Page 26 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

SEVENTEEN

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

LONI

I don’t know what’s worse: that Adrian doesn’t think it’s worth it to come home at a reasonable hour on our one-month wedding anniversary—or that it’s my birthday and he has no idea.

You know what? That’s a lie. I know which is worse. I know which one hurts more.

Happy fucking birthday, Loni.

Adrian…

He forgot my birthday. Even though I haven’t been shy about it coming up—it was kind of nice to have something to look forward to—he didn’t mention it at all.

Not at breakfast, and not when he sent me a text mid-day that he got roped into an Order meeting after he was getting ready to head out.

It was scheduled for six, and he was hoping to be done by seven.

He offered to pick up Italian for dinner; a lucky guess since I used to go to this one restaurant with my parents every year up until Mom got sick. That mollified me a little… only it’s now nine o’clock, and there’s no sign of my husband .

I shouldn’t be pissed. This last month, sometimes it feels like he’s really trying to treat this marriage as legitimate.

Others, it’s clear to me that this setup is like nearly every other Owed-Offering arranged marriage I know of.

He gets sex, I get a room, and we basically just exist is this oversized house, living two separate lives except for during meals and on Monday nights.

Funnily enough, I mentioned just last Monday that I was thinking about maybe spending an extra night with Adrian.

I mean, it’s inevitable. In my experience, the strongest pairings sleep in the same bed every night regardless—unless the husband decides to go to one of the Used.

Since that’s one thing I definitely don’t want…

and I’ve come to accept that I’m not going anywhere…

why not slowly start integrating my way into his room while keeping mine just in case?

And, no, the fact that I came up with the idea after Adrian laid me out on my stomach, propping my chest up on pillow before climbing me behind me and fucking me lazily for a good half and hour before a flip switched and he pounded me so hard that I had to brace myself against the headboard so I didn’t go through it all while squealing his name wildly… nope. Not at all.

Today is Thursday. Monday was three days ago, and while I enjoyed the sex with Adrian then, the angrier I get tonight, the more I want to grab a Brillo pad and slough on my skin anywhere he touched me.

It’s an unhealthy response. I know that. Finding pleasure in a man who worships my body the way Adrian does… it’s just sex, Loni. It’s just fucking. I’ve always suspected that Adrian used the act to control me when I was seventeen. I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s doing now.

Be a good girl, princess, and you can have your husband’s cock… don’t you want it? I know you want it ? —

Ugh!

I thought I was stronger than that. How did this happen?

How did I let Adrian Heller worm his way under my skin like an infection I can’t get rid of?

I knew better. What happened to my plan of stabbing his gorgeous, sculpted, delicious chest the first chance I got and claiming self defense?

Anything to escape him before I did what I always do and let him in while forgetting all the reasons I shouldn’t…

What happened? I know what happened. He smirked when he relayed the story about Damien Libellula and his murderous wife, making it clear that if I ever tried anything like that, it wouldn’t change a thing about our situation.

More importantly, he’d like it.

What else should I expect from a man who decided the best way to get a wife was to kill the man she was promised to marry?

Desmond. Fucking Desmond.

Why didn’t he leave me alone? I was content in Bridgewater.

I liked my job, I spoke to my co-workers online and through text, and I had good relationships with most of my clients.

Sure, I was a homebody, and the loneliness I’ve been experiencing in Harmony Heights didn’t begin here…

but if he hadn’t decided to Claim me the way he had, none of this would’ve happened.

I never would’ve been (basically) dragged back to Harmony Heights by Dallas Collins, and Adrian Heller would just be the ghost that continued to torment long after I walked away from him, crying.

And who the hell am I fooling? Not me.

I blame Desmond—and it’s easy to, dead or not—because I know the truth now. I was never safe from this fate. Adrian told me about his plan. Once I was thirty, once we both aged out of the Order’s ridiculous mandate,

I was so stunned when he casually mentioned that over dinner one night that, despite having a mouth that tasted like garlic chicken, I reached over the table and kissed him. It was the first—and only—kiss I’ve initiated with Adrian, and it was like something shifted between us at that moment.

