Page 40

Ash

I adjust my tie for the hundredth time, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I curse Blaise for fixing things between him and Jenna.

Okay, so I’m happy that they’re living in wedded bliss, but it’s left me the only one to marry Hannah O’Donnell.

Well, Phoenix could have done it, but I drew the short straw.

My brothers crowd around me in the small room, their chatter doing nothing to ease my distress. It’s not marrying a woman I’ve never met to help save my family that has me in knots. It’s betraying the woman I love by marrying someone else that is killing me.

"Stop fidgeting." Phoenix swats my hand away from my collar.

"Fuck off.”

Flint catches my eye in the mirror. “I think he needs a drink.”

Blaise quickly brings me one.

Phoenix doesn’t give a shit about my inner turmoil. “The O'Donnells are powerful allies. With them on our side, Hampton Kean won't stand a chance."

“Yes, I know,” I bite out. Knowing the reasons for this marriage doesn't fix what’s twisting me up inside. This marriage is about revenge, not romance, which is good. I learned ten years ago that love could kill you without actually taking your life.

“Getting married seems less dangerous than infiltrating the Keans like Flint and I did,” Blaise says.

"Fuck off." I run my hand through my hair, immediately regretting it as Phoenix sighs and steps forward to fix it.

I’d rather walk into the Kean mansion, which used to be my family home, and risk getting shot in the head than get married. But here I am, about to be married.

The truth is, I haven't let myself think about marriage since Meghan died in the fire that took my parents’ lives. She was supposed to be my wife. We had it all planned out. Now I'm marrying O'Donnell's daughter because we need his army more than I need my heart.

"Hannah's gorgeous," Flint says, handing me a boutonniere. "Wild red hair, green eyes?—"

"I don't care what she looks like. It’s only business.”

Phoenix raises an eyebrow. "You'll need to make it look real. O'Donnell expects grandchildren."

"Not happening." The words come out sharp enough to make my brothers step back. "I'll marry her. That's it. The marriage stays unconsummated."

"Ash…" Blaise starts.

"No." I cut him off. "I won't betray Meghan like that."

"She's gone, brother," Phoenix says gently. "She'd want you to move on."

The rage burns hot and fast. "You don't know what she'd want. She died in my bed because I wasn't there to save her. Because I was too busy playing video games with you assholes while the Keans set our house on fire."

Silence fills the room. We all remember that night. The smoke, the screams, the way our world burned down around us. But they don't understand. They didn't lose what I lost.

"I'll do what needs to be done for the family," I say, trying to rein in my rage. "But don't ask me for more than that. I won't share my bed with another woman. Not now, not ever."

The room is quiet until Phoenix checks his watch. "It's time.”

My brothers gather around me, their presence both comforting and suffocating. This is what we fought for, what we killed for, the chance to take back what's ours and make the Keans pay.

Blaise hands me another drink. I down it, then straighten my shoulders and nod. "Let's get this over with."

I walk down the hallway to marry Hannah O'Donnell, who initially was supposed to marry Ronan Kean. Instead, Blaise put several bullets in him. Of course, that was the plan all along. I just hadn’t realized that with Ronan gone, and John O’Donnell wanting a marriage to solidify the alliance, I’d be the one having to get married.

Phoenix keeps saying we're lucky O'Donnell agreed to the switch, that he'd rather align with us than the Keans. But standing here in this suit, about to marry a woman I've never met, it doesn't feel like luck. It feels like another sacrifice on the altar of revenge.

Ten years we've waited. Ten years of planning, hiding in the shadows. Now we're finally ready to step into the light and take back what's ours. All it costs is my freedom to choose whom I marry.

I remind myself that this marriage isn't about love. It's about power. Strategy. The final piece falling into place so we can destroy the men who murdered our parents. I can align myself with a wife without betraying Meghan as long as it stays strictly business, right?

