Page 22 of Possession

Boz lifts his chin. “It’s been a day. What’s happening at the house?”

When the man rests a hand on his hip, a holster and gun peek out from under his sport coat. “We went on full alert when we got word. No one was allowed in or out. The housekeepers are freaked, but they were told to hold steady until you got back.” His gaze wanders to me when he adds, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

“Yeah,” Boz says with zero emotion. “It’s a turn of events.”

“I hear you’re not just Boz anymore, but boss. You’ve got my respect.”

Wow. From Boz to Brian to boss. I wonder how I should address my new husband?

He doesn’t bother introducing me and continues talking to the guard. “I need to get into Damian’s office and check on things. After I grab a couple hours of sleep, I’ll meet with the team.”

“Got it, boss.”

The massive wall is really a gate. It slides apart, and even through the dark, what appears in front of us is nothing short of spectacular. A long, lit drive winds its way down a steep hill. Even the filthiest rich of my father’s friends weren’t as dirty as this.

This is something else.

The modern mansion sprawls on the grounds that sit behind the privacy wall. The estate is only open to its gardens and the Pacific. And the level of security is no secret. Cameras are everywhere.

My stomach sinks. There will be no escaping this place.

This was Damian’s home. I guess it would have been my home, too, if his brains weren’t blown all over my wedding dress. I should feel bad that I don’t at all feel bad about that turn of events.

I can’t take it any longer. I turn to my new husband. “You have a lot of names. Boz, Brian, boss … what should I call you?”

He pulls to a stop in the circle drive in front of the structure made of mostly windows and trimmed in natural wood and stark black paint. It’s a one-eighty from Damian’s father’s home. He barely throws it into gear when he turns to me. “I don’t give a fuck what you call me as long as it’s not Brian. When we get in there, keep your mouth shut. They expected you to walk in there as Mrs. Marino, not Mrs. Torres.”

I frown. “They?”

“The staff. It’s going to be an adjustment for everyone, but really, they need to get used to me being in charge. I’ll take the lead—keep your mouth shut.”

He turns for his car door, but I grab his forearm to stop him. “How many times are you going to tell me to keep my mouth shut?”

He turns back to me and leans over the console. Before I know it, his hand is wrapped around my neck and I’m almost nose to nose with Boz-Brian-boss. “Chica, I’m thinking you don’t understand the severity of the situation your father sold you into. Damian Marino is dead. A war is brewing. And you could be married to Nicolas Decker right now instead of sitting here with me. You don’t understand what that means, and given the day you’ve had, I’ll spare you the details for another time. But trust me, be grateful for who you’re sitting next to. So when I tell you to keep your mouth shut, it's for your own good.”

I try to pull away, but he holds tight. “But—”

“No buts, Landyn. You’re mine until you’re not. Do yourself a favor and obey. You’ll understand soon enough. I want to end this fucking day once and for all.”

Wow.

So dreamy.

Just what every woman wants her new husband to say on her wedding day.

He lets me go, and I put as much space between us as possible. I’m already out my door, and my bare feet hit the pavement by the time he’s rounded the front of the car. He says nothing more, but grabs my hand. I have to fist my dress so I don’t trip over it when he pulls me up the many steps to the grand front doors.

I wonder who’s watching, because just like at Alamandos’ house, the doors open exactly in time for us to enter. Cool air sends a shiver down my spine, and we’re greeted by three bodies lining in the entryway.

One man and two women in varying ages and sizes.

And they’re all staring at me.

The doors shut behind us, and I stop when Boz does, since my hand is still held tight in his. And there’s the fact he yanked me to his side.

Boz greets them in a gruff tone. “Good morning.”

The staff looks like they’re about to face a firing squad and mutter in unison, “Good morning, sir.”

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