If he did that, it would’ve led to his demotion within the Order. Because he’s blood, Jack wouldn’t get rid of him, but his days as the kingmaker, pulling strings behind the scenes like he’s always done… they would be over.

Because of me. Because, for once, he planned on choosing me over the secret society that owns us all.

At least, that’s what he led me to believe. I know better now.

For a man who seems insistent that I’m his… that I’ve always been his… things like forgetting my fucking birthday seem to suggest otherwise.

I can’t believe it.

Am I being ridiculous, holding this against him?

Probably. About two months ago, I had every intention of putting in a little PTO, booking myself a facial at one of the spas I’d been researching, and getting day drunk on a bottle of rose.

It’s positively selfish, and I ‘d been looking forward to it.

Over the last few days, feeling like we were getting closer to closer, I foolishly started to really look forward to my birthday. And maybe it’s because he ruined so many of them when I was younger…

The year I turned ten, Adrian threw a pool party for no other reason than he suggested it. Everybody in our class went to his house. The only exception was Haven, and we had a slumber party where we played with a Ouija board and tried to curse Adrian’s hair to fall out.

When I was thirteen, I tried hosting my first boy-girl party. This time, he let me have it, and I was having so much fun… until Adrian and the other Heirs showed up, uninvited, and I became an outcast at my own party.

I didn’t have a sweet sixteen because my mom was sick. That didn’t stop him from sending me a bouquet of flowers, signed with a heart and his initials, as though mocking me for turning sixteen without any fanfare.

At least, that’s how I interpreted the gesture back then. Now… I was just starting to see a different side of Adrian Heller only to realize that, no, I pinned him down perfectly now, and I was an idiot to think he could ever change.

That’s the worst part of sitting here, stewing over the last month.

I didn’t want to think that our relationship is—like it was back then—purely about sex.

That Adrian Heller was attracted to my body in a way that didn’t quite make sense to me, but when it comes to the person inside, he couldn’t care less about Loni.

This proves it.

I grab my phone, making a decision.

If he doesn’t want to celebrate my birthday, that’s fine.

I’ll celebrate it on my own.

It’s been a long time since I’ve given in to my petty side, but hell if I’m not enjoying it.

Living on my own at eighteen wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Having money and dad’s silent support was definitely a privilege that most people don’t have, but it was rough. I went from knowing everyone in town and being wary of all of them to being a new face without any baggage.

Once I realized that, it was super fucking freeing. The Order didn’t chase me after Harmony Heights… yet… and without my past following behind me like a big, black cloud, I could be anyone that I wanted without my real name weighing me down.

And Marie Howard could be a petty bitch once she was allowed to be.

Back home, once again Loni Dougherty—or, as my husband insists, Loni Heller —I struggled; my forced marriage and my magnetic pull toward my former bully definitely didn’t help. Tonight, though? I’m hurt enough that I let the petty take over.

Which is precisely why I decided to leave the house.

Except for a couple of walks when it cooled down a little, I haven’t really gone outside. It’s not that big a deal for me. In Bridgewater, heading downstairs to get my mail was a notable event. Hiding behind the front of Adrian’s home was no real adjustment at all.

Could I leave? That’s something that Adrian answered shortly after he moved me in. Of course I could. I wasn’t a captive. I wasn’t a prisoner. I was his wife… just a wife who’s SUV is conveniently still parked at my dad’s house.

If he thought that would trap me, he has his head so far up the Order’s ass that he forgets how the real world works.

I mean, it’s pretty damn obvious he doesn’t want me going anywhere, but to think that I can’t…

hey. When there’s a will, there’s a way, and I was super fucking willing to stick my middle finger up at Adrian however I could.

Well, no. That’s being a little too petty.

I respect his position in the Order, even if I don’t like it.

Cheating on him wouldn’t just embarrass him; it could be a death sentence for me if he petitions Jack Collins and uses my infidelity against me.

There aren’t any Used for the Offering. Oh, no.

Once we’re married to an Owed, that’s it—or else.

But ordering a ride and paying for the driver to bring me to the King’s Court, that’s perfect.