Page 5 of Wicked Angel

A wife,I mused,is not something I ever thought I'd have.A wife such as the one that Raff, himself, had was one that I wouldn’t tolerate. These girls, whichever one ended up being the pawn, needed to understand that if we were to wed—things would be vastly different from their parents. If I was to become the head of a family, I refused to have a weakness. Even if it meant strapping one of them with a lifetime shackled to me in misery.

The first, labeled in clear black letters at the top—Jacquelina—was darker in both complexion and hair. She clearly resembled her father. It was as if I was looking into a strange, warped image of the man in front of me. Still, though, she was feminine in her own way, with a slender figure and hooded eyes. She was the older of the two, with a mature face and expression, but there was an iciness to her smile that gave me pause.

She would likely make for a powerful ally, but a wife? Dangerous. It was a well-known fact that keeping your friends close was a good tactic, but keeping your enemies closer would keep you alive. This woman would not be easily malleable. She was far too much of a risk. I knew the kind of look she exhibited. I’d seen it countless times in prostitutes, escorts, and other mafia women. There was nothing but a serpent slithering around underneath her skin. One wrong move and she’d unhinge her jaw and attempt to swallow me whole—and it wouldn’t do to kill my own wife. I may not want to love her, but I would respect the hell out of the protection part of our vows as any man who laid claim to a woman should. Too bad, really. I recognized a bit of myself in Jacquelina. She had the expression of someone who understood pride and greed. Someone who was more than willing to use herself to get what she wanted.

I turned my interest to the second image, pushing Jacquelina’s away as I pulled it closer to me and examined the photograph: Raff’s youngest daughter, Evangeline. The murky memory of a young girl with soft, dirty blonde hair, several shades lighter than her sister’s, and big eyes resurfaces. I lifted the photograph and brought it closer. Even as I do so, though, I could practically feel Raff’s interest. If I had to guess, I would bet he’s banking on me being more interested in Evangeline.

In the image, she was older than she was the last time I met her at her mother’s funeral. In this picture, she was far more to my taste. While some sick fucks craved young girls, that never was and never would be my preference. The Evangeline in this photograph no longer resembled a child. Instead, she had the look of a young woman. Soft, rounded cheeks and pink, parted lips. Her eyes glittered even in the still image.

Unlike her elder sister, Evangeline had no such calculating look in her eyes. Instead, they were wide and round ovals of purity, albeit a little mischievous. The slight quirk in the corner of her lip, as if she were holding back a smirk, makes me want to know what’s happening in her mind. Big, luminous, hazel eyes that begged a man to take her under his protection, under his command. She was far too innocent for a man such as myself. Still, I would have her.

If Raff bet on his youngest, then he would be right. Evangeline would be the perfect bride. Young. Innocent. Easy to please and ship off. I’d ply her with treats and gifts and then keep her tucked away. She would be simple to use or, even better, tocontrol. In fact, the longer I stare at her picture, the easier it is to imagine what she’d be like under my flogger. Pretty red ropes wrapped around her pale skin. Cuffs holding her arms behind her back, forcing her to thrust her breasts up for my pleasure. Oh, yes. I enjoyed that image. Making her mine would be an exercise in satisfaction. Then, once I put a child in her belly, my reign would be solidified.

“Well?” Raff’s voice brought me back from my thoughts. “What do you think? Will either of my daughters entice you to make an old man happy?”

Scoffing, I set the photo down on the desk and leaned back once more. “You may be old, but no less dangerous,” I reminded him.

Raffaello shook his head at my comment. My eyes fell back upon the image, in any case. Evangeline Price likely wouldn't know what was coming for her, not until it was too late. It made me a terrible man, but the second I laid eyes on her, I knew. I would accept Raff's proposal, and this was the one I'd choose to be my wife.

I could feel Raff watching me carefully and was thankful for the mastery I held over my own expression. Without batting an eyelash, I reached out and picked up the glossy photo of her.

