Page 5 of Give It a Day (Song-Smith #1)

Kayla

Fucking leather tights and stupid heels! Why am I not always dressed in clothes that will let me outrun a sexy, six-foot supermodel-looking prince of crime? How ridiculous of me to not be in the proper attire for that…

Damon caught me in a matter of seconds. I didn’t even make it all the way down the church steps.

“Tsk tsk,” he whispers in my ear as he holds me firmly in his flexing arms. “And here I thought you’d put up more of a fight.” His grip is powerful but not painful. “You really shouldn’t have run.”

“I can fight, asshole!” I shout as I squirm against his hold, feeling his warm and firm body pressed against my back.

His hot breath hits my neck, making my spine shiver.

For good or bad reasons? I don’t know and I don’t have time to think about why my traumatic childhood and life of crime have messed me the hell up, because I’m busy kicking my legs in the air and screaming at him angrily to “Put me the fuck down!”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling from his chest to my back. His surprisingly strong arms tighten around me—okay, sleeper bod—pinning my arms to my sides as he effortlessly carries me away from the church.

“Save your energy, little bird.” His voice sounds like a mix of amusement and authority.

So damn hot, when it really, really shouldn’t be.

Distracted by him again, I shake my head and remember what I’m trying to do here.

“Wait, wait, where are you taking me!” I’m still squirming in his arms, but I’m panicking as he takes me further and further away from the church.

“Somewhere private,” he says, opening a nearby car’s door and unceremoniously dumping me onto its backseat. He follows me in, shutting the door behind him and sealing me off from the world outside.

I suppose this isn’t so bad. A smaller space with just Damon. Maybe I can put some sense into him, and then he can help us drive away from this stupid wedding.

“Fine, what?” Shit, that came out of my mouth more mean than nice.

He settles into the seat beside me, one arm resting across the top, then he faces me with a knowing smirk playing on his pretty lips.

“You’re awfully confident for someone in your current situation,” he comments, his voice smooth and measured.

So irritating. “Though I must admit, your attitude is quite—”

“Appropriate?” I frown.

“Captivating,” he corrects, leaning forward slightly, closer to me. He’s so much more handsome up close. Goddamnit. “Tell me, are you always this stubborn, or am I getting special treatment?” His annoyingly charming smirk spreads wider on his equally annoying handsome face.

“Listen, I’ve been running my family business behind the scenes since I was much younger. I’m a stubborn little shit.” I glare at him. “And I don’t enjoy being told what to do.”

He chuckles, the sound low and amused. “Stubborn, huh?” He reaches out, his fingers brushing against my chin as he tilts my head up to look at him.

Damn it, even in the back of a car with shitty lighting, he looks so goddamn good.

His dark gray, stormy eyes pierce right through me.

His perfectly tousled black hair, his chiseled devilishly handsome face, and that jawline that could cut like a diamond.

He’s so lucky I don’t bite his fingers off of my face because I plan on riding them when I get the chance.

“I think I’m starting to understand why your parents are so eager to see you married off,” he says, daring to taunt me.

My jaw clenches as I smile bitterly at him. “For someone who’s also in the same exact shitty situation, you should know if you still intend to make me marry you…I’ll make your life a living hell.”

His eyes gleam with a hint of mischief and something else, something darker, as he looks into my eyes. “Oh, I’m counting on it,” he says, almost threatening. “In fact, I’ll make sure to give you plenty of opportunities to make my life a living hell.”

This dude is so weird. I can’t predict him. One moment, he’s trying the honest angle. The next, he’s saying stuff like this. It’s making me incredibly curious about him, when I should be kicking and screaming. I furrow my brows, frowning. “Why would you want that from your future wife?”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear as he speaks in a whisper. “Because every time you fight back, every time you try to defy me…it turns me on.”

Damn, he’s making me blush. And I don’t know why my heart’s beating so hard right now.

Is it because a hot guy just filthily hit on me?

Or is it because the man I’m being forced to marry is speaking rudely to me?

Please be the latter. Please, Kaye, be mad, not turned on.

Do not develop a crush. I repeat, do not develop a crush.

Please, heart, you sicko, behave . And you too, dripping wet pussy. Stop it, you two.

Clearly, my body is conspiring against me, while I’ve become speechless at his words, looking up at him. I’ve almost forfeited all the power in this situation to him. To this stupidly, unfairly handsome dick.