I take my place at the altar. John O’Donnell, Hannah’s father, scrutinizes me. I manage a smile. To be honest, I doubt he cares much how I treat Hannah. The fucker was going to marry her off to Ronan, a shithead if there ever was one.

He nods and heads out to the vestibule of the tiny church. It’s a risk to marry in public. The Keans could severely knock out their competition if they showed up today. But Phoenix and John have assured us all that not even the Army could get to us.

The double doors open and John reappears with his daughter. Hannah steps into the opening and for a moment, I forget how to breathe. Flint is right. She’s stunning in ivory lace, her red hair a blazing halo around her face.

But what hits me hardest is how young she looks. Then I remember. She’s eighteen. Christ, she's barely more than a child.

My stomach twists with unease. At twenty-nine, I'm far too old for her. She should be going to college, living her life, not being married off to a broken man consumed by revenge.

Hannah lifts her chin as she walks toward me, green eyes bright with determination. There's no fear in her gaze, no hesitation, just pure, unwavering confidence that I can’t help but admire. After all, she’s being forced into this marriage as well.

Her father escorts her down the aisle, and when she reaches me, she takes my hand. Her palm is warm against mine, fingers threading through my own like she's done it a thousand times before. The gesture is so natural, so trusting, for a moment, I go with it. And then the guilt slices through me.

"Hi," she whispers, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

I try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. Up close, her youth is even more apparent, fresh-faced and glowing with life, while I feel ancient, weathered by a decade of hatred and loss.

The priest begins speaking, but all I can think about is how wrong it is for this vibrant young woman to be tied to someone as damaged as me. Someone who can't give her the love and devotion she deserves because I already love someone else.

The priest's words blur together as I stare straight ahead, refusing to look at the woman beside me. I wish I drank more earlier because the whisky I’ve had barely dulls my senses.

Hannah takes my hand for the ring exchange. Her touch sends an unwelcome jolt through my system. I repeat the words the officiant speaks. I slip the ring on her finger, all the while pretending this is some bad dream.

"You may kiss the bride."

I finally turn to face her, and my breath catches. Her red waves frame a heart-shaped face, and those green eyes… Christ, they're like emeralds.

Hannah tilts her chin up, waiting. I lean in, intending a quick brush of lips, an expected but passionless gesture. Instead, the moment our mouths meet, electricity crackles between us. Her lips are soft, yielding, and taste of mint. My body betrays me, responding instantly, craving more.

I jerk back, horror and desire warring inside me. Guilt crashes over me. Guilt for wanting another woman, guilt for betraying Meghan's memory.

The music plays, and thank fuck, we can get out of there.

Well, sort of. There is still a reception.

The minute we get into the car to take us to the O’Donnell home for the reception, I’m pouring a drink.

When I arrive at the reception, I make a beeline to the bar.

I’m desperate to numb this attraction before it destroys what's left of my sanity.

“Time for the happy couple’s first dance,” John announces. Happy couple?

The band strikes up a slow melody as Hannah steps into my arms for our first dance. I try to hold her at arm's length, maintaining as much space between us as the dance allows.

"You're a good dancer," she says, following my lead with natural grace. I’m acting like an oaf so it’s probably a surprise that I have basic dance skills.

"Basic training for any Mob boss's son." My voice comes out clipped.

She tilts her head, red curls bouncing. "And here I thought you might have learned for fun." Is she poking at me?

"Nothing about this is fun." The words slip out before I can stop them.

Her smile doesn't falter, though something flickers in those green eyes. "It could be, if you'd let it."

I focus on a point over her shoulder, counting steps. One-two-three, one-two-three. Anything to avoid looking at her directly. The scent of her perfume, something light and floral, threatens to break my concentration.

"You know, most men would be celebrating the partnership this marriage brings."

"I'm not most men."

"Clearly. But you could try being less… rigid." Her thumb traces a small circle on my shoulder. The intimate touch sends unwanted heat through my body.

I tighten my grip on her waist, stopping her movement. "Don't."

