Page 34 of Malicious Wedding

They’re coming for me now, and my friends are standing in their way.

“I need your help,” I say, forcing the words out like solid sick.

Though I haven’t given him what he really wants yet, I feel like I’m signing my soul over to the devil.

Carson’s phone is already out. “Fitz?” he says to the person on the other line. “Gather a crew. I need muscle right now. We have work to do.”

Chapter16

Ash

“Ishould’ve tied you up and left you back at the mansion,” Carson grumbles as his driver Fitz speeds toward Bottle of Smoke.

“I’d chew my way out, call a cab, and stab you to death in front of my employees if you tried it.”

Carson shakes his head with a mocking smile. I only glare at him, my body buzzing with nerves. Fitz glances back at me in the rearview mirror, looking surprised. Maybe he’s not used to people giving his precious boss shit.

Right now, I’d gladly fist-fight a shark in the middle of the ocean if it meant making sure my friends are okay.

Fulco’s hurt. Bernie says not bad, but still, one of my people got hurt because of me. I could hear someone else crying, probably Jamila, or maybe Keely, and Bernie sounded straight-up terrified. Hell, they’ll all be traumatized and maybe worse if I can’t find a way to fix this.

But what are my options?

I could go to the cops, but I still think they’re useless, and besides, I’m also pretty sure the Crowleys own them. I could close Smoke, go on the run—disappear somewhere far away, maybe move to a small town in Montana, change my name, try to start over. Though I have no money and no clue how I’d actually manage to survive.

I could hand myself over to the men trying to hurt me. At least then they’d have no reason to come after my friends. Though that would be the same as killing myself. Which doesn’t sound ideal.

I keep looking at Carson. He’s staring out the window, saying nothing, but I know what he’s thinking.

The bastard is my only option.

The only option worth a damn, at least.

If I marry him, that means protection for my friends. That means money for the bar, money for my people. Bonuses for the first time ever, plus retirement plans, dental, vision, whatever else they want.

That means locking myself in the Crowley mansion to play mobster’s wife for the rest of my days.

This is impossible. There’s no good option. I close my eyes as my fingers stray to the mark on my neck where Carson bit me. I touch it softly while a chill runs down my spine. I wish I could wipe it clean, go back to the moments before he kissed my neck, before he bit me, before he sent a wild thunderstorm of need into my guts.

I wish I could go back to the days where Carson was just another asshole criminal.

Instead, he’s got my fallopian tubes wrapped around his little finger, the prick.

I hate him for it. I hate that I need him.

Worse, I hate that Iwanthim.

Fitz parks outside of Smoke. I hop out with Carson on my heels. Three other SUVs pull up the second my feet hit the pavement, making me jump in shock as more men pile out, all of them big bastards, all of them looking grim. I recognize a few from parties my father dragged me to when I was younger.

Crowley soldiers.

“Secure the place,” Carson says, gesturing at one of them, a square man in the middle.

“Wait,” I say, throwing my hands up. My instincts to protect my friends might be clouding my judgment here, but I can’t help myself. “Nobody goes inside.”

The men pause, looking at Carson, who tilts his head. “It’ll be hard to protect you if we can’t get near you.” His voice is a low, frustrated grumble.

“My staff is messed up enough already. They don’t need your goons swarming the place.” I glare at Carson, ignoring the audience, hands on my hips. “Nobody goes inside.”

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