Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,14
must’ve owned another property because the front door never opened except for Christian, sometimes accompanied by a younger man.
I couldn’t complain about my new living situation. Tony’s digs in Beacon Hill beat the hell out of my mobile home. A private elevator took me straight into an old-world penthouse with two floors, a deck with a pool and garden, and four bedrooms. I soaked in his clawfoot tub overlooking cobblestone streets, sat on the rooftop until my teeth chattered with cold, and admired the brick and black leather that dominated the décor.
My gratitude for it all grew every day.
My love for its owner did not.
Tony ignored me. He didn’t call. He refused to text. He acted like our goddamn wedding had never happened. I had questions about the house, but God forbid he answer the phone.
I rolled over, head pounding from my caffeine withdrawal. I slipped from the king-sized bed, blinking from the late afternoon light. Tendrils of heat wrapped my limbs, and then a pair of male voices drifting under the door chased it away.
“—hooked up with this girl last night. She had the biggest tits I’d ever seen. They were like basketballs. Not hot. I closed my eyes and powered through it.”
“Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake,” Christian growled. “She’s asleep.”
Christian must’ve shown up with his partner in crime, Rafael, who liked running his mouth. The younger bodyguard’s harsh tones blasted through the penthouse as I pulled on an A-line dress and kicked my feet through ballerina flats. Christian responded to something, which made Rafael burst through Christian’s soft murmur.
“No, she wasn’t! I met her at the fucking gas station.”
Christian let out a low whistle, laughing.
“It’s not where I usually pick up women, but she got in a fight with her boyfriend. He dumped her there, so I brought her to my apartment.”
“And then what?”
“Well, she wanted to pay me back.” The stockier Rafael leaned against the counter, grimacing. “She kept insisting. I think she was a sweetbutt.”
Christian clicked his tongue. “I thought you knew better than to dip your stick in biker trash.”
“When’s the last time you turned down a blowjob?”
“Yesterday, before I left your mother’s.”
I grew hot along my collar as Rafael laughed. I strolled into view, enjoying the spasms of panic across their faces.
I smiled. “Morning, boys.”
“Good morning,” said Christian without missing a beat, followed by Rafael a second later. They exchanged worried glances. A tense silence filled the window-facing kitchen.
I reached for the mugs, annoyed at the empty shelves. He couldn’t have coffee lying around. It was part of Tony’s strict no-drugs policy, which was probably a form of torture for the sadistic prick.
I banged herbal tea on the black marble and shoved the kettle onto the stove.
“Mrs. Costa, is everything okay?”
“Mrs. Costa?” I murmured, fiddling with the burners. “Don’t you mean biker trash?”
Christian paled. “Shit.”
Shit was right.
I forced a smile. “Take me to the clubhouse, and I’ll consider it ancient history.”
Rafael grimaced.
“What?” I asked when they didn’t move. “You have something better to do?”
“We can’t do that,” he mumbled. “Tony wouldn’t like it.”
Air streamed through the kettle. I turned off the burner, my temper close to its breaking point.
“Then I’ll tell him how disrespectful his guards were to me.”
“Evie, I know I fucked up, but I’d appreciate it if you kept this quiet.”
Christian’s plea fell on deaf ears.
I met his gaze, unsmiling. “The clubhouse. Now.”
“How about a nice latte?”
“I am not a toy,” I shouted, my patience snapping. “I am his wife. If I say I’m going to the clubhouse, that’s where I’m headed. I don’t need your permission. Or—” I poured the hot water, missing the mug. “Tony will find out what you said, and cut off your heads.”
I was totally bluffing. Tony probably didn’t give a damn. He had no interest in me. He’d treated me like a cheap hooker on our wedding night, and he seemed to hate me on principle, so fuck him.
Screw his rules.
I strolled outside my dad’s mobile home, which sat beside rows of neglected lawns and identical houses. The clubhouse loomed ahead, a brick building that used to be a school. It faced the street, surrounded by the fencing where prospects stood watch. Over the years, the MC had purchased homes to expand the community into a giant neighborhood.
A thunder of bikes trembled the ground, and then chrome zoomed past the gate. Rock music pulsed from someone’s portable speaker. As I walked, people raised their hands in greeting. My lips pulled into a lackluster smile.