Page 8 of The Mafia’s Bride (The Women of the Mafia #1)

Usually, this hall is locked to keep the drunks away. It’s my only escape if the club is ever under attack. I’ll have to put a bullet into whoever is slacking on their job.

Regardless, I can’t be too mad at the turn of events. After the shit day I’ve had with the informant, this is a welcomed reprieve. I watch their mouths clash together, feminine purrs echoing around in the relative silence.

The one against the wall is a pretty enough blonde, thin as a board in a pink eyesore dress.

Her skirt is crumpled at her hips, bare pussy gleaming under the emergency lights.

I lean against the wall, casually enjoying as the other woman plays along her seam, fingers curving and plunging in earnest.

Fuck , I shouldn’t watch. But they’re right here, out in the open, waiting for someone to walk in on them.

And it’s been so long since I’ve had the pleasure of experiencing this kind of action. I’ve always liked to be an active participant but watching after the night I’ve had? I’ll take a win when I can get one.

It doesn’t take long before the blonde is gasping with her orgasm, knees shaking and clenching as wave after wave assault her. Not bad. The other woman makes quick work of it, though lacking the passion I like to see.

Before I can say anything, or adjust myself— fuck am I hard —Barbie spins the other woman into the wall, hiking her skirt skyward.

The blonde nips the redhead’s neck, tongue flicking over her pale skin, over the three freckles that sit on her right breast. My eyes narrow, something familiar about their placement. Like I’ve seen them before, on another redhead.

She moans lowly, a sultry mewl and my body jolts, recognition hitting my chest like a fucking bullet. Even under the terrible lightening, unable to make out more than a few details, I know that voice.

I hear it in my goddamn nightmares, taunting me, lashing me with lustful spite. I still remember the gleam of fight in her eyes when I questioned her attempts to pick me up at the Wharf.

That fight—that fire—made the gold in her emerald eyes glow like the sun.

I step closer, transfixed.

Red hair. Ruby painted lips. Those dangerous curves. The blonde isn’t my type, but the redhead – Sloane fucking O’Brien – is a scenic highway along the coast. Enough for a man to hold on to while he loses himself into her essence, begging for a sharp word.

I barely had a few moments with her, and I’ve been dying for more.

And she’s my fiancée.

The blonde’s fingers are getting dangerously close to the apex of Sloane’s creamy thighs. And they part, just enough, with want that turns my vision red.

Every inch of her is mine.

I don’t get jealous, but the idea that this woman might have what is mine, before me… well. That won’t do.

Reaching forward, I yank the blonde away. “That’s enough, Barbie.”

Both women startle in alarm and Sloane grasps her skirt, lowering it with shaking hands. But I see the pause, the delay. Her reactions are slow.

“Who the fuck are you?” The blonde gasps, holding on to Sloane’s hand.

Rationally, I shouldn’t care nor should this vice grip of jealousy surround my heart at seeing how easily Barbie touches Sloane. They obviously know each other—and well for the simple fact they were two seconds away from fucking in my club.

This isn’t a real marriage, just a deal between two families, but I see how blown Sloane’s eyes are, the silly grin on her face like this is a giant joke.

She might never want me to touch her, never allow it. But I’m not going to let someone take advantage of her in this state. Not when she’s going to be part of my family—and I protect my family.

“The owner.” I yank her away, her twig legs buckling under my strength. I position Sloane at my back, one hand holding to her hip to keep her from pitching forward. “How much did you give her?”

“What?” Barbie frowns, confused. “That’s not any of your business.”

“It’s my business when you’re doing drugs in my club,” I bare my teeth, taking one menacing step toward her. “Now let’s try this again. How much?”

She shrugs, lips pouting. “Just one pill, it’s not a big deal. This is normal for her.”

Glancing back to my fiancée, I see how she slumps, heels sliding out from under her. Mio Dio , it was only one pill. And she’s reacting like this? The stuff we push isn’t for the faint of heart .

“Out. Now.” I need to get Sloane upstairs, away from this parasite. At least somewhere safe.

I honor my obligations. Including caring for Ace’s little menace of a sister.

Barbie swallows, holding out her hand to Sloane. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Sloane just giggles, unmoving.

“No, just you.”

She looks as if she’ll protest, then thinks better of it, cursing under her breath.

Glaring at her retreating form, I make it a point to remember her. If she can leave Sloane with a viable stranger, she’s not someone I want around my wife.

“Sloane,” I say, turning just as she falls forward. Her head slams into my chin, clipping her and rattling my teeth. Blood blooms on my tongue.

Palming my hand on her head, I hold her still, rubbing my jaw. Her eyes have closed, the drugs finally taking over her body. Soon, she’ll pass out.

Right on cue, she begins to fall and I grab, swinging her up into my arms. Her weight is a distant thought as her head falls into the crook of my shoulder and neck, like she belongs there.

The soft scent of roses drifts over me and I instinctively inhale.

Glaring down at the prone woman, I shake my head. “You’re a goddamn menace, woman.”