Page 18 of Filthy Little Regrets (Princes of NYC #2)

eleven

MACE

The sun has yet to fully set, ripples of purple and orange cloud cover the sky, and I take a deep breath of the fresh air.

There are only a few things I truly like about the Astor compound, and one of them is having such a large piece of property that the worst of NYC’s air pollution isn’t clouding around us.

Hands stuck in my pocket, I escort the girls to the main house, waiting for them to drill me with questions I know they were too polite to ask in front of my bride-to-be.

Our pace is intentionally slow as we cross the perfect green lawn.

None of us are in a hurry to get to the main house, and that all has to do with our father.

For Mom’s sake, I hope he’s in a good mood.

I have no intention of going inside tonight.

Seeing me after the story that broke on NYC Socialite might set him off.

He hates surprises, and me suddenly having a fiancée is a big one.

“So, that story was bullshit, right?” Not even twenty steps from my front door, Melody is the first to crack .

“Obviously,” Adalie murmurs. “How did you really meet Cassia?”

“Cassia and I actually went to high school together, and she’s a friend of a friend. But I meant what I said. She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. More than that, though, she’s smart.”

“Interesting,” Melody says, looking back at my house. “And she wants to marry you?”

I don’t like lying to them, but I don’t want them to see me as an evil monster. It’s not like I stole Cassia from her home. The lack of consent to marry is surrounded by complicated circumstances. Becoming my wife will keep her safe, but does she want to marry me?

Absolutely not.

“She’s agreeable,” I tell them, using what truth I can and omitting that her only other choice was a bullet to the head.

“Who said romance was dead?” Melody mutters.

“Do you think Dad will be okay with it?” Adalie asks. “She’s...different from who he would have picked.”

Adalie isn’t being vicious, only stating the facts.

Cassia didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in her mouth.

She never took etiquette lessons. She’s not uptight.

She may not fully understand the stupid politics of our world, but that’s why I like her.

I like that she doesn’t give two shits about kneeing me in the nuts, no matter how much it hurts.

“I don’t care if he doesn’t like her. He gave me the freedom to make the choice, and she’s the only one I want.

” It’s true, too. Out of all the women in the world, she’s the only one I can imagine being my wife, and maybe if I’m lucky, having my babies.

The archaic Astor family rule is meant to ensure someone will always inherit the estate, but that’s not why I want one.

Ever since I put that ring on her finger, all I want is that gorgeous woman’s belly swollen with my baby.

To see a mini version of her and me running around our yard, terrorizing Tony and the guards.

My lips twitch at the thought.

Adalie side-eyes me. “You look happy... Dad’s been asking you for years. Why did you finally do it?”

Too curious for her own good. They’d lose it if they realized why I took a wife.

Despite knowing that Dad is an abusive asshole, they’ve mostly been shielded from his ruthlessness.

Sure, they’re both in college like he demanded, but they have yet to understand he’d willingly trade them if it meant he’d gain a little more power.

He wanted to marry them off to the mafia, for fuck’s sake.

“I’m not getting any younger,” I say, grinning at her.

She holds my gaze, blinking, and for a few seconds, I think she’ll call me on the lie, but slowly, her lips tip into a smile. “I thought I saw graying hair.”

Laughing, I sling my arm around her and Melody. “Now, let me tell you how your big brother is going to destroy NYC Socialite.”

They listen to my plan with rapt attention, leaving the truth we’re all dancing around twenty feet behind us. Eventually, we won’t be able to avoid it. They’re too perceptive, Adalie especially, and soon enough, that bubble is going to pop.

It nearly bursts when we reach the main house and Dad steps out of the shadows, surprising us all. “I need to talk to your brother.”

Adalie sucks in a breath and Melody sighs, patting my arm and tugging Adalie toward the door.

“Come on, let’s go find a dessert.” Melody goes up the steps first, stopping in front of Dad and beaming at him. “Hi, Daddy.”

He nods at her and arches an eyebrow at Adalie. “You failed to mention you were having dinner at your brother’s house.”

My quiet sister lowers her gaze. “Sorry,” she murmurs, all the life that was radiating out of her only moments ago crushed with one simple reprimand.

I clench my fists but hold my tongue. If I try to say anything in her defense, he’ll only make her feel worse.

“Go inside,” Dad tells her, his focus cutting toward me. “Your brother and I need to talk.”

Melody glances back at me, chewing on her lip, but like me, she knows the path of least resistance is better for everyone. I can’t fault her for acting out of self-preservation. Adalie’s head is still ducked as they walk inside. I hate it.

