The Villain by L.J. Shen

My husband did an admirable job of avoiding me for the entire length of our first day at the ranch.

He dodged our meals together, escaped the walk we all did on the trail, and spent long hours with his horses.

Was I disappointed? Yes. Was I going to let it ruin the weekend for me? Hell no. I hadn’t gone on very many trips outside of Boston in my twenty-six years, and this was a golden opportunity to have fun with my friends.

For the first time since I’d married Paxton, I wasn’t broke. I didn’t have to look over my shoulder on the street for fear I’d be ambushed. My life took a turn for the better, no matter how empty it had still felt without Cillian fully in it.

The last day on the ranch, Belle announced she wanted to horseback ride with just us girls.

“But you don’t know how to ride.” Aisling tilted her head, forever the voice of reason.

Belle shrugged, popping a cherry into her mouth over the breakfast table.

“So? You can teach me. Besides, I’ve done my fair share of riding in my life, just not bareback.” She winked. “Safety first.”

“Thanks for ruining breakfast.” Sailor saluted to Belle with her orange juice.

“Seriously, though, who goes to a ranch without riding?” Belle wondered.

My sister had a point.

“Cillian won’t like it if we use his horses,” Ash warned.

“Cillian doesn’t like anything,” I snapped, a little too harshly.

Sailor snorted into her orange juice. “Preach. I actually think it’s a great idea. Not only because it would piss off Persy’s husband, but also because an opportunity to ride horses like Cillian’s doesn’t come often. Each of them costs like 300k or something. Unfortunately”—she patted her rounding belly—“riding is off the table for me. But I’ll cheer you on with a bag of Cheetos in hand. Live vicariously through you.”

My need to stick it in Kill’s face was greater than my fear of mounting a 2,200-pound beast that could break my neck with one wrong move.

“Actually, I agree. I think we should ride,” I chirped.

“Really?” Everyone at the table turned to me in surprise. I wasn’t exactly known for my rebellious streak. I nodded. It was high time I tried new things. And since having a genuine relationship with my husband wasn’t going to be one of them, why not take up horseback riding?

“But Cillian—” Ash started.

“I’ll handle him.” I raised a hand to stop her. “Tell him I held you at gunpoint if it comes to it.”

“Well, then.” Aisling clapped her hands together. “Let’s get changed and meet at the stables in an hour.”

I went through the motions of getting changed, then met Ash and Belle outside the barn. Aisling, who’d learned to ride like her two older brothers from infancy, led Hamilton out of his stall by his bridle, patting his brown coat with a smile.

“He’s the sweetest out of the bunch. He was my training horse after I graduated from ponies.”

“Dang, Ash. That’s the whitest thing I’ve ever heard.” Belle checked her ass in her tight riding trousers with her phone camera.

Ash led Hamilton out of the stables and cantered with him. She explained to us the basic anatomy of the horse, the signals, and what they indicated. We bumped into Hunter, Sam, and Devon on our way out of the barn to the trail. The track wrapped around the smoky mountain like a ribbon.

The men strode into the stables just as we got out.

“You’re riding, too?” Aisling asked, turning tomato-red as soon as she noticed Sam. True to his Sam-ness, he ignored her existence as he breezed past her.

He wasn’t rude to his boss and best friend’s baby sister. But there was no doubt he considered her off the menu.

“Bet.” Hunter fluffed her hair, popping his gum. “Where’s my better half?”

“In the cabin, reading.”

“Bomb. The only stud she should be hanging out with while preggers is me. Dev, can you help Belle get on a horse? I’ll do Persy.”

“I don’t need any help,” Belle protested.

Devon’s eyes ran over my sister as though she was his favorite dessert while a sinister smirk tugged at his lips.

“I like her fire, Hunt.” Devon jerked his thumb toward my sister.

“Great,” she chirped, “because you’re about to get third-degree burns if you keep objectifying me.”

“He’s not objectifying you.” Hunter shook his head. “He’s trying to keep you alive. Your ass has never ridden before.”

“We have Ash to help us.” I squatted down, adjusting my riding boots.

Ignoring my words, Hunter picked me up from the ground like I was a milk crate, carrying me to Hamilton. He untied the reins on the horse, put my boot in the stirrups, and helped me swing onto the saddle, holding my waist.

“Ash is good, but she’s not a professional. If I bring you back with as much as a scratch, your husband will make me bleed from places that aren’t even on my body.”

