Page 113 of The Oath We Give

TWENTY-SIX

BLACK HONEY

SILAS

“Where’sthe beautiful Caroline tonight, Silas?”

My jaw tenses as I look at Daniel Highland, letting his question hang in the air for a moment. I give him a chance to correct himself, but when he’s a fool and doesn’t take it, I do it for him.

“My wife’s name is Coraline, Daniel,” I say, irritated with his blatant disrespect. “Don’t make me remind you of that again.”

He swallows the fear of being fired. Now that I’ve officially taken over for my father, approved by the board because of my nuptials, his job is hanging by the skin of his ratty fucking teeth, and he knows it.

I lift my two fingers at the bartender, who quickly pours me another drink, sliding the amber liquid across the bar toward me. I need an entire dispensary to get me through the rest of this night.

“Must have slipped my mind.” He clears his throat, coughing into his fist. “Won’t happen again.”

I nod my head at him, lifting the glass of bourbon toward him before taking a sip. He knows her name; he just wants to get beneath my skin any way he can without blatantly disrespecting me. No, he’s a fucking worm, so he’s covert about it.

My silent reply has him scampering away, excusing himself beneath his breath like a kicked dog, leaving me to brood alone for the first time tonight.

Alone with the ninety million thoughts running through my mind. Work bullshit I never expected to deal with this soon. Wedding plans from my mother, who is intent on having us married by the end of next month. Which I get, I do—we aren’t sure how much time Dad has left, and it’s not like we are having a huge ceremony. It’s private, just our families and friends at St. Gabriel’s Cathedral. But it’s another added stress to our lives.

Coraline has taken it all in stride, barely flinches when my mother shows up with color palettes for the rehearsal dinner and different flavors of cakes. Not to mention, Lilac is having the time of her life picking out flowers for the ceremony, and she hasn’t stopped talking about wedding dress shopping for days now.

That part, I can get behind. Coraline in white is my favorite wet dream. I’m not going to mind seeing her in a wedding dress again.

Having Coraline in my apartment isn’t as invasive as I thought it would be. I like having her around, even though she’s very hot and cold. One day, she lets me in, and the next, she shuts me right back out.

It’s a fun little game we play.

Her pretending she doesn’t like me, me letting her think I believe that.

I’m not one to deny what I want; I never have been. I’m a straightforward person. If I want someone, I want them. They’ll know it, and I want Coraline.

More and more, the longer she exists in my home.

My head throbs when the thought of Stephen pops into my brain. That and having to be at this godforsaken work fundraiser is making me wish I brought painkillers. It’s not even a fundraiser—it’s an overpriced socializing event with competing companies. Which means I have no choice but to engage in conversation.

My father was much better at this than me. He’s able to entertain people, chat, and laugh. I am not that man.

But at work, here? At least I can do something. At least my hands are not idle.

The worst part about Stephen is we can’t do anything. There are no leads to follow; there hasn’t been a word since he broke into Coraline’s apartment. We are just sitting ducks.

We know he’s out there, watching us. We can feel him in the air. His presence clings to Ponderosa Springs like a virus.

With my mind bringing up the thought of Stephen, I instinctively look around for Coraline. She’d gone to the bathroom, but that had been several minutes ago, which means she’s gotten caught in a conversation she most definitely needs help getting out of.

Coraline is sweet when she’s comfortable, but the girl has sharp teeth. And while watching her snap them at her stepmother the other day turned me on, I really would like to avoid having to hold people back while she attacks someone for being an asshole.

I scan the ballroom, aglow with the soft golden light of chandeliers. People move around gracefully, laughing and talking to one another in their overpriced clothing. A two-piece band plays soft music in the corner while waiters go around carrying silver trays filled with hors d’oeuvres.

I’m about to move toward the bathrooms when I see her burnt-orange floor-length silk slip dress. I fucking love the way she did her hair, slick down her back, tucked behind her ears to show off her sharp jawline.

Every time she wears it like that, all I think about is winding those brown and white strands around my wrist. Use it as a handle to shove my cock into her throat.

I’m so distracted by her, by how lethal her figure is in that dress, that I don’t notice what she’s doing. I don’t notice that she’s currently batting her fucking eyelashes at a man wearing a goddamn bow tie.

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