Page 64 of Viripotent

Finding her voice, there’s a threat laced in the fake explanation of some painting.

“Deceit, see how the woman is crying?” She looks back over her shoulder, her eyes burning with rage as she drops her voice. “That wouldn’t be me, I’d be laughing and the heart on the floor wouldn’t be mine.”

I’m not an aesthete and give it a cursory glance. There’s a mangled heart in a puddle of blood while a woman holds her chest with bloody hands. Whatever the fuck it means clearly speaks to the personality disorder my bride has.

She doesn’t buy anything, and the coldness stays as we get back in the car. That’s my first warning when we haven’t been at the exhibition long. Discomfort snakes up my spine and my finger taps on the dash as I try to get the annoyingly talkative woman back.

“You hungry?”

I’ve become accustomed to the torture of her mouth, and she turns her head slowly like a horror movie.

“It is in your best interest not to be alone with me or speak to me.”

The formality is weird as fuck, and she holds herself rigid, staring straight ahead.

There’s a dark alley nestled between the buildings, and I pull into it as I knock the external lights off. I unclip my belt and face her. She doesn’t move until I try to tilt her face, but she slaps my hand away as her anger breaks through.

“Do not fucking touch me,” she seethes.

Gripping her neck, she fights my hold for once and hurt fills every syllable leaving her lips.

“I told you I would kill you both if you touched someone else. You’re a disrespectful fucking prick and now it’s my turn.”

Dragging her over the center console, I push my seat back hating the image she’s put in my head of whather turnwould be. She continues her attempts to fight me as I grab her wrists in one hand behind her back. The fight is still there, mixing with pain as she looks away from me. Jolting her body with my hold, I wait until I have her attention to ask, “What are you going to do?”

She’s fucking crazy and leans into my palm saying one slow word that has my hand flexing.

“Everyone.”

I slit some bastard’s throat while he was laid above her, and she still thinks I’m bluffing. Squeezing the sides of her neck enough to make her lightheaded without cutting off any air, my voice is deadly.

“You’ll be the reason and witness to his death.”

She had years, five of them to be exact, to fuck anyone she wanted. She chose not to and now she’s fucking mine. My thumb blindly finds her ring finger bearing my insignia as a reminderof what will happen if she even attempts to let anyone else touch her. She shrugs and has a smile lifting my lips at her wicked mind.

“Who said it will only be men?”

My smile drops with her voice and words.

“I will lay myself on your bed like a fucking offering while you watch the parade of whoever I deem interesting enough.”

There’s no lie on her features, she would do that shit just to prove a fucking point and I cover her mouth before she can say anything else.

“No man fucking touches you, or you’ll bathe in his blood again. If you fuck a woman when I’m not there, or she so much as puts her little fucking finger inside you, that’s betrayal.”

No one else will fucking touch her, I’ve made it clear to her and she still tries to test me.

Biting my palm wanting to speak, I let go and she rages.

“But you can leave me to go fuck one of your fucking whores while your brother babysits me?”

Loosening my hold on her wrists, I try to hide my laugh at her assumption. It doesn’t work and filters through my explanation.

“Dani is a kid. She went to school with my brothers.” She lived in our house without actually moving any of her shit in, for fuck’s sake. She’s still the brace-face awkward girl that always had paint on her. Not someone I’d even entertain the idea of touching when I’ve made her fucking cereal before school.

TWENTY-FIVE

Inessa

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