“So,” he says, walking down the steps. “What’s this about you marrying white trash?”

I grind my teeth. “She’s not white trash.”

“When I said it didn’t matter, I meant it, but honestly, I thought you’d do better than some easy piece of ass.”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” I warn him.

He scoffs and stops in front of me, eyeing me. “You’re embarrassing the family.”

“How, exactly? You told me to get married, I’m getting married. Problem solved.”

“She must be good in bed,” he muses, sneering at me. “Maybe the slut would let me take her for a ride too.”

My fist catches him off guard, crashing into his face. He grunts and raises his hands, but I surge forward, knocking him to the ground and putting my foot on his throat.

“Mace!” Winston, my dad’s guard, shouts my name .

Dad holds up his hands, wheezing out a laugh. “There’s my monster.”

Ignoring his taunt, I dig my foot into his neck. “You might get away with treating me like shit, but if you call her a slut one more time, I’ll kill you,” I growl.

“You kill me and you go to jail.”

“Let him up,” Winston demands, giving me a wide berth as he circles us, gun pointed straight at my head. “Now, Mace.”

“You’re on the wrong side here, Winny.” I press my foot a little harder into my dad’s throat, and he grunts.

Winston scowls. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

A demented grin tears across my face, and I’m halfway to seeing how big his balls are when the door opens.

“Darius?” Mom’s soft voice rolls across the lawn. “What’s going on?”

My eyes fall closed, jaw clenching, and I relent, holding up my hands and taking two big steps away from my dad.

He clutches his neck and sits, coughing and giving me a bug-eyed look, his face tomato red. “You’re going to fucking regret that.”

Maybe, but no one talks about Cassia that way. Not him, not NYC Socialite. Not a fucking soul. As I back away, my eyes stray to my mom, who gasps and covers her mouth with her hand at the sight of my dad on the ground.

Guess I am a monster .

Frustration is vibrating through me when I get back to the house, and it grows when I spot a familiar pearl white Jaguar parked between my Range Rover and Valiant. My gaze narrows at the empty driver’s seat, an unusual burst of anger running through my veins like fire.

What the fuck is Crue doing in my house with my wife?

I shove the front door open, scowl at the echo of Cassia’s voice coming from the den, and storm toward them. Normally, I don’t care if Crue comes inside unannounced, but knowing he’s with Cassia and how prone he is to flirting? Yeah, that doesn’t fucking sit right with me.

I cut into the den and they both look up.

Cassia is sitting next to him on the couch, a whole cushion between them, but it could be an inch, for all intents and purposes.

Crue has one arm slung over the back of the couch, his lips tipped into a cocky smirk.

The amusement dancing in his gaze as he takes a long sip from his tumbler sets my teeth on edge. My heart jackhammers.

What the fuck is funny about this?

“What are you doing here?”

Cassia lifts an eyebrow. “Wow. What an entrance.”

My scowl finds her for a second, then returns to the man who has no right to sit so close to her. “What do you want?”

Crue’s smirk widens. “Just dropped in for a little visit. I didn’t realize you left this beautiful creature all alone.”

He toys with a strand of her hair. Cassia brushes his hand away and gives him a weird look. He winks at her. I see red. Fuck it. I’m going to kill him.

“Cassia, Crue and I need a moment alone,” I say between gritted teeth. My blood roars in my ears the longer he ogles her like she’s his next meal.

Her icy blue eyes clash with mine, widening slightly. “If I leave you, will there be bloodshed?”

“Probably,” I admit.

She crosses her arms. “Cool, then I’m staying. Besides, whatever you two have to say to one another can be said in front of me, right?”

Playing the marriage card already? My lips twitch at the defiant tip of her chin. I’m fucking screwed. There’s no way I can tell her no when she looks at me like that. “Fine. You can stay.”

Crue brushes his fingers along her shoulder.

“Crue?”

“’Sup, Mace?” He takes too long drawing his eyes away from her.

“Don’t fucking touch my wife.”

Cassia sucks in a breath. That’s right, baby. I’m the only one who gets to touch you.

Crue runs a hand through his dark strands, the stupid, smug grin growing wider. “Didn’t realize it was that type of relationship.”

“I assume you’re here for NYC Socialite?”

Suddenly growing serious, he leans forward, his eyes dead set on me. “Your little party trick is costing us a lot of money.”

“Hmm. Pity.” Does he really need his hand? If he doesn’t have a hand, he can’t touch Cassia.

“Ironically, it’s Rex Technologies that’s getting paid to help us fix a problem one of their executives created.”