“He is right.” Aisling smiled apologetically. “Both about my horseback riding abilities and about Kill.”

“Cillian ignores my existence.”

“You’re still his,” Sam cemented, businesslike. “I don’t need to be physically present in my car in order not to want someone to scratch it.”

“Tell me he did not just say what I think he said.” Belle pointed at Sam, scowling.

Sam stood tall, nonchalant as ever. “So dramatic, Penrose.”

“So chauvinistic, Brennan.”

After much bickering, we headed to the trail. I shook with anxiety and exhilaration even though Hunter was riding close to me on Jay and often leaned over to pat Hamilton and give me visual and verbal instructions.

Behind us, Belle was on Washington, Sam on Madison, Ash on Adams, and Devon on Jefferson. Devon and Belle seemed to overcome the initial frostiness. They were bantering like old friends, hitting it off instantly, while Aisling tried to strike up a conversation with Sam and got slammed each time.

Twenty minutes into ascending the trail to the mountains. I heard the gallop of a horse behind us. Hunter turned his head and groaned, pointing his finger to his temple like it was a gun, cocking it and shooting himself with a comic poof!

“Don’t tell me you didn’t tell your husband you’re riding.”

“I didn’t tell my husband I was riding.” I stared ahead, ignoring the prickle of fear pinching my spine.

Hunter dragged a hand over his face, tipping his head back. “God-fucking-dammit, Pers.”

God-fucking-dammit indeed.

Within three seconds, Cillian was riding by my side on Franklin, pushing Hunter out of the way, forcing him to ride behind us. Everything, from his good looks to his flawless posture, bothered me. His easy movements put us all to shame.

He didn’t wear any riding gear. Not even a helmet.

He did wear an expression of someone who was dangerously close to committing a massacre.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” His eyes tapered, zoning in on me like a weapon.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I used the sweetest, most innocent voice in my arsenal.

“Pissing me off.”

“Thought you were above human emotions.”

“This one seems to be reoccurring every time you’re around. You found your calling.”

“Ha,” I gasped, “so I am good at something. And here you thought I was average.”

“Hunter.” Kill snapped his fingers behind him, his hard stare giving my cheek frostbite. “We’re splitting. Lead the group to another trail. I’ll help Persephone get back to the ranch.”

“No, you won’t,” I countered, feeling abnormally irritated. I was the mellowest woman in Boston—voted Most Likely to Replace Mother Teresa in my high school yearbook—but somehow, my husband made me feel angrier than Pax ever did even though Pax had screwed me over so hard I’d almost died.

“Last I checked, it’s a free country. I’m allowed to ride a horse, hubs. Whether you like it or not.”

“The country is free, but the horses are not. Hamilton belongs to me, and I don’t want you riding him. Ceann beag.” Kill turned to his brother again, snarling, “Beat it before I beat you.”

“Sorry, doll. There’s a reason he has a demon in his garden fountain and not a cherub or a fawn. You married Satan, and I don’t want the fucker to assign me a room in hell. He’ll probably put me in the same cul-de-sac with Hitler and the dude who invented berry-flavored La Croix. I deserve better neighbors. Just following orders.” Hunter pushed two fingers into his mouth and whistled, redirecting our friends to a side trail, leaving Cillian and me on the main one.

Lava simmered in my belly. Every inch of my body charred with humiliation.

How dare he scold me publicly after avoiding me the entire weekend?

Our entire marriage?

In the back of my head, something else also bugged me. Something completely trivial.

Cillian had a demon-shaped fountain in his garden, but I hadn’t seen it before. Not even the day Petar snuck me into the house for a tour when Kill wasn’t home.

“I’m getting you off this horse,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Why don’t we start with you just getting me off? You seem to be having trouble in that department,” I hissed out.

“The first and last time I touched you, you came so hard I was worried my dick would have to be removed from you surgically.”

“That was accidental.” All the blood rushing to my face made me hot and sweaty.

“So was my giving you an orgasm.”

“You really want me to hate you, don’t you?”

I didn’t know what I expected when I married him, but it definitely wasn’t this. The hermetic resistance no one could pierce.

“Sailor is not riding,” he pointed out.

“Sailor is pregnant.”

“As far as we know, you could be, too.”

His temper was frayed, and I couldn’t figure out why. I’d stayed well away from him the entire weekend. What else did he want? He seemed to be put off by my existence, and I was growing tired of it.