"Don't what? Try to connect with my husband?"

"This is a business arrangement. Nothing more."

She laughs, a bright, musical sound that draws too much attention.

But as I watch her, I sense she’s not really amused.

It’s more like she’s putting on a show, wanting others to think we’re getting along.

Is it for her father? For my brothers? Or for herself so she doesn’t have to feel like she’s a commodity her father just sold to my brother?

“I know this isn’t what either of us wanted, but that doesn’t mean we can’t find a way to make it work.”

The song ends, and I step back, dropping my hands like her touch burns. “I won’t hurt you. You can do whatever the fuck you want. But this marriage is in name only. It means nothing except for the alliance between our families.”

Without another word, I turn and walk away, leaving my new bride alone on the dance floor.

I drink too much, but luckily for me and this alliance, I hold my liquor well. Unfortunately, it’s not working to sooth away guilt and pain at betraying my one true love.

Finally, it’s time to go. Hannah and I leave. I’m forced to bring her to the honeymoon suite of the hotel her father owns.

Once inside, I loosen my tie and grab a pillow from the bed, heading for the couch across the suite. The leather cushions aren't ideal, but they're better than lying next to Hannah and fighting the pull she has on me.

"What are you doing?" Hannah exits from the bathroom where she’d gone to do whatever women do.

"Getting ready for bed." I don't turn around, focusing on arranging the pillow.

"On the couch? That's ridiculous. The bed is huge."

"I told you how this was going to be. I’m not going to fuck you.” I’m an asshole, I know, but I’m holding on by a thread. My heart is tearing up.

“Okay. But that doesn’t mean you have to sleep on the couch.” She steps between me and the couch, forcing me to look at her. The silk of her nightgown catches the low light, and my mouth goes dry. Fucking hell, she’s like a wet dream come to life, both angelic and sexy all at once.

"I understand that you don’t love me or find me attractive.”

Jesus, if she only knew the truth. It’s this attraction that requires me to avoid her. It’s not that I haven’t fucked in the last ten years. Mostly, I watch porn and jerk off. But on occasion, I’ve had a woman. A woman who didn’t make me feel anything except the pop of an orgasm.

But Hannah… something about her tugs at something inside me.

She reaches for my hand, and I let her take it, even though I shouldn't. She leads me to bed. “We can just sleep, Ash. Nothing more."

She’s like a Svengali. I find myself lying down on the bed.

The mattress dips as Hannah settles in beside me, and every nerve in my body ignites.

Part of me wants to give in, to let her chase away the shadows that have haunted me for ten years.

But Meghan's face flashes through my mind, and guilt slashes through my heart.

“Good night.” She gives me a sweet smile and then turns away from me. Her breathing evens out, soft and rhythmic in the darkness. She's close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from her body, though we're not touching.

I stare at the ceiling, hyper-aware of every small movement she makes, the rustle of sheets as she shifts.

Meghan used to sleep curled against my side, head tucked under my chin. The memory adds to the growing guilt. What would she think of me now, lying next to another woman? A woman whose very presence makes my skin tingle with awareness?

Hannah sighs in her sleep and rolls toward me. Her hand brushes my arm, and electricity shoots through my veins. My body responds instantly, hungry for touch after so many years of self-imposed isolation.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the attraction. I roll away, putting as much distance between us as the bed allows. But I can still feel her presence behind me, still smell her floral scent. Sleep is impossible.

I slip from the bed, careful not to wake her. I have to escape my own lust.

As I make my way to the couch, Meghan's face floats in my mind. I think of the ring I'd planned to give her that still sits in my desk drawer, a talisman to keep her near me. It’s all I have left of us.

I suck in a cleansing breath as I lie on the couch, steeling my resolve. I won’t let my libido get the best of me. No matter how much Hannah calls to me, I’ll resist.

I vowed to Meghan that I’d love her forever. I won’t break that promise. Never.

TO BE CONTINUED.