Page 87 of Devil's Bride

The atmosphere was tense, the men shuffling from foot to foot.

“What the goddamn fuck?” I bellowed as soon as I heard the recounting of what had occurred. I’d built a goddamn fortress and I hadn’t been able to protect her.

There were crates of AKMs and handguns located all through the house and grounds in strategic locations. I had enough C-4 explosives to light up every corner of Barcelona. There were knives from every part of the world used for specific reasons all kept sharp.

Yet I hadn’t managed to keep her safe.

What the fuck was wrong with me and my men?

Someone had made a mistake.

That someone would face penance.

I rounded my desk, staring from one man to the other until Genevieve came into the room. As soon as I noticed the ugly mark on her face, my anger flew off the charts. I moved toward her, taking her into my arms.

She pushed away as was to be expected, giving me a pained but haughty look. I could tell by the haunted appearance in her eyes that the near kidnapping had unnerved her. It should have.

“What happened?” I demanded. This had to be about Fassi. I was positive of it.

I’d heard the story twice, which prompted the men to nervously glance back and forth at one another.

“Talk!”

“We got too comfortable,” Benito stated, talking for the rest of them.

“That’s fucking obvious!” I never lost my temper, at least not like this, but I was more enraged than I’d ever been. I raked my hand through my hair, pacing a short distance on the tile floor as I flexed the fingers on my other hand.

“Why don’t you allow me to tell the story?” Genevieve suggested sarcastically.

“Fine. Fine,” I hissed through gritted teeth.

“A soldier broke in through the back and held a gun at me. He had every intention of taking me with him,” Genevieve said stoically.

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, I’m certain. He mentioned selling me in my pretty white dress to the highest bidder.” She turned her head toward me. Her arms were folded and her breathing labored.

I slammed my fist on my desk, cursing in Spanish. “You weren’t watching the goddamn back door?”

Another look shared between the men.

“Fucking talk or I’ll put a bullet into every one of your heads. Do you hear me?”

“Calm the fuck down, Jago,” Genevieve said. While there was more anger in her voice, she kept it even, something I obviously couldn’t do. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re marked.” The bruise remained from the incident before. Now there was another one.

She touched her face and winced. “Does that mean I’d sullied now? Not good enough to marry? Not good enough to parade around as your wife and business partner?”

“Of course that’s not what I mean.” She was exasperating. I felt like a powder keg ready to explode. Genevieve certainly wasn’t helping the situation with her challenging attitude.

“That’s what it sounded like.”

“It’s my fault, Lord Torres.” It took me a few seconds to realize her closest bodyguard and friend had offered the admittance.

“Is that true?” I asked the others.

No one said anything.

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