“If I am pregnant, it’s at a very early stage.”

“All the more reason to be careful.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Kill. Don’t give me this bullshit as though you actually care about my well-being.” My voice cracked, and I turned to face him, momentarily forgetting I was on a horse.

His nostrils flared, and he let go of his rein to pop his fingers.

“Do not curse.”

“Or else?” My chin felt wobbly, much like my insides. My grip on the reins tightened. “What’re you gonna do about it? You’re already the worst possible husband a woman could have.”

That wasn’t exactly true, seeing as Pax was the reigning champion of Worst Husband for this calendar year, but I wanted to hurt him back. To make him feel the way he made me feel.

“By the way, are we going to have sex once a month and pray I get knocked up? How’re we going to do this thing? Please let me know because I’m starting to realize you haven’t thought your genius plan through!”

My voice carried with an echo that ricocheted on the treetops, shaking the ground beneath Hamilton’s hooves.

Hushed murmurs seeped from the parallel trail our friends were taking.

“…my sister!”

“…can hold her own.”

“I swear to God, if he hurts her…”

“She’ll hurt him back. You said it yourself, Belle. She’s not a kid anymore.”

Our friends were arguing whether to step in or not.

Now everyone knew we were a mess, and whatever was left of my hope to make this marriage resemble normalcy flew out the window.

“You’re being a brat,” Cillian said coolly, regaining his composure.

“You’re being a coward.” My teeth chattered with fury.

Hamilton stirred beneath me, his strides jerky and uneven. I ran a hand over my face. “Seriously, if you’re going to ignore me for the rest of our lives, just grant me a divorce. I’ll pay you back the money, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“Never.” His tone turned steely. Punishing. “I’ll give you a lot of things, Flower Girl, but divorce won’t be one of them.”

“That so? I’ll tell Sailor, Belle, and Hunter. I’m sure they’d love to know what you roped me into.”

“Go ahead.” He tapped the side of his boot to his horse, making it go faster. “See how much power other people have on me. You’ll find the exact amount is absolutely none.”

“So you won’t have me, but you won’t let me go. Do you just want me to be miserable like you?”

His nostrils flared. He looked like he was about to say something, but of course he didn’t. He never did. He never explained himself to me.

“I hate you,” I screamed, and without thinking, stomped my foot to the horse’s side. Hamilton bolted forward in a rage. Before I knew what was happening, I was flailing above the horse, my body suspended over the saddle, bumping against his sides as he sprinted. I yelped, trying to grab the reins, my fingers grasping air.

Shit, shit, shit.

I looked back. My heart was in my throat. I’d ascended the mountain far enough that I knew if I fell from Hamilton, I’d roll down a few dozen feet and get seriously hurt. Break a bone or two, at the very least.

Kill rode beside me, fast and furious, barking instructions at me, but I couldn’t hear him over the wind and the adrenaline buzzing between my ears.

Hamilton halted, sloping on his rear legs with a neigh, throwing me off his back.

I tipped over and flew in the air, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing myself for the fall. A sudden, harsh jerk threw me back up and over a horse, my midriff smashing against a saddle.

For a second, I thought I managed to climb back on top of Hamilton, but when I opened my eyes, I saw I was perched on Franklin, my body slung across his back like a potato sack.

Cillian wasn’t on Franklin anymore.

I heard a hiss and craned my neck sideways. Kill was behind me, sitting on the ground. He got up, not bothering to clean himself as he darted in our direction, putting his fingers in his mouth and whistling for Franklin to stop.

Cillian limped but picked up his pace in order to reach us.

The horse slowed to a gradual stop, dutifully waiting for his owner. Kill stopped when he reached us. He grabbed my waist and hoisted me down, making sure both my feet were on the ground before he eased his grasp on me.

I collapsed against my husband, shivering uncontrollably.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I kept mumbling.

I gathered Kill’s face, examining him. His entire left cheek, including the temple and neck, was scratched and bloodied. He hit the ground face-first when he threw himself off his own horse and flung me over it in order to save me.

The realization slammed into me.

My husband saved me.

Put my safety in front of his own.

Without giving it a second thought.

He was bleeding, limping, his expensive clothes ruined and torn.

He looked at me as though he was taking inventory and making sure I was okay. His smoky, amber eyes darted from my face to my shoulders, down my body, then up again to my neck, arms, and fingers.