Walking to the liquor cart, I pour myself two fingers of my favorite whiskey and take a sip. “Do you have proof?”

He laughs. “Fuck you, you know we don’t.”

“Sounds like a non-issue, then.”

“They’ll know it was you.”

I shrug. “I don’t care. They shouldn’t have posted that picture, and they definitely shouldn’t have insulted Cassia. Who runs it?”

Crue glances at her, this time with scrutiny, then returns his attention to me. “I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you that you’re going to make enemies.”

Releasing a heavy breath, I slam the rest of the whiskey back, hoping it’ll cool down my temper. “I think you missed the part where I said I don’t give a fuck. Don’t think I won’t destroy the board if they try to retaliate.”

Crue shakes his head. “You expect me to tell them that?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the P and dropping the glass onto the coffee table in front of the couch. “But I know you’ll do a better job monitoring stories that impact me and my wife. Are we done?”

“I guess so.” Crue looks at Cassia again. Curiosity is not a good thing to see in his gaze, and right now, he may as well be a cat.

My eye twitches.

“Good night, beautiful.”

This son of a bitch.

She rolls her eyes. “That smile doesn’t work on me, Crue.”

“Give it time.” He winks. Again.

My fingers curl into fists. Crue is one of my best friends, but I don’t like him flirting with her. He’s a ladies’ man, and I’ve seen too many women fall under his spell.

He finishes his drink and stands, tipping his head toward the front door. “Walk me out.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Crue passes by me, and it takes all my willpower to wait to punch him.

My gaze collides with Cassia’s. She watches me with narrow-eyed suspicion.

I lift a shoulder and follow Crue, waiting until he’s halfway down the hall before I grab his shoulder and spin him around.

He dodges the punch with his arm and slips away .

“You’ll have to do better than that, wolfy boy.”

With a growl, I lunge for him, landing a solid hit to his jaw. Crue grunts and staggers back. He dodges another fist and tosses a half-hearted one in my direction. I easily bat it away, backing him into the wall and using my forearm to pin him to it.

Crue’s wearing a demented smile. The shithead is enjoying seeing me lose control.

“Oh my god!” Cassia screeches when she appears in the hallway. “Let him go!”

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll let him go in a second.” I move my forearm, only to punch Crue in the ribs twice, hard enough to bowl him over, and while he’s out of breath, I kick the back of his leg, making his knee give out.

“Jesus, Mace,” he says with a laugh. “Why are you so mad?”

He knows why. Asshole.

“Don’t fucking touch my wife,” I say, giving him a solid shove that knocks him onto his back on the marble floor. Crouching next to his head, I watch as he struggles for air.

“Mace?” Cassia murmurs.

I look at her, and whatever she was going to say is lost in the face of my rage. She chews on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous. I’d never hurt her, but I think she knows that because, even with trepidation in her gaze, she stares me down.

I don’t regret making Crue aware of how serious I am about her. She’s off-limits, and if he thinks he can get away with flirting and touching her, he’s a dead man.

“It’s okay, Cassia,” Crue says, groaning as he sits up. “Mace had something important to tell me.”

Her forehead wrinkles. “That he’s irrationally jealous? ”

Crue shakes his head and grins at me. “Nah, that he’s fucking whipped.”

“Fuck you,” I mutter, offering him a hand.

He eyes me and tentatively accepts. I fake a punch, and he flinches, cussing, and I laugh. I yank him to his feet and hold his stare for a few seconds. Don’t touch her. Don’t flirt with her. Don’t fucking wink at her.

“You understand?”

Crue nods. “I got you, bro.”

“Good, because I’d hate having to kill you.” But I would. That, in itself, might be a problem. I’ve wanted her for so long, now that I have her, I might do terrible things to keep her.

He claps me on the shoulder. “I’m happy for you.”

“What is happening right now?” Cassia asks.

Crue and I share a knowing smile, and he nods at her, respecting the boundary I just laid down, before heading out. When the front door shuts, Cassia walks around me, looking at the space Crue vacated.

“What in the caveman was that?”

“He touched you,” I say with a shrug. “No one touches my wife.”

“One, I’m not your wife yet. Two, you’re unhinged. You know that, right?”

“I got my point across.”

“Did you need to hit him to do it?”

“Yes.” I pause for a second. “Probably should have castrated him.”

She scoffs, shakes her head, and walks toward the stairs. “Great, I’m marrying a lunatic,” she mutters to herself.

A smile cuts across my face. I love it when she walks away.