tip-off to the IRS and the Burkes aren’t just personae non gratae, they’re also under investigation for tax fraud.

I don’t know if all of this will be enough to bring them to their knees, but if it isn’t, I still have a lot more dirt on them to expose next. In the meantime, I’ve enjoyed the photographs in the papers of the feds removing files and computer hard drives from the Burke Enterprise offices and the house. I’ve even started making a scrapbook of all the pictures and articles for January, so she can see the way I’m punishing the people who’ve hurt her.

Hell, I might even have the picture of a furious-looking red-faced Cliff being escorted away by the IRS framed and send it to my Poison in Italy.

My cell beeps, telling me I have a text, but I don’t want to deal with my friends wanting to know where I am and why I’m not at the house with them. Only Bastian can even start to understand how I feel, but Starling is back, she’s his and they get married next week. He has everything he ever wanted and I’m just lonely and miserable and without the woman I love. I want to be happy for my brother, but right now, I just can’t.

Sighing, I pick up my cell and look at the screen. Blinking, I turn away, then look back again. The screen still says the same thing. I have a text from my Poison. My fingers shake in my frantic need to read whatever she’s sent me, and I have to type in the code three times before I give up and lift my cell to my face remembering that I have face ID on it.

Poison: Do you want to play a game?

Holy fucking shit, she’s texting me. More than that, she wants to play… with me. Fuck.

Me: What kind of game did you have in mind?

I hit send, then wait, staring back at the screen, desperate for a response. I don’t even care what it is. She opened the door and I’m stepping through.

Poison: You’ve always liked hide-and-seek.

Me: You’re in Italy, it’s going to take me more than an hour to find you.

Poison: I thought you liked a challenge. What if I gave you 48hrs instead?

Me: What are we playing for?

Poison: What do you want?

Me: You.

Poison: For how long?

Me: Forever.

Poison: We already played for forever, but you set me free.

Me: I was an idiot.

Poison: What do I get if you lose?

Me: If I lose, you get me.

Poison: For how long?

Me: Forever.

The next message that comes through isn’t another text, it’s a link to a timer. I can’t help it, I laugh. If my Poison wants to play, I’ll play, and I’ll win. This was her only chance to be free of me, I’ll never let her go again and hopefully if she’s coming back, it’s because she’ll never want me to.

Jumping up from the bed, I grab my cell, shove some clothes into a bag, and run out the door.

37

JANUARY

M y time in Italy has been amazing. For the first time in my entire life, I was free to do as I pleased. I got everything that I’ve ever really wanted, and I realized I didn’t want it anymore.

Marrying Clay allowed me to peek behind the curtain to a life that wasn’t lonely, or violent, or miserable. For a little while, I was part of a family, and I didn’t appreciate that until I no longer had it. Being with my parents and brothers, the grass always looked greener on the side of the lawn where I was an island, independent and free to be my own person and live the life I’ve always wanted.

But then I fell in love. I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know if it was when he gave me my first orgasm or when Poison became a pet name instead of an insult, but whenever it was, I can’t deny it now. I’ve missed my husband, and not because he made me come, or fucked me into a coma every night. I’ve missed his sweet insistence that I eat. I missed him encouraging me to say fuck it to every boundary my parents beat into me.

I miss falling asleep in the safety of his arms and knowing he was watching, even if he wasn’t there to wake up beside me. I miss the games and the way he made things that should be weird sexy. I just miss him, and I love him, and I want to go home.

But I can’t let him get away with sending me off with a platitude and a plane ticket. So, I’m going to play with him a little, the way I know he was playing with me. If there really is a tracker in my neck, then he knew exactly where I was every time we “played” and there was never a hope of me winning, not even that time in the woods, where he hunted me instead of seeking.

I’m confident at some point I’m going to be really pissed off about this whole tracker thing, but right now, I’m prepared to push that feeling aside until I’m back where I want to be.

Me knowing about the tracker and him not knowing I know is going to put me at an advantage. I have a plan, and it’s not just staying put and allowing him to find me. Starling suggested I reach out to Sebastian to help me win this round, and at first, I was skeptical. He and Clay are brothers, and I wasn’t sure he’d help me, but surprisingly, he was more than willing to do whatever I needed as long as my game ended with Clay and me back together.

Clay might think he’s one step ahead of me already, but he won’t be winning this game. He just doesn’t know it yet.