After everything that happened, he was checking on me.

Instead of thanking him—the sane, grown-up thing to do—I burst into childish tears, dropping my head to his shoulder, clutching his shirt like he was going to fade into smoke.

“Fuck,” he said gruffly. It was the first time I’d heard him curse, and for some stupid reason, it made my heart sing. He patted the back of my head awkwardly.

“Now, now…uh.”

He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to comfort me but had never done it before.

“You’re not hurt,” he said steely. Robotically. “I checked.”

“But you are.” My tears kept rolling.

“I’ll survive, much to some people’s dismay.” He brushed my flyaways with his thumbs, wiping my face clean before resting his bloodied cheek on top of my head. His other hand ran along my back. “Shhh. It was just a little scare. You’re fine.”

“That’s not the point! You’re not fine!”

I was wailing—full-blown wailing—and there was nothing he could do to stop me. So he didn’t. He let me fall apart in his arms, holding me together.

“I-I don’t even know what I did wrong. Ash said Hamilton is your best horse for rookies.”

Realizing I wasn’t in a state to ride back, he sank down to the grass, taking a seat while I was in his lap, my arms looped around his shoulders.

Franklin stood by our side, eyeing us curiously while grazing.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. Hamilton has had a bad couple of years. He had swelling in his rear legs and didn’t get much riding time. When winter hit, he was down for the count. I knew I needed to re-break him come spring. He wasn’t ready for riding. When I saw you on him without a helmet…” He shook his head, closing his eyes as he took a ragged breath. “I’m going to dismember Hunter and feed him to the polar bears he is so desperate to save.”

“Hunter doesn’t like the Arctic drilling, either?” I hiccupped, surprised.

“Don’t start,” he warned.

“Fine. But you should know it was my idea to ride.” I put my hand on his chest, feeling his heart rioting in contrast to his carefully blank stare. He held me gently as though I was a precious thing he didn’t trust himself not to break.

“Hunter screwed this up. He didn’t give Hamilton enough time to get acquainted with you. Smell you. Feel you.”

“He was by my side the entire time.” My tremors were subsiding, but I still held onto him tighter. “It’s not his fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

Well, I mean…it was kind of my fault.

And by kind of I meant totally.

But I wasn’t going to admit that and give my husband ammo against me.

I trailed my thumb along the cut on his forehead. While he didn’t need stitches, he definitely should sterilize the area to make sure it didn’t get infected. Mud and blood caked his temple.

“You saved me,” I said quietly. “Again.”

The first time was the bleeding heart flowers.

The second was Byrne and Kaminski.

This was the third time Kill kept me alive, despite my unfortunate talent to find myself in life-threatening situations.

“You’re my wife.” He tapered his eyes as though the reason was obvious.

“You don’t act like I am,” I whispered. “We’re not a normal couple.”

“No,” he agreed. “We’re not.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but apparently, that was the sum of it. I looked around, changing the subject.

“Where’s Hamilton?”

“A question of the ages. I’ll give you a ride home, then go look for him. You stay with Sailor and try to stay alive while I’m gone.”

He got up swiftly, helping me back on my feet.

The ride back was silent. I texted Sailor that we were on our way and asked her to have a first-aid kit ready. When we got back, Sailor was waiting for us outside with water bottles and a medi-kit. Cillian ignored her, dismounting Franklin and putting me down back on the ground gently.

“You look like shit.” Sailor eyed my husband.

“You aren’t exactly my type, either,” Kill drawled dryly, placing me in front of her like a piece of furniture. “Make yourself useful and draw her a bath. Don’t let her out of your sight. She’s easy to forget and hard to keep alive.”

He got back on the horse, riding away without sparing either of us a glance.

Sailor directed her green eyes at me, biting back a smile.

“Nothing about this situation is funny.” I dropped onto a nearby rocker, flinging an arm over my eyes with a sigh.

“Oh.” She sat on the arm of the rocker, rubbing my arm. “But of course it is.”

“Please enlighten me.”

“You made your husband shit bricks, dude.” Sailor slid into my lap, pulling me into a crushing hug, giggling uncontrollably. “You should’ve seen the asshole when I told him you guys went riding. He looked ready to smash some skulls. Someone’s got it bad for you. Kill and Persy are sitting in a tree. F-U-C-K-I-N-G.”

She was wrong.

Kill didn’t want me.

He wanted what I could give him.

