Page 131 of Bad Little Bride

“If you want someone to cut it off your body simply to draw attention to your lack of commitment and care—it will likely be my sister, by the way—to the Greyson Society then sure, go right ahead. Recycle.”

Katana laughs, but when I don’t join in, her mouth drops open. “You’re actually serious?”

“And you’reactuallyannoying.” I roll my eyes, pushing to my feet and heading toward the door. “I’m over this. Pick a dress or don’t, I’m out.”

“You can’t just leave me here,” she squeaks, frantically looking around the place.

“Grandma is here, your guard is here, and this place is owned by one of our own. You’ll be fine and Nicholas will come back for you.”

“Boston, wait!”

I don’t wait.

Bottle in hand, I head toward my guard, waiting until he opens the door to signal the car is ready and waiting, and together we walk out.

Nicholas has the privacy window rolled down, and glances over his shoulder, his grin pointed at the bottle now settled in my lap. “Where to, your highness?”

“The Enterprise.”

Nicholas’s eyes widen at that, and he starts to shake his head, but I’m already rolling up the privacy screen, lifting a brow just as he disappears from sight.

Considering I left my glass on the tabletop, I lift the heavy bottle to my lips, glaring straight ahead, and I remain that way for the next ten minutes, mindlessly spinning my ring on my finger.

Enzo told me he’d disappoint me often, blah blah blah, but I’m not disappointed. I’m pissed.

And horny.

And where thefuckis my husband?

It’s not until my guard lifts his left hand, looking down at the watch on his wrist for the third time this trip that I snap. “Doyou have somewhere else you need to be?”Maybe wherever my husband has been.

It takes the man a moment to realize I’m talking to him, seeing as how it’s in his job descriptionnotto talk to me. Or look me in the eye. Or tell me his name.

But he does two of those things a moment later.

Of course, it’s likely because I now have a knife to his carotid, though I’m pretty sure they’re instructed to take the blade rather than break the rules.

I imagine Enzo’s punishments would be far worse than my own. My muscles clench, eyes narrowing.

Fikile guards would understand this…

“Mrs. Fikile,don’t.”

I falter at the Mrs. part, but not enough to make my hand slip.

“What’s with the obsession with the time? Did my impromptu trip fuck up your plans? Who were you expecting? Were you trying to ambush us?” He says nothing, just lifts his hands in surrender. “I will cut this bandana from your face, likely taking some skin with it, if you don’t speak and speak now.”

“Don’t.” He holds my gaze and it’s another red flag. “If you remove the mask, I forfeit my position. My face can’t?—”

“Be seen by any, I know. That’s kind of the point here.” I glare, a sense of unease washing over me as my eyes flick up to the hoodie pulled low over his head.

Tension grows at the corners of his eyes, but there is no fear there, which is even more concerning.

Enzo’s men,my men,would most definitely show some sign of concern or distress, and I’m woman enough to admit it has nothing to do with the blade, even if they are well aware I’m prone to drawing blood when I’m pissed or don’t get my way. But that’s nothing in comparison to what they’d really fear facing.This guy is breaking rules, literally staring me in the eye for much longer than necessary, his blue eyes gauging me closely.

I force myself not to react, considering my options as I press the knife a little harder, breaking past that first layer of skin and letting a single drop of blood slip free.

His right hand rises in slow motion, as if he’s trying to show me he has no intention of using it to cause harm, not that I believe him, but my heart pounds harder when his next move is to pull his finger to his lips. He’s telling me not to scream or yell.

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