Page 61 of Endgame
He never saw it coming. The fury in his eyes makes it clear just how blindsided he is.
The corner of my lips quirks.
God, hurting him tastes even sweeter than humiliating Aurora.
“You’ll pay for this.” His snarl is ugly. Pathetic.
I smooth my tux jacket and stand a few inches taller. “Oh, someone will be paying tonight.”
When I look over my shoulder, instead of paling at the threat, my bride flushes red. Her tongue darts to lick her full lips.
Poor thing, thinks I’m her savior.
Tonight, she’ll learn exactly who I am.
I’m back at her side as if nothing’s happened.
“Get to the vows already,” I bark at the priest. I don’t even glance his way. My focus is on her. Her chin is in my grip, my shadow casting over her much smaller frame. I squeeze slightly, reminding her and everyone else who’s in control. “Or you can leave, knowing that this is the last wedding you’ll ever ornate.”
The priest huffs. “I haven’t done anything wrong?—”
“Get. To. The. Vows.”
Aurora shivers at my hissed words, and my desire for her spikes. This is going to be one hate-fuck I’ll savor for the rest of my life.
The ceremony continues. Our priest discusses concepts such as eternity, love, and for better or worse.
I swallow down my opinions about that bullshit.
It’s easy enough to do.
I have Aurora to look at. She’s in my grip. Soft and supposedly innocent. Her quickened breaths and her parted lips are mouthwatering.
“Vows.” The command spits out of me.
Frown marks appear between Aurora’s eyebrows. I’ve upset her, and she wants me to know that.
I nod once.Duly noted. I’ll remember your attitude when we’re alone.
“Everett Quentin Alder.” My full name. Last time I heard it was when I was appointed as a judge. “Do you take Aurora Coraline Clarke to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
My bride doesn’t blink. She’s trying to be brave.
It won’t last. “I do.”
Stafford shoves her ring into my open palm. My eyes stay on Aurora as I close my hand around her wedding band.
She’s being a quiet, hateful little mouse as I slip it on her finger.
The resentment is mutual. Only that mine runs hotter. Deeper.
I have her delicate wrist in my unforgiving hold.
“You’re a monster,” she spits out eventually, her hate hitting harder than I expect. “It won’t work. Whatever you have planned, it won’t work.”
The ring reaches the last knuckle, just above her engagement ring. I push it down harder, reveling in her tiny squirm. “I guess we’ll have to see about that, princess.”
“Aurora Coraline Clarke,” the priest cuts in. “Do you take Everett Quentin Alder to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