I laughed, letting the sting of the truth roll off my shoulders.

I tilted my head up to the sky, praying to find Auntie Tilda.

It was full of clouds.

Two hours later, Belle, Aisling, Devon, and Sam were back.

My friends hurried to my room, gushing about my banged-up husband (“Cowboy Cunt-sa-nova,” as Belle referred to him). How he found his horse on the top of the mountain and rode it back to the ranch.

“Let me tell you, I think cowboys are libido repellents, but somehow, watching Kill riding an unruly stallion changed my mind.” Belle fell onto my bed, sighing.

I elbowed my sister. “Watch it. It’s my husband you’re talking about.”

Ash rolled her eyes, plopping onto the mattress beside us. “Don’t worry, Belle is too busy trying to figure out how to drag Devon Whitehall into her bed to think about your husband.”

We group-hugged, me squeezed in the middle. I turned to my sister, popping my eyebrows.

“Oh, yeah? I don’t think you’ll need to sweat it. The man was all over you like a rash.”

“He’s such a delicious flirt,” Belle groaned, throwing her head down on my pillow.

“What about you and Sam?” I turned to Ash. “Any progress?”

“If it’s not going to happen this year, it’s not going to happen at all.” Ash smiled sadly.

I rubbed her arm. “I’m sorry.”

The dinner before we drove home was delightful. It consisted of bacon-potato corn chowder, fried chicken, and cornbread, all cooked from scratch by Sailor. For dessert, she served rhubarb tart and a peach cobbler.

“Anyone else wants to complain about how I invited the girls over?” Hunter wiggled his brows behind his coffee cup. He had three servings of the cobbler alone and shoved enough food down his throat to last a week.

“How’d you learn to cook and bake like that?” Devon sucked on a teaspoon, regarding Sailor with newfound respect.

“Our mom is one of the best cooks and bakers in the world.”

Sailor put her hand on Sam’s forearm.

“The best,” Sam corrected.

I sat next to Cillian, smiling and nodding. We both stared at our friends as they drifted in and out of easy conversation, first talking about the Brennans’ many restaurants, then about sports, and the disastrous stormy weather that still tore into Boston with its sharp talons.

I knew I had to put my big girl pants on and thank my husband properly, not just for today, but for everything else he’d done for me. I was walking the tightrope between wanting to ignore his existence and restore my wounded ego, and taking a metaphoric hammer to his walls, demolishing them one by one.

“Thanks, by the way,” I said under my breath, squeezing his hand under the table.

He slipped his hand away from mine. My heart bled.

This is going nowhere, and you are letting him lead the way, blindfolded.

“What for?”

“Taking care of Byrne. Paying my debt. Getting me a divorce. Saving me from Hamilton’s wrath. I never said thank you, and I should have.”

“It’s a part of our agreement.”

“You taking care of me or avoiding me?”

“Both.”

I opened my mouth to tell him something. I wasn’t even sure what, when Hunter threw a poker chip in our direction, hitting my husband’s shoulder.

“Mo òrga, are you in or are you out?”

“In.” Kill drew a cigar from a box, clipping its cap before lighting it up.

Hunter began shuffling. “And the missus?”

“She’s out,” he answered on my behalf.

“Holy shit.” Belle checked her phone. “Look at the time. It’s the twenty-first century. That means women can do whatever the hell they like without asking their husbands.”

Devon grinned, watching my sister with open admiration.

“You needed the phone to check what century you’re in?” My husband puffed on his cigar calmly. “I think it’s time to lay off the mimosas, sweetheart.”

“My sister is going to play.” Belle stubbed the table with her finger, breathing fire.

“Wanna bet? We’re already in a gambling mood.”

Cillian was arranging his chips neatly, not even sparing her a look.

I didn’t even know how to play poker, so they were both being stubbornly dumb.

“I swear to God, Kill—”

“Drop it.” My husband raised his gaze from his chips. “Her ex lost her entire worldly possessions in poker. Think she wants to relive that, Einstein?”

Silence fell over us.

He gathered the cards Hunter dealt for him with a shake of his head.

“Yeah. Thought so.”

“If I were her, I’d play just to spite you,” my sister persisted, the fire absent from her voice now. Everyone at the table played other than Ash and me.

“That’s why you’re not her. Why she’s married to a billionaire and you’re running a strip club,” Cillian said dispassionately, his yellow-rimmed hawk eyes scanning his cards.