38

CLAY

F uck, how is this possible? Stomping around the small, empty dorm room, I check the bathroom for the tenth time, then slump down onto the small twin bed, my hands clenched into fists so tight my joints actually hurt.

She’s not here.

I don’t know what’s happening because, according to the app, she’s in this building, in this room. Only she’s not here, and neither is any of her stuff. The dorm is empty, the sheets stripped from the bed, nothing but empty hangers in the closet.

Grabbing my cell, I look at the tracker screen, rub my eyes, then look again. Only moments ago, her location showed as here, Sapienza University in Rome, only now it’s showing as Paris, France. What the fuck?

Closing the app again, I reopen it, then refresh, she’s not here; she’s in Paris, fucking hours away from here. My jaw clenches, and for a moment, I consider hurling my cell at the wall, but what would be the point? The app must have frozen when I was on the plane, and while I was on my way here, she was traveling across Europe.

A smile pulls at the corner of my lips. My snake is biting back. She’s not going to make this easy, and that’s okay. If she wants me to hunt her, I will, and my victory will be all the sweeter when I catch her.

With a wide smile on my face, I dial the pilot for the private plane I chartered and tell him to be ready to fly to Paris as soon as I get back. Game on, Poison, game on.

Feral laughter falls from my lips as I stare at the handwritten note January’s left for me on the bed in her hotel room in Paris.

You’re late

Poison xoxo

She’s gone and I’m standing in yet another room that’s drenched in her scent but empty of everything except lingering traces of her presence. I don’t know how long ago she left. The app said she was here, but when I pushed through the door, the sheets were wrinkled, and the towels in the bathroom had clearly been used.

But the only things in the room are her note and a stopwatch mockingly counting down. I’ve wasted twenty-three hours chasing my wife across the world. I’m not ready to give up, but I’m definitely running out of time.

Clicking into the tracking app, I sigh when it shows her in London, England. That isn’t too far from here, I get the feeling she’s not going to be there either. But I’ll go anyway, I’ll chase her all around the world and back again, if that’s what I need to do.

Grabbing her note, I stand in the window and take a picture of myself holding it, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. I send it to her, then dial the pilot. London, here I come.

January has already checked out of her room by the time I reach her hotel in London. This time she leaves a letter with the woman behind the hotel reception desk, who hands it over the moment I show her my ID. Taking it, I step out onto the busy London street and rip open the envelope.

Ticktock. Looks like you’re running out of time. I think this round goes to me.

Poison xoxo

Smiling widely, I click into the tracker app, wondering where I’ll be chasing her to next, but her dot is gone, like her tracker’s been deactivated. Panic surges up my throat. No, she can’t deactivate it. No one can, at least not without me knowing about it.

Refreshing the app, I close it, then reopen it several times, but no matter what I do, her dot doesn’t reappear. I refuse to allow this to happen. I still have twenty-one hours left. This isn’t over. It can’t be.

I have to find her. She wants me to find her. That’s what this game is all about… isn’t it? But what if it’s not? Have I been racing across continents thinking she’s coming back to me, and in the end, this was all just revenge, a final fuck-you before she disappears forever?

Raw, hot, pulsing anger replaces the blood in my veins. Fuck no, that’s not happening. January Jansen is my fucking wife. She doesn’t get to leave me. She doesn’t get to walk away again. I gave her what she wanted; I gave her the freedom she said her heart most desired, and I sent her away with my heart in her hand and she came back. The moment she asked me if I wanted to play, she handed herself back over to me, and I won’t be losing her again now.

Hailing a cab, I ask the driver to take me to the closest tech store. In my rush to get to January, I never thought to pack my laptop, but with the new one under my arm, I board the plane and get to work.

I should have known better than to act first. That’s not me. I’m the thinker, the genius, for fuck’s sake, and now I only have twenty hours left to find my wife. It’s a good job that watching her is my favorite thing to do.

It takes me three hours to hack into every security camera close enough to the hotel in London to track her movements. But once I spot her, it isn’t difficult to follow her to the airport and watch her board a plane. Right now, she’s about ten hours ahead and the flight she’s on is still in the air. She might think she’s won this round, but there’s still time, and with forever at stake, I won’t be giving up.

I have to call in a lot of favors and spend a lot of money to jump the line and get into the air, but two hours later, we’re at cruising altitude and I’m watching January’s plane land at LAX. I’m running out of time. There are fifteen hours left on the timer, but it’s an eleven-hour flight back to the States and I have no idea where she plans to go once she leaves the airport. If she boards another plane somewhere else, I’m fucked. I won’t have time to follow her.

