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From our first kiss to our first fuck… I only had to wait about a month before I snuck Loni into my empty house, taking hervirginity—giving her mine—in my bed because that’s where she fucking belonged.

I have a King-sized bed instead of the Queen I grew up with, but even though it’s wider now, I went to bed alone. It was a fitful sleep, every part of me fully aware that she was sleeping only a few doors down. And when I heard her tiptoe down the hallway, standing in my doorway, watching me ‘sleep’... I had to grip the sheets beneath me to keep from opening my eyes, climbing out of the bed, and tossing her on top of it.

I had to do this right. Funnily enough, premeditated murder was the easy part. No one can blame me for it—at least, no one in the Order, and that’s all that counts—but if I want to keep Loni, I have to follow the same tenets in the society’s charter that allowed me to take her in the first place.

So that meant giving my Offering—mywife—her own room in the house. That meant not pushing her to spend every waking minute with me, and her sleeping ones, too, no matter how much I want to. This is a waiting game, and if I have to take my time, convince her to love me again… that’s what I’m going to do.

Besides, I thought I had two more years in my timeline. That fucker Desmond screwed up my plan—again—by deciding the Claim Loni at the worst possible moment. Tax season is busy for a financial manager, but heading into Q3 is just as hectic in my line of work. Add that to how I’ve spent the last two weeks waiting to hear from Nicholas Reed about the hit, having the decorator come to get Loni’s room ready, and arranging to have her entire life relocated to Harmony Heights and I’m bordering on exhausted.

And don’t get me started about the goddamn nicotine headache that’s pulsing inside of my skull.

Fuck. I knew quitting cold turkey would be a bitch. It’s why I’ve never tried before. But I’m an opportunist. The idea of never kissing my wife just wasn’t going to work for me, and if all shewanted was for me to give up my smokes, I’d do it… but only if she satisfied my cravings for a cigarette with her own mouth.

I don’t know how I got her to agree. Just like the old days, I said it and she did it, and that gives me hope that I still hold sway over my new bride. I’ll gauge the situation, take only what I think I can get away with, and eventually I’ll have everything I’ve ever wanted.

But first, I have to make it out of the Fortress.

We live in Harmony Heights. It’s a small town on the East Coast of the United States. We’re one of the thirteen original colonies, but somehow, the Order of the Owed has revolved itself around this ridiculous idea of a monarchy. Our leader is nicknamed the ‘King’, our infamous bar and gentleman’s club is known as the King’s Court, and the thirty-floor skyscraper that stands out like a sore thumb in our downtown area is called the Fortress.

To the townies who don’t have any ties to the Order, it’s the Samuel E. Reynolds building, and I know that pisses my uncle off to no end. Even though his ancestor was as much a part of founding both the town and the Order more than two centuries ago, it’s not the John B. Collins building. Nope. It’s named after the first King of the Order—and mayor of Harmony Heights. That’s Bas’s relative, a fact my old friend hates almost as much as the Order itself.

Me? I just love how Jack did everything he could to be King, but he can’t change the name on the most well-known office building in town.

Like always, I smirk up at the brass letters in front of it as I walk inside the building. We’ve been in the middle of a late June heat wave the last few days. I’m stubborn enough that I’m in a suit and tie, pointedly ignoring the dribble of sweat as it slithers down my spine. The blast of AC as I walk in is a welcome relief.I ruffle my slightly sweaty curls, shoot a meaningless wink at the concierge at the desk, then head for the elevator.

As King, Jack claims the top two floors of the Fortress. The Penthouse is his elaborate apartment, complete with a balcony on the top that overlooks a view of the nearby park, plus access to the rooftop. Right below it, he has his office. With a secretary/guard dog that blocks access to him, and more shitty art than you can imagine, half of the space is a waiting room, while the other is an office he spends most of his time in.

Richard is his latest secretary. Jack goes through them faster than I used to go through lighters, and when I take in the smarmy twink’s smug expression, I decide he’ll be gone by the Claiming ceremony. My uncle prefers his secretaries to be competent and smart, and if Richard thinks he can mug at me like that, he’s a fucking idiot.

I salute him. “Afternoon, Dick. My uncle’s expecting me.”

His face falls just enough that I can tell he’d been hoping that this was another one of my unplanned visits. Since my personal office is on the twentieth floor, I get my shits and giggles bothering Jack whenever I have the chance. I know damn well, if I didn’t hold the keys to my cabinets and the knowledge locked inside my brain to make sense of my ledgers, I’d be having an accident of my own one of these days.

I’m trouble. I always have been. I’d sooner see the crown knocked the old blowhards head, but since Dallas is stalling when it comes to step into his father’s shoes, I continue to plot, continue to plan, and I make it clear that Jack Collins doesn’t fucking scare me.

Some Order members live in fear of being excommunicate or, worse, tossed in the basement. What goes on down there… that’s one rumor I haven’t been able to substantiate lately. Only the highest-ranked members can get in since you need a passcode and a fingerprint to get passed the level of securityfor the lowest floor of the Fortress. Years ago, there used to be auctions down there. Drugs, guns, girls… everything was sold to the highest bidder, but it was so hush-hush that only the old guard were involved. That got shut down around the time Aunt Reese… died. Since then, I joke that the perverted Owed have wrinkled orgies, plus bloody torture sessions where they kill any of our enemies in the shadows.

I’m not sure which is worse, and since I don’t want anything to do with it—and I’m not in any danger of being locked down there—I ignore it. Without a wife, I’m not at that level to participate regardless. Dallas never wants to be. It’s his father’s business, and the less he has to do with Jack, the better.

Dick over there isn’t the only one in the waiting room. Standing by the closed door that leads to Jack’s office is a brawny, sour-faced man with bristly, short dark hair, and a perpetual scowl. He’s shorter than me by about two inches—a fact that visibly frustrates Luke Wall—but he’s almost twice as wide, the suit he’s wearing so tight, it resembles a sausage casing on a beefy man my age.

Luke… Jack has plenty of enforcers. Order members who do his bidding for a brand on their palm, access to the Used, and living the highlife in Harmony Heights. Dallas is one; training to be the King, his father says. But Jack wouldn’t never use Dallas to intimidate me.

That’s Luke’s job.

He scowls. “Took you long enough, Heller. Mr. Collins wanted you here an hour ago.”

And? He might have, but I only get four official meals with my wife a week. Fuck if I was going to miss breakfast because my uncle has his panties in a twist.

“Wish in one hand, shit in the other… let’s see which one he gets first.”

Luke’s brow furrows, but before he can respond, I grab the door handle, pull it open, and let myself into Jack’s office.

My uncle is on his phone, tapping away at the screen, a focused expression on his wrinkle-free face. He looks good. The newest surgeon touched up some of his work. If you saw him on the street, you’d mistake him for an A-list actor, which is only more annoying because, on the outside, Jack Collins has it all.

Power. Money. Looks.

But he couldn’t keep a good woman as a wife, so I don’t give a fuck.