“Madame Mayhem is a respectable institution. Burlesque is not the same as stripping, assface.” Belle blew a raspberry.

“I do love burlesque,” Devon groaned, shifting in his seat.

“You’d love genocide if Emmabelle did it,” Kill deadpanned.

“Stakes?” Sam asked around a lit cigarette. “Not that I’m not entertained by watching you all bickering like a flock of old hens.”

“Same as always,” Kill said.

“Like hell they are. Not everyone at this table can afford throwing a bunch of money on a poker game.” Belle slapped her cards over the table. “I’m not playing for thousands of dollars.”

“We can play for less,” Sailor suggested mildly.

“Or strip poker.” Hunter grinned.

“Unfortunately for Emmabelle, strip poker would also put her at a point of disadvantage, considering she’s wearing nothing more than a napkin.” My husband threw another jab at my sister.

Belle wore a flimsy mini dress, but dousing the argument between them seemed counterproductive. Besides, did he really think I’d let him talk to Belle like that?

“Cillian,” I warned pointedly. “Please.”

“You’re an asshole.” My sister darted up on her feet, pointing at Kill.

“And you’re stating the obvious.” Kill yawned, ignoring me. “How about we make this interesting? The stakes stay the same as always, seeing as you’re the only broke person at this table. If you lose, I’ll foot the bill. And if I win,” Kill paused, puffing his cigar smoke in her face, his taunting eyes holding my sister’s, “I get what I want from you.”

My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach with a thud that reverberated inside my body. The green claws of jealousy wrapped around my neck.

He wanted something from Emmabelle.

Why wouldn’t he? She was the interesting, worldly, firecracker one.

What was he after?

Her body?

Her heart?

I stiffened, focusing on my breaths, telling myself not to kill him. Not now. Not yet.

“And what is it that you want from me?” Emmabelle asked slowly, lowering herself back to her seat.

“The most precious gift of all,” Cillian said. “Silence. More specifically, if I win, you will stop treating my wife like a helpless lamb I’m about to annihilate. I hear and see everything. You’re not giving my marriage a fair chance. You badmouth me every step of the way. It is disrespectful to Persephone, and it stops today. That applies to you, too.” He pinned Sailor with a glare. “Same stakes. Same terms. Either of you win—you get the money. I win—I pay your debt, and in return, you hop off the Cillian is Satan train. If my wife wants to ride it, she’ll buy her own ticket and travel solo.”

Belle and Sailor exchanged glances.

Since when did Kill care what anyone thought of him?

“Are you saying what you have is real?” Sailor probed.

“I’m saying what we have is ours,” he countered. “It’s between Persephone and me. Didn’t hear any objections when Sailor was on babysitting duty to make sure Hunter’s dick wasn’t going on a world tour in their shared apartment.” Kill gestured to his younger brother. Hunter winced.

When Sailor and Hunter fell in love, we all knew he was a playboy yet still supported their relationship. Kill had a terrible reputation, but so far, he proved himself to me more than Hunter did to Sailor before they went steady.

“I’m a good poker player.” Belle bowed a silky eyebrow.

She wasn’t good. She was the best. And she knew it.

“Me too,” Sailor said.

Kill smirked. “I’ll take my chances.”

Fifteen minutes later, everybody was engrossed in the game. Sailor, the most competitive woman on the planet, kept wiping at her brow every time she pulled a card. Belle refused to lose focus, not taking part in the conversation in the room. My husband lounged in his chair, his body language bored and lax, occasionally throwing an idle remark about the stock market, which Hunter and Devon discussed at length.

“So. You want a divorce.” His smooth baritone trickled deep into my body. He picked up our conversation from the afternoon when I asked him to set me free if he was going to continue ignoring me.

“If I’m destined for a life chasing after my husband begging him to get into bed with me, then yes, I want a divorce. You never should’ve married me if you don’t find me attractive.”

“I do find you attractive.” He frowned at a card he drew from the pack, businesslike. “The problem is I find you too attractive.”

“I’m confused,” I said even though I was anything but. I just wanted him to tell me something reassuring. Boost my shattered ego.

“So am I. Every time I look at you. Which is why I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I have needs.” I shook my head.

“And I have skills,” he quipped back, putting his cards down, picking an orange chip and tapping it on the oak surface. He dropped one arm under the table casually. A moment later, his heavy, hot hand settled on my inner thigh.