The plane’s Wi-Fi cuts out ten minutes after I watch her pass through passport control and by the time it kicks back in, she’s gone and the last image I have of her is her climbing into a cab.

The urge to launch the laptop down the plane is almost overwhelming, but I restrain myself, inhaling and exhaling slowly. She’s in California. She’s home. So where would she go?

There’s no way she’d go to her parents’ house, and if she did, they wouldn’t help her hide from me. Martha is the only other person she’s close to, and she joined my parents’ staff and is currently on vacation after moving her and her family into the house we provided. Before she’d left, January had started to become friends with Sammy and Starling, but if she contacted them, they’d tell me, they both know how much I’ve been struggling since she left.

Then it hits me. I know exactly where she is. I laugh, I can’t help it. Then I exhale a tired breath, sit back in my seat and count down the hours until I get to her.

Well played, Little Snake, you almost had me.

Fourteen hours and thirty-six minutes later, I push open the door and step into the room, spotting the two large suitcases pushed up against the wall. Smiling, I drop my own bag beside hers, kick off my shoes and then step through into the bedroom.

It’s dark, and the sun is barely rising in the sky, but I can see her outline clearly beneath the comforter. Stripping out of my clothes, I know I should take a shower, but the pull to her is too strong and so I lift the covers and crawl in beside her. Her naked skin is warm as I drag her beneath me, pinning her down with my arms beside her head, carefully framing her face.

“Took you long enough.” She smiles, her voice full of sleep.

“I found you. I win,” I say, dipping my head and finding her soft lips in the dark.

“It was hardly hiding if I just came home.” She chuckles.

We have so much more to say to each other, but the only words I can find are… “I love you, Poison.”

“I love you too,” she whispers.

Parting her thighs, I reach between us and cup her pussy, feeling the wetness that’s begging me to slide inside her. “Did you miss me, baby?”

“A little. Then I bought a vibrator, and Bob has some serious stamina.”

Thrusting two fingers into her, I swallow her gasp with my lips, kissing her while I fuck her, stretching her until her cunt clamps down on my fingers and she comes with a cry. Not giving her a moment to recover, I guide my cock into her, filling her until my dick is surrounded by hot, wet heat.

“No one but me gets to fuck this pussy, Poison, and once I’m done making you scream, you’re going to watch while I smash Bob to fucking pieces.” Grabbing her hips, I push up onto my knees, lift her butt from the bed and fuck her in long, deep strokes.

“Oh god,” she gasps, her fingers scrambling to find purchase on the sheets beneath her.

“I fucking love you, wife. You’ll never leave me again. You had your chance to be free, and you came back to me. I’ll never let you go again.”

“Yes,” she rasps, my thrusts stealing the air from her lungs.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

“Tell me I own this pussy.”

“Your pussy.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“Oh god. I love you,” she screams, the words ripped from her as her orgasm peaks. Her back bows up off the bed, pushing her even deeper onto my cock as her cunt tightens and grips, dragging my own orgasm from me, and I come with a feral growl.

“Tell me I won, Little Snake,” I pant into her ear as I lower her back to the bed.

“We both won.” She grins, grabbing my head and pulling my lips back to hers.

EPILOGUE

JANUARY

ONE MONTH LATER

B eing home is weird. In some ways, it’s like I never left, and in others, absolutely everything has changed. But this is home. It’s where Clay is, it’s where my friends are and it’s where all the people that are starting to really feel like family are.

Clay would tell you that he won our latest game, but he’s wrong. Even though he technically found me, it feels like I’m the one that won. He chased me halfway around the world only to eventually follow me back to our bed, in the room we shared right up till the day he handed me my freedom. If I was in any doubt about how he felt about me, he’s proved that he loves me just as much as I love him.

That’s not to say that it’s been smooth sailing since then. It hasn’t. Clay watches me now, more than ever, and my security team is permanently back in place to keep an eye on me for the rare moments he’s not compulsively following me through my tracker or the cameras that cover our house and the campus grounds.

I haven’t let him off the hook for there being a tracker in my neck and forcing him to explain how it got there was an interesting conversation that included drugged tea, a coerced doctor, and some nonconsensual touching. When he finished explaining, he started apologizing on his knees with his tongue between my legs until I begged him to stop and promised him he was forgiven.

