Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
If my brat of a wife thinks leading me to her is going to get her ass out of trouble, she’s mistaken.
This time when I mark her, it will be with my handprint across her ass.
“I see the car!” he snarls, foot slamming down on the gas.
I grip the “oh shit” handle, and the one on the door, pushing it open the slightest bit, and I’m throwing myself from my seat before the car’s in park, breaking off in a run so I don’t roll on my fucking ass.
I dart forward, flying toward the entrance of the winery. Fuck waiting for backup. My bride is in there, and I’m going in after her. Five more feet. I will cut their eyes from their—
“Wha— Oh shit, wait!”
Everything in me ceases at the sound of her voice and I whip around, attention slicing toward the back door of a blacked-out, custom Hummer.
Time slows, the seconds passing like minutes as a gloved hand folds around the frame, one black flat-covered foot meeting the concrete, then another. My heart beats once, twice, and then there she is, throwing herself from the back seat, placing herself in my line of sight.
Fuck me, what a sight the full view of her is.
Her gown is tight, curling along her body and making the memory of her hourglass figure, naked and under me, flash behind my eyes. The bottom drags along the cement beneath her as she takes baby steps in my direction, and the top touches the middle point of her shoulders, leaving her collarbone on full display, and plunges between her breasts. Her blonde hair is in big, thick curls, the kind that are more a wave than a loop, and lies to one side, all front and center, and my fingers twitch to touch it. Her fingers are hidden beneath silky black gloves I’m tearing off with my teeth, maybe right now, if only to make sure my name is still penned across her finger. As if she could erase it.
As if she’d want to.
The veil on her head is no veil at all. It’s a hooded cloak made of a leafy lace of sorts and hangs longer than her gown does, and I ache to see her standing in our bedroom wearing it and it alone.
She’s fucking mesmerizing and she’s already mine.
She smiles, and fuck. It’s shy and sweet and so unlike my wife that a small pain forms behind my ribs.
Where we are and what’s going on around us is forgotten, the only thought going through her mind now that I, her husband, am seeing her in her wedding gown for the very first time.
A moment she was looking forward to.
A moment I stole and tried to give back.
My shoulders fall an inch, regret, an emotion I’m not accustomed to, weighing on me, but then the door at my back flies open. I whip around just in time to see none other than Philip Mitchell making a break for it.
His eyes snap up as he stumbles out the door, widening when they lock on mine. His body sways as he tries to stop his forward momentum, jolting himself backward, but then he freezes. It’s only for a half second, long enough for him to remember there’s a reason he’s fleeing the direction he came from. Before taking off to my right.
I turn, eyes locking with my wife’s.
She gives a single curt nod…and I raise my gun, clipping him in the right ankle, and he goes down with a rewarding crash, his scream sending a burst of satisfaction through me.
Mino reaches my wife, pressing in close to her back and scanning the area, so I swiftly move toward Mitchell, body shaking with anger as I hop over the hood of the car he tumbled behind.
“Wait!” Panicked eyes meet mine, sweat rolling down his face as he begs like the bitch he is. “Please, just hang on. Let me—”
I send a bullet through his left foot, then right palm as he lifts it into the air, still begging.
“Fuck!” he screams. “Goddammit!” he hisses, falling over and rolling in pain.
Two of my guards hop from a black BMW, rushing this way, so I leave him to them.
I’ll deal with him later. Slowly. Publicly.
The moment my eyes pop up again, footsteps echo from the entrance, and I lift my gun, pointing it at the edge of the door, finger on the trigger, ready to unload this bitch on the next traitor to step out of this place.
None other than Maddoc Brayshaw barrels out, his head yanking in every direction, gaze landing on mine. He stiffens, his arm flying out in attempt to block the next person, to protect them. “Don’t!” he screams as I look down the line, ready to fire my next bullet right behind the eyes of his first family member to appear.