My breath hitched. I wore an off-shoulder emerald-green dress that barely reached my knees. He hiked his fingers up until his hand nestled in the crook between my thigh and groin.

“Your move, Kill.” Sam threw one of his cards into the pile.

My husband pushed a stack of chips to the center of the table. The players looked around, gauging each other’s reaction. Kill took the opportunity to graze his fingers over the cotton of my panties, nudging the fabric sideways.

He trailed two fingers over my exposed slit, exploring lazily, teasing my flesh without entering me. I shuddered, feeling my nipples hardening.

Belle frowned at her cards. “He’s bluffing. I raise.”

She dragged more chips to the center of the table.

“So brazen with other people’s money.” Kill smiled idly.

“I’m always brazen,” Belle corrected. “But when it comes to putting assholes in their place, I’m also gleeful about it.”

“I fold.” Sailor tossed her cards, wincing at my sister. “Sorry. You know it physically hurts me to lose.”

“Me too, dammit.” Hunter smacked his cards on the table.

Devon, whom I gathered from our few interactions was a total snake, chuckled, his eyes moving between Belle and Cillian.

“Is this a who’s-got-the-biggest-cock competition? Because Emmabelle, my darling, I would be sorely disappointed if you win.”

“But not undeterred,” Sam muttered. “Roll your fucking tongue back into your mouth. You’re drooling into the tortilla bowl.”

My sister stared at my husband expectantly, but Cillian hadn’t bothered noticing anyone in the room. His expert fingers were now playing with my clit, his thumb rubbing my slit under the table, unaffected by the fact everyone’s eyes were on him. Every muscle in my body tightened deliciously, begging for release.

I liked that we had an audience even though they weren’t aware of it.

“Show us your cards,” Emmabelle snarled.

“Ask nicely,” he schooled her.

“Goddammit, Kill, read the room. You’re about a snarky remark away from getting stabbed.” Hunter laughed.

Cillian turned his cards with his free hand. Everyone leaned over the table to examine them just as he slipped a finger into my core, curling it, his thumb pushing against my clit.

I gasped, twisting my fingers over the edge of the table.

Mother of dragons.

“Are you okay, Pers?” Sailor turned to me.

“I don’t know about her, but her husband sure isn’t.” Belle revealed her cards in triumph, making everyone wheeze. “You’ve got nothing, American Psycho. I, however, have a full house.”

Using both her arms, she collected the chips in the center of the table.

“I’m fine, just…just…” I panted, trying to string a sentence together, but Kill pushed another finger into me, now pumping in and out, the pad of his thumb still circling my sensitive bud. I was soaked, shamelessly trying to arch my back and grind against more of his hand. I was also pretty sure if people around us shut up for a second, they could hear the slurps that erupted when he played me like an instrument.

“You what?” Sailor pressed.

“I pulled a muscle in my foot.” I reached for my drink, forcing myself to swallow down a sip, my fingers shaking so bad the water sloshed over.

“Oh, shoot.” Ash scrunched her nose, pushing her chair back. “Let me have a look, maybe I can…”

“No!” I cried out. My husband fingered me deeper, faster, more possessively than he’d ever touched me. He was knuckle-deep inside me now, spreading me wide, making me feel deliciously full. “I-I’m fine now. Thanks.”

Cillian’s expression was empty as he examined Belle’s hand calmly.

“Beginner’s luck,” he decided.

Obviously disappointed by his lack of emotional response, my sister snorted.

“Don’t worry, Kill, I’ll clean out your chips by the end of the next game.”

“And my house, if that stripper club gig doesn’t pan out.”

Devon started dealing again.

I was panting hard, grasping the edges of my seat now, chasing his touch under the table. I’d never felt so hot and bothered in my entire life. Paxton and I had never had sex anywhere worth mentioning. What made everything a million times hotter was no one suspected what we were doing. My husband was the vision of everything elegant, golden and proper, wearing his icy, unapproachable mask while he did filthy things to me.

Kill picked his new cards when I reached my peak. I wrapped my fingers around his thick wrist under the table as I angled him where I wanted him and began riding his hand in a wave-like motion. My climax shook me to the core. Every muscle in my body clenched, my breath stopped, and my mouth fell open, an earthquake rocking me head-to-toe.

“My Gosh, Pers, you sure everything’s okay? You look in pain,” Ash lamented behind my eyelids. I blinked, drugged and satisfied.

