Page 138 of Bad Little Bride

She cuddles into my hold, tucking her arms and head until she’s cocooned as much as possible. My slacks are barely hanging on around my thighs, but I don’t set her down. I shuffle my ass to the elevator and then down our hall until we reach our bedroom.

Easing her to the bed, I kiss her forehead then kick my slacks off before moving for the bathroom to start the bath. I open the floor-length windows, letting the night’s breeze through, and head back to strip my wife of her clothing, but when I get back in the room, her eyes are closed, her hand pressed to her chest. Her left hand.

I lower onto the comforter, gently taking it in my hand, and she doesn’t stir.

Not when I run my finger over the spot her ring belongs, my mark right there for the world to see.

A stamp that will never be erased.

A claim that can’t be undone.

Queen Fikile.

My queen.

My wife.

My entire fucking world.

I could have lost her tonight. Should have, in fact. Anyone else would have taken my little bride, to keep as their own, to rape or murder or sell, sadly the possibilities are endless.

Those Brayshaws got through my walls. Me. The goddamned king of defenses.

The only reason I didn’t obliterate that entire family on the spot is because they dared to do what they did in the first place. That is no small decision. It’s one they were willing to put their lives at risk for. I don’t know for certain why I let them live today. The only thing I can come up with is some subconscious thought that it would hurt my wife if I hadn’t. Because of her sister’s relationship, maybe. I don’t know, but there’s a rage building up inside me I need to unleash.

It was weak to let them live.

I press a soft kiss to my bride’s fingertips, gently easing her hand right back where she had it, over her softly beating heart.She sighs, curling her feet up under the blanket, so I pull them higher, covering her completely.

Weak, but right.

My wife is strong, stronger than I expected, and I expected a lot. In my mind, she was perfection when I knew nothing but her face, yet she surpasses my expectations every damn day.

Some men fear what a woman’s touch will do to them, but not me.

There is no doubt in my mind that any weakness that might wash over me, her strength will make up for in spades.

She couldn’t be a Greyson girl, and while it used to make me murderous to know she was wrongly written off as not good enough, now it does the opposite, because I couldn’t agree more.

She couldn’t be a Greyson girl. Greyson girls are equal. A unit of four, well, three currently, with an unbreakable, unshakable bond. That’s fantastic, but that’s not my bride.

She’s not meant to be one in a pack of princesses.

No, she was meant to be a queen of her own castle.

And that’s exactly what she is.

With a heavy inhale I stand, eyes tracing every inch of my wife’s flawless face.

There is someone in our mix these people are after, and I would bet my life it isn’t Philip fucking Mitchell.

But I would bet hers that I will be the one to find him.

Whoever the fuckheis.

Chapter

Twenty-Eight

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