A smirk returns on his lips as he gazes over my face and studies the way I’m reacting to his words. He knows he’s gotten under my skin, hasn’t he? And I bet he’s loving every second of it.

“Cat got your tongue, little bird?” he asks. The fucking cherry on top.

Hearing that nickname again, I grind my teeth. “The name’s Kayla . I’m not your little bird , and I sure as hell never will be.”

“Kayla,” he corrects himself, playing nice, but his smirk widens. He’s up to something. “I like how feisty you get when you’re frustrated. It’s cute.” He leans back as he mockingly says, “Little bird.”

“Dick.” I smirk back. “A perfect pet name for you, don’t you think? Dick ?”

He laughs a deep, rumbling sound. My smirk falters as his laughter simmers. “God, you’re something else. I like you, Kayla. You’ve got fire. It’s refreshing.”

Well, I didn’t expect him to laugh at the insult I hurled at him.

Is my glare not menacing enough? I should really work on that. Maybe I’ve been cosplaying as an inconspicuous young woman for far too long.

But to my surprise, his laugh eases my tension. My shoulders marginally lower. “Damon, this situation we’re in…it’s ridiculous. I don’t know if I can go through with it.” I opt for honesty, just as he did. Sometimes, that can work in someone’s favor.

His expression darkens, the playful mood dropping like heavy pelts of rain, landing right on me. Damn . “Let me make one thing completely clear, Kayla. Whether you like it or not, we are getting married. The only choice you have is how easy or difficult you make this entire thing for yourself.”

So honesty is not working in my favor. But I sigh, wanting to so badly confess my inner feelings and thoughts since there’s nothing to lose now. “I understand, but know that I’ll hate every moment of this marriage…”

“And that’s perfectly fine,” he says, with a surprisingly gentle voice. He reaches out and tilts my chin up with his steady fingers—while mine are starting to tremble—making sure I meet his gaze. “You don’t have to love me, Kayla. Hell, you don’t even have to like me.”

I tense up as he touches me but I keep my gaze on him, looking into his eyes, wondering why he would sign up for this. “Why would you want a future wife like that?”

His eyes search for something in mine, then he shrugs nonchalantly. “Because a wife who hates me is a wife who won’t try to control me, who won’t try to change me, who won’t smother me.”

I nod, understanding that well. I don’t want to be controlled either, or changed or smothered.

Though, I sure do want company. It’s been awfully lonely, running an empire with my parents, who have each other, while I have no one .

And it’s not like I can even go looking for love with the dangerous lifestyle I have, so now an arranged marriage where my future husband and I will hate each other sounds better than a lonely nothing . How fucking sad.

My shoulders sag, feeling defeated. I know I should still try to run, but how? It feels inevitable that this wedding would happen. Should happen. For our families’ benefit, for… my benefit.

He continues, his voice low and even. “And besides, having a wife who hates me makes our arrangement much simpler. No expectations, no demands, no drama. Only two people existing in the same space, tolerating each other for the sake of appearances and for both of our family businesses to thrive.”

“But what about love, Damon? Don’t you want that from someone you’ll be tied to?” I do, but that’s a wild dream, one that doesn’t come true for criminals who are knee-deep in dealing with dark matters. Blood, blood, blood . Knee-deep in blood.

His expression hardens, and he drops his hand from my chin. “Love?” He scoffs, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Love is a fairy tale, Kayla. It doesn’t exist in marriages like ours. Our marriage is a business transaction, nothing more.”

I furrow my brows. “If our marriage is merely a business transaction, then I want to pursue love outside of it.”

If I could ever find that. My mouth is letting out any unfiltered thought at this point, finally having the freedom to be heard, even if it’s by the man I’m being forced to marry for purely criminal business purposes.

But it feels so good, so freeing to talk to someone who I may not like but who understands the criminal life I’ve had to live.

Damon’s had no choice on these matters either, though he’s more determined to fulfill any requirements to keep his family business afloat.

His eyes flash with an emotion that might be anger or something else he quickly suppresses.

I’m not able to tell with how quickly it leaves his face.

“You’d have a loveless marriage with me, but you want to find love outside of it?

You’d be my wife, live under my roof, share my name, but not my bed? ”