“Another cramp. Sorry.” I knew my cheeks were flushed. Kill threw a card in a pile, drew another one with frigid disinterest. His hand retreated from between my legs, outside my panties.

He stopped to wipe my juices on my thigh, rearranging my dress above the smears of my climax.

“I better walk a little, stretch my limbs.” I shot up to my feet. “Anyone want anything from the kitchen?”

“Cognac,” Kill said, not withdrawing his eyes from his cards.

“Guinness,” Hunter gruffed.

“Cyanide.” Sam raised his hand. “Make it a double. This game is boring me to death.”

“That’s because you don’t enjoy money and always fold early.” Hunter snorted. “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t play to win or lose,” Sam explained.

“Then why do you play?”

“To study my opponents, find their weakness, and use it against them.”

“Ah.” Hunter nodded. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.”

“You got my baby sister pregnant,” Sam scowled. “A little late for that.”

I locked myself inside the kitchen to steady my breath and wipe away any suspicious stains. I came back with a tray and distributed the drinks. Afterward, I loitered around the room, studying the artwork on the walls. Rustic paintings of the woods, lakes, and snowstorms. One of them drew my attention. It was of a moonlit cabin, but there was a thick, big cloud in its backdrop.

Aunt Tilda?

“Flower Girl,” Cillian clipped, using my nickname in front of everyone. All heads looked up in unison as though he’d spoken in another language. He pointed at my seat. I whipped my head from the painting.

“Show your sister which side you’re on.”

“You sure? It wouldn’t be yours.” I put on a sarcastic smile, but I was honest. Belle was my sister. I’d always have her back.

Belle laughed. “Ouch.”

My husband moved the remainder of his chips to the center of the table, unfazed.

“All in.”

Sailor and Belle looked at each other. Over the course of the evening, the games were pretty even, with Cillian, Sailor, and Belle ending up with about the same amount of chips.

Hunter, Devon, and Sam all folded, too entertained by the prospect of seeing Kill going against two women who wanted him dead to interfere.

“Me too.” Sailor pushed forward her pile of chips, turning to Belle. “You?”

“Goes without saying.” Belle dumped all her chips, rubbing her palms together.

Sailor was the first to put her cards down. “Say hello to my two pairs.”

Belle patted Sailor’s shoulder smugly, revealing her own cards.

“That’s all nice and dandy, but you’re formally invited to my second full house in a row. Gee, I wonder what I’ll do with all this money.” She smiled at my husband, tapping her lips. “I’m thinking a vacation in the Bahamas or maybe get a new car. Whaddaya think, Fitzpatrick? Will I look good in a Mercedes?”

Please don’t tell my sister she’d look good in a coffin, I inwardly prayed.

It was such a Cillian thing to say.

Kill’s face remained blank. He dropped his cards lazily, revealing a hand that made everyone in the room suck in a breath.

“Royal flush!” Belle bristled, jumping up. “There is a one in a half-million chance of getting a royal flush, and you’re not that damn lucky. You tampered with the cards. Admit it.”

It was Kill’s turn to stand. He didn’t collect the chips, just stared at Belle with a look that made me realize he never liked her. Whatever made him look at her every time we were in the same room together was not lust. He told me he never wanted her, and I finally believed him. Kill was cruel, decadent, and bad to the bone, but lying and cheating were beneath him.

“If you’re going to throw around accusations, you better back them up with some facts.” He raised an eyebrow.

“How the hell would I do that?” She laughed bitterly. “Fine. Whatever. Just so we’re clear, I think you’re the most corrupted man on the planet.”

“Just so we’re clear,” he mimicked her tone, causing stifled giggles to rise from the table, “I don’t care. Keep the change. And to your question of what to do with said money, I suggest you buy some common sense. In the meantime, I remind you that you’ve agreed not to interfere with my marriage. No brainwashing my wife or giving her a piece of your mind about me. She’s a big girl and can make her own decisions. Same goes to you.” He snapped his fingers at Sailor.

With that, he walked away, leaving the room.

The men were the first to chuckle and get up, trickling back into their rooms.

We women sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, digesting.

“What just happened?” Aisling asked, finally.

“I think,” Belle rolled one of the poker chips between her fingers, “Pers just managed to put the first chip in Satan’s icicle heart.”

“And it hurt him.” Sailor laughed. “Like a bitch.”