about to read them in front of my mother. But tonight, I want to tell you everything. And then I’m going to tear that wedding dress off and fuck you until you’re mine.” I scoff at Vic’s words, but how can I respond to that now, up here in front of my sister?
Instead, I wait for Vic to lean back and repeat Oscar’s words back to me as he slips the simple wedding band on my finger, joining it to his grandmother’s ring. Oscar repeats the vows and asks me to recite them, and I do.
I do.
When Vic cups the back of my head and kisses me, destroying me with that hot slice of sin he calls a tongue, I am lost.
Forever trapped in Havoc.
We walk down the aisle together and head straight for his Harley.
The infinite black of my wedding gown ripples as we drive away. I’m not sure where we’re going at first, because my head is lost in both the clouds, and the soft earth in which we buried Neil Pence.
I’m not surprised, however, to find myself back at the cemetery.
Vic parks the bike, and I know what we’re here for.
Closure.
That’s what this is about: saying goodbye to Pen, saying goodbye to one of the monsters in my closet, and saying hello to whatever my next chapter is supposed to be.
Victor can’t keep his hands off of me as we stumble through the cold, quiet of the cemetery, our panting breaths the only sound here, the only proof that life still goes on, even when the dead lie quiet and sleeping.
We collapse on the grass at the edge of the woods, halfway between where we buried Neil, and where he—whether through action or design—buried Penelope.
My arms wrap Vic’s neck, desperate to keep his mouth on mine. I’d never imagined that marrying someone—especially at the age of seventeen—would be so fucking erotic. But standing up there with Victor Channing, his purple-dark hair slicked back, suit pressed and perfectly tailored, was foreplay of the best kind.
It’s left us both shaking and sweating, frenzied for another taste of our drug of choice: each other.
“You’ve made all my dark, little dreams come true, Bernadette,” he growls against my mouth, his hands planted into the green grass on either side of my head. Victor undulates his hips forward, rubbing our pelvises together and making me groan.
We buried the Thing alive.
The thought slithers into my brain, but it doesn’t disturb me as much as it should.
I am tainted. I am broken. I belong to Havoc.
Vic shoves the skirts of my Lazaro gown aside, reaching down and fumbling with his belt. He curses under his breath, dark eyes heavy lidded and liquid with sin and want. He frees his heavy shaft into his tattooed hand, giving it a few pumps as I look up at him from my back. Right this second, he can have me anyway he wants me.
Before the wedding, I made my wants and wishes clear.
I’ll be Queen of Havoc.
We’ll finish my list.
We’ll crush the Charter Crew.
And with the way Ophelia was looking at me and Vic during the wedding, it’s obvious we’ll need to do something about her, too.
Victor leans over me, licking the side of my face before stealing my soul through my lips. His kiss is the most exquisite sort of torture, like licking the brownie batter spoon before you wash it. There’s just enough chocolate to tease, but the real dessert is in the oven; you’re just waiting for it to heat up.
“Make me yours, Vic,” I moan, giving into my sweet obsession for him. Usually, I’m too prideful to let him see how I really feel.
But not today, not during our first fuck as husband and wife of Havoc.
“Princess, you already are mine,” Victor murmurs, pushing my pale thighs apart. The sunlight makes my skin glow gold as he drives into me with his bare cock. We’re all about risk, me and Vic. Doesn’t mean it’s smart or right, only that it’s fact.
We ache for each other.
Our mouths clash again as Vic curls his big body over me, seeking a kiss but unwilling to stop the manic thrusting of his hips. His musky smell mixes with the earthy odor of freshly turned earth. There are no living witnesses to our consummation, but plenty of quiet spirits, watching two demons rut in a tombstone-ridden field.
Havoc’s boss sits up and looks into my eyes with two, dark pools of obsidian, his expression fierce and possessive, unforgiving and domineering