Page 177 of Poison Vows

I’ve never actually thought of what will happen after I die.

As a matter of fact, for most of my fucked-up heartbeats, I’ve never cared enough to give a damn about that.

After someone is dead, they’re fucking gone and that’s that.

So-called family members and friends, if you’re lucky enough, will go through the motions of a half-hearted grief session, shed a few tears here and there, pour out some liquor as you get lowered in the dark depths of the earth—if Noah is present—leave some perishable flowers, and then eventually go back to their own lives and forget all about you.

The tears will dry as fast as the liquor. The flowers will wilt and the dead will remain just as dead as before, if not rotten by then.

I saw it when George ‘died.’

It was a foreshadow of my own death and that was just fucking fine, acceptable even, but now it’s different.

Especially when the one person who has kept me wanting her is completely ignoring me, smiling and laughing at my shithead cousin’s nonsense and not sparing me a glance.

Now, this wild behavior is unacceptable. That my whole life can go to shit just because she doesn’t look at me is insane!

I crave her more than life itself. She’s my one and only drug, and I’m done fighting tooth and nail pretending like she doesn’t bring me to my knees.

Yes, these past few days I’ve been away, but I had no choice.

I also needed time to think about her demand that she can’t seem to let go of, but that still doesn’t warrant such heavy measures of giving me the silent treatment like this.

I don’t mind that she spent a lot of money recently. It didn’t put a dent in her net worth or mine.

But I do mind that she ignored my calls, hasn’t so much as read my texts, or looked at me.

I can’t help the fucking surge of anger that took over my blood when she went straight for Vaughn.

If I could, I would’ve gone straight to knock out that jerk. My wife still thinks I don’t like causing scenes, but she doesn’t know how brazen I can be.

Might as well educate her.

Cutting across the room like a javelin piercing the wind, I grab my wife’s hand and make my way straight out of the room.

“Whoa, cousin,” I hear from behind me. “Don’t you think you’re being too overbearing? Ivy and I were just talki?—”

“It’s queen to you,” I snap. “My wife’s name is not for someone of your station to think about, let alone utter with that dirty mouth of yours. Unless, of course, you want me to wash it for you?”

I don’t wait for the bastard to respond.

“My wife and I have some points to drive home and make known once more,” I grit out.

Behind me, I hear my wife grumble something unintelligible while testing the hold I have on her small hand in mine.

“Clear the mansion!” I demand.

Immediately, my men come out of the shadows and start herding the guests out of my damn house, including Vaughn.

My instructions are not suggestions, nor is there room for negotiation.

Even the old cripple is wheeled out, but I don’t miss the smirk on his face as he leaves with the old heads he likes hanging around with.

Ignoring him, I take my wife with me to the backyard.

“Emmett, wait!” I don’t stop. “You’re walking way too fast. I can’t ke?—”

“Who the fuck am I to you?” I demand, turning around to look at her, unable to keep it in any longer.

---