My ‘gift’ from Clay for coming back to him was the total annihilation of my family. I don’t know how he did it, but my parents’, brothers’, and grandfather's lives are in tatters. Burke Enterprises is under investigation for tax fraud and multiple other federal charges. Father and Grandfather have been headline news on every society gossip site for weeks, and the reputations they were so proud of have been completely destroyed. Gabriel and Holden are undergoing life overhauls in two of the country’s strictest military academies and Lucius decided to drop out of high school after a video of him being stuffed naked into a locker started trending on TikTok. And Mother… well, after the humiliation of learning very publicly about Father’s infidelity, the house and all the family’s assets being seized by the government, and her being kicked off every board and society she’s a part of, she finally reached out to me for help. When I decided I didn’t want to talk to her, Clay took great joy in telling her to go fuck herself.

It’s the best gift I’ve ever received.

I’m not sure Clay and I will ever have the type of marriage “normal” people have because it turns out we’re not that normal. Sammy asked if our kinks aligned, and it turns out they absolutely do. Clay likes to watch, and I enjoy his eyes on me and we’re both really big fans of hide-and-seek.

I read somewhere that love abides, and oddly, I’ve come to understand the phrase. Mine and Clay’s path to happy ever after hasn’t been straightforward or simple. We didn’t fall in love at first sight or start as friends and build up to something more.

Clay and I don’t make any sense. I’m damaged, and he’s a little jaded, but our jagged edges somehow fit together, and even though we shouldn’t work, we do. I fell in love with my husband, and Clay fell in love with his wife. We met out of obligation, but hate and mistrust, coercion, and manipulation somehow evolved into something darker and more twisted that miraculously became us. What we have is toxic and unhealthy and definitely not normal, it’s the sweetest poison, and we’re both happily infected.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Wow, this book just wouldn’t end! This is officially the longest story I’ve written so far and definitely one of the most difficult. I knew before I even finished Obsession that I’d want to write about the rest of the Elite and when I started this book, I had a clear idea of how the story was going to go. But Clay and January had other ideas. They fought back hard, and I really hope that now I’m finished, I’ve managed to do them justice.

I love this couple and this series, and I’m so glad I’ve had a chance to write about them. Clay is such a kinky little monkey, and it’s been fun trying to figure out how to allow him to act out all his desires when the woman he wants to act them out with is as fragile as January is at the start of the book. Exploring the darker side of my writing has been the most fun and I can’t wait to delve into Hunter’s and Evan’s stories too.

As always, thank you to Sarah, you helped me figure out how to end this epically long book and I love you. I wouldn’t want to be on this journey without you.

To all at Hudson Indie Ink, thank you for always saying yes and supporting me. Every day I get to do what I love as a job is a dream come true and I wouldn’t be here without you.

Kirsty at Pretty Little Design Company, I love this cover and that you made it. I can’t wait to see it in real life!

To my new editor Ellie, I’m sorry about the commas.

And finally, to all my wonderful readers, I couldn’t do this without you. Thank you for loving my characters and coming on this crazy journey with me.

You can keep up to date with all my announcements, preorders, and everything else Gemma Weir–related on my website and social media.

Website—Gemmaweir.com

Facebook—facebook.com/gemmaweirauthor

Reader group—facebook.com/groups/gemmasgroupies

Instagram—intagram.com/gemmaweirauthor

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Gemma Weir is a half crazed stay at home mom to three kids, one man child and a hell hound. She has lived in the midlands, in the UK her whole life and has wanted to write a book since she was a child. Gemma has a ridiculously dirty mind and loves her book boyfriends to be big, tattooed alpha males. She's a reader first and foremost and she loves her romance to come with a happy ending and lots of sexy sex.

For updates on future releases check out my social media links.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Contents

Dedication

**Warning**

Obligation

Prologue

1. January

2. Clay

3. January

4. Clay

5. January

6. Clay

7. January

8. Clay

9. January

10. Clay

11. January

12. Clay

13. January

14. Clay

15. January

16. Clay

17. January

18. Clay

19. January

20. Clay

21. January

22. Clay

23. January

24. Clay

25. January

26. Clay

27. January

28. Clay

29. January

30. Clay

31. January

32. Clay

33. January

34. Clay

35. January

36. Clay

37. January

38. Clay

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Also by Gemma Weir

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