Monster A Dark Arranged Marriage Romance - Vanessa Waltz Page 0,23
injecting my stupid problems away. Now that they were finally gone, I’d give anything to have them back. I’d trade this life to be that junkie again. At least he was harmless.
I knew how to turn his life around.
The man I was now?
Hopeless.
Sobriety had forced me to reckon with the worst monster in my life—the man in the mirror.
After the fight with Evie, I went to the graveyard and stewed over my father’s cold body. Once the chill turned my fingers into icicles, I returned to my apartment in Dorchester, a dump I’d bought on impulse before my marriage. I’d barely furnished it besides a sofa from a thrift store and the mattress that sat only on its box springs. I rarely slept, anyway. I’d rather watch Jeopardy reruns than succumb to my nightmare-fueled sleep.
I tossed my keys. They missed the counter and clattered to the linoleum. I strolled past them into the sparse living room papered with printed out articles, mugshots, old newspaper clippings. In the kitchen, the utter stillness cinched my throat like a belt. A jolt zipped down my spine.
My senses tingled with awareness.
I yanked open the fridge. “Stop skulking and come out, you fucking creep.”
A man-shaped shadow melted away from the wall, firelight flickering over his fair skin. Cainan had the preppy WASP look down pat. His uniform was a dark blue blazer over a dress shirt and gray slacks, his paleness magnified by the blackness of his tiger-slanted gaze. A wave of slicked auburn curls rolled over his head. He looked like he’d just left Sunday service, but he was probably bright-eyed from ruining someone’s life.
If I was a monster, Cainan was the devil incarnate. He was an even bigger disaster than I. Of course, he had no idea, the poor fuck.
I had good reason to loathe him.
But he’d saved my life in exchange for a hefty price.
Cainan bellied up to the solid black counter as I drank seltzer like it was alcohol. Sometimes I poured club soda over ice just to have something that wasn’t flat and boring. The illusion unlocked a sliver of dopamine, rewarding me for a behavior that had ruined most of my twenties.
His eyes lingered on my water before his mouth twitched into a smooth smile. Cainan always gave the impression that he could read my mind.
I sipped my bland drink. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?”
“We agreed on full transparency.”
Yes, we did, along with a list of other things I’d been forced to accept. Cainan was chairman of The Dark Circle. He was the arms dealer who helped supply Boston’s gangs with guns, and his influence spiderwebbed the globe. He could kill me seven different ways in an hour, but he couldn’t play chess with Boston’s street gangs. I was supposed to be the bridge between them and our interests.
Unfortunately, I’d failed.
Cainan sneered at his surroundings, feigning interest in a chipped mug. His boat shoes smacked the linoleum as he followed me, a persistent, aggravating shadow.
“Where were you last night?”
“Getting laid. You want the details?”
He cocked his head. “Was it a good time?”
“Very.”
“Then why so angry?”
Cainan was a bloodhound for vulnerability, but I wouldn’t spill. Evie was none of his business. I didn’t care if it cost me. Every instinct screamed to keep her away from him.
I cleared my throat. “Upset I skipped you on the wedding invitations? My bad.”
“Yeah, I’m upset. I leave town for a few months, and my protégé is in bed with the enemy.”
“My cousin made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I shrugged, wiping a crumb from the counter. “Vinn got sick of me interfering with the Family. He kidnapped me. Held me at gunpoint. Mock execution.”
Cainan’s expression stilled and grew serious.
“So that’s how he’s playing it.”
“I warned you he wouldn’t take it well. Vinn’s waited his whole life to be the boss. He wasn’t going to roll over and let me control things.”
“You could have subdued him,” he glowered, auburn eyes flashing. “Or killed him and inherited the Family.”
“That’s your answer for everything.”
“We wouldn’t be having this conversation! You wouldn’t be married to a biker.”
“She’s not associated with them anymore. I’ve made sure of that.”
“It doesn’t matter. Without your cousin’s support, we’re stalled. We need boots on the ground. Soldiers,” he barked, pacing my living room. “Where will we get them?”
“Rage Machine.”
“Now they’re in Legion’s pocket, thanks to the president’s new policy of patching in other gangs.”
“Not yet.” I leaned over the counter, grabbing a notepad with a list of names.