Page 21 of These Deadly Vows

He pauses, staring down at my bare feet. “You’ll want to wear shoes for this.”

My only option is the heels I wore with my dress. I look ridiculous.

My husband is back in his leather vest and all business as he escorts me to the elevator. He stops me from entering, placing a palm to my stomach, almost as though he’s imagining me pregnant already. “A few things I need to set straight. This is my kingdom, and you’ll do as I say. Don’t talk back to me or my men. You show them the respect they deserve, and they’ll return it tenfold. You’re to be seen and not heard. You’re my ol’ lady. You’ll be expected to behave a certain way.”

“You mean be submissive? I know the code of conduct. I imagine the mafia’s code of honor is far stricter than whatever restrictions you plan to put on me.”

“Then we understand each other, and you’ll appreciate we have our own way of doing things. I know the traditions of your world. You forget it was once mine until your bastard of a father got in the way.”

He grabs my hand, jerking me into the elevator, and hits the button for the fifth floor.

“Does the whole club live here?”

“Some of us.”

“What will you do with my father?”

“Don’t worry about that. A meeting gone wrong, or we’ve been dating in secret and tonight after the engagement announcement we eloped. Roberto murdered your father in a rage, and he was taken out.”

“All you’re missing is a bow.”

“It’ll stick. Do you what you’re supposed to, and the knife disappears.”

The elevator stops and we walk into exactly what I imagined a biker bar would be. Loud music, smoke filling the air, and topless women on display.

This wretched biker threads his strong fingers through mine and brings my knuckles to his lips as a man in love providing comfort would do. The act bewilders me. It’s kind and another move that proves to be out of character for him, like earlier in the parking lot.

He’s putting on an act with his sweet gesture of kissing my knuckles. Surely, no one here believes for one second that this is a joyous occasion of wedded bliss.

As soon as we take one step forward, someone shouts, “Prez!” slapping a palm on his back.

Men surround him while the women hang back, appraising me. One pretty redhead smiles at me while the rest sneer and roll their eyes. It doesn’t take long to figure out who has fucked my husband and who wants to among them. Especially the brunette with a bob cut and a septum piercing. She’s eyeing me up and down and then some.

Guess she didn’t get the memo that I’m not here because I’m truly madly deeply in love with this man I am now forced to call my husband. I’d rather be anywhere else. I’ve lost my father and Ghost expects me to wear a smile and pretend we’re a happy couple. The second worst day of my life is the best of his. He’s got what he wants. The power and soon the money that comes with it.

He could pick any woman in this crowded room to give him a child, but he only has his eyes on me. The look I’ve been dreading shines back at me. Hunger. Lust.

Ghost tightens his grip on my hand and tugs me further into the bar. The excitement filters back to a normal level. The women return to gyrating their bodies. Cigarettes are lit and liquor flows. My doting husband pulls me down into a booth in the back. His arm slides around my shoulders, keeping me close.

Making sure I don’t bolt for the door or the nearest ledge.

The brunette with the nose piercing puckers her black lipstick-stained lips as she pours him a drink. “Hey Ghost.”

“Get my Ol’ Lady whatever she wants.” He dismisses her with a flick of his wrist.

She smiles at me, but I can sense the hurt under the surface. It’s not a pleasant feeling when the guy you like blows you off, even if it is for his wife. Not that I condone crushing on married men or being a cheater. “What are you having?” her voice comes out sharp and snappy.

Ghost squeezes my knee in warning as though signaling to me that I’ll be judged by what I order. Like I care what his fuck buddy thinks of me.

“Vodka and cranberry juice with lime.”

“Coming right up.” She saunters off, swaying her hips like she hopes the movement will hypnotize Ghost into following her.

“Is she going to spit in my drink?”

“Who?”

“That woman.”

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