"Just to be sure,” I said, “you're not trying to sell me a child bride, are you?"

Raffaello laughed. "No, my Angel is eighteen. She’ll be nineteen in the fall. Even I am not so cruel as to marry off a child."

I pressed my lips together. Eighteen. Yes, I could see that. The expression in her picture is a little defiant. Something I’d have a fantastic time fucking out of her. Barely into her womanhood, but a woman was all I saw. Gorgeous. Voluptuous. Stunning. Her oval-shaped face and small smirk made something cruel twist in my guts, a sinister craving that I hadn’t felt in far too long.

I wanted to see what she would look like spread out on my bed, her head thrown back in ecstasy as I drove my cock into her pussy. Would she scream or mark me with her delicate little nails? Would she cry and try to push me away, or would she fight back and force me to hold her down while I fucked her into submission? I knew it was wrong to think such a thing, to find both options appealing as I eyed her delicate figure, but I’d never been a knight in shining armor. I wasn’t going to start now.Mine. This woman was going to be mine. My bride. My wife. And then … the mother of my children and the next heir to the Price Syndicate. I would not fail where Raff had. I’d fuck her day and night until I planted my seed and it came to fruition. I wanted this power that Raffaello was offering me. It made me a monster of a man, but then again … I’d never claimed to be good.

Raff nodded down to where I still held Evangeline’s photo in my grasp. “So, can I take it that I have your answer then?”

Had someone told me that morning that I would be offered one of the Price princesses as a bride, I would not only have laughed at the thought, but I might have even killed the bastard for attempting to toy with me.

I was not laughing now.

Damn Raffaello Price.I’d been perfectly content with my bachelorhood, but one look at this one—the softness of her angelic features—and I knew. There was only one answer. I would take her. I would fuck her. I would become the next Price Heir and make one of my own.

“Yes,” I said, folding the image of Evangeline’s face in half and tucking it into my inner pocket. “I want Evangeline.”

2

ANGEL

She’s wrong. Insane. Absolutely certifiable.

It was the only explanation. This couldn’t be happening. Absolutely not. Not when I was so close to my freedom. The applications were in, and even though my family could afford to send me to any school in the world, I’d sworn to myself that I wasn’t going to take blood-stained money. I’d applied for scholarships and I knew I was guaranteed at least some financial assistance in that area.

Confusion whipped through me as I strode out of the library and into the hallway of the Price Estate. While the world had moved on from extensive properties and manor houses, the rest of society choosing to settle into more appropriate apartments and suburban houses, the Price Family had not. We couldn’t. Not with all of the enemies my father had made along the way—before my mother's death and since. Thanks to my sister—who enjoyed regaling me with all of the things she’d overheard and dug up because she knew just how uncomfortable it made me—I now knew far more about it than I cared to.

That all slipped from my mind though, the second Gertrude—our longtime maid—had congratulated me on my upcoming nuptials. Nuptials that I hadn't heard about until that very moment. I’d stood frozen in the library as she’d chattered on about how she’d gotten married young too and her husband had been a solid ten years her senior, but an older man always felt a little naughty, didn’t it? I could honestly say there were things now I was thinking about Gertrude that I never, in my life, wanted to consider.

"It's not real," I told myself. "She's just going senile. She probably thought I was her granddaughter." God, it was horrible, but I prayed to any god that would listen and even a devil or two that the old woman was just losing her mind.

"Where are you heading?" I stopped at the sound of my sister's voice behind me.

I turned and faced her. There was a kernel of knowledge in her eyes—in the way she smiled at me, which was both amused and smug. I wasn’t sure, but from the quirk of her lips and the light of amusement in her eyes that was so rare, I had a dreadful feeling. It was her expression that tipped me off. She always got the same one right before she tormented me.

“You knew, didn’t you??” I blurted out the question, hoping against hope that my sister would laugh over this horrible misunderstanding. Is that what she does, though? Of course not. Not my psychopath of a sister.

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