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“These are not your average wedding stories.Kitty doesn’t exactly do average anyway so that shouldn’t even be an assumption you have of this.” – Morgan, Goodreads reader
And now a word from Colin Black:
I’m not going to fucking hit her or anything—at least not with a fist. She isn’t a man. Men get punched, women get spanked. Or paddled. Or cropped. Or caned. I’m not a complete monster.
I pick up the phone on my nightstand. It doesn’t dial out. I’ve long given up my landline for the ease and convenience of my cell. The phone is wired up as an intercom system to dial downstairs now.
Jeffrey picks up on the third ring. “Yes, Sir?”
“I need some ointment and bandages to tend to the girl’s injuries.”
“I’ll bring them up right away.”
Jeffrey has been with me for the last ten years. He’s a man of few words, no questions, and no judgment. He’s seen the dirtiest of my dealings both in blood and in sex, and he hasn’t once flinched. Frankly that makes me wonder about him, but there was nothing concerning in his background check.
Half the business I do these days is off the books. I’ve somehow gotten into shit in the past five years that would shock the mob. And I’ve started behaving like a mob boss in how I deal with my problems. More than one person has conveniently disappeared after threatening me with multi-million dollar lawsuits. I just don’t like threats. They bother me. Especially threats that involve me having less money.
It’s definitely not how my father handled the business, but I’ve become addicted to the power of it all and the feeling of invincibility. I’m either a sociopath or an adrenaline junkie, possibly some combination of both. I’ve taken things many steps farther than my father ever did, both by dealing with my problems in unconventional and illegal ways, and by my sexual habits which run equally dark.
If Soren were any other person in the world, his decision to fuck with my business dealings—however inadvertent—would have cost him his life. Instead, I decided to be more petty and less lethal. Besides, I try not to shit where I eat, and Soren isn’t far removed enough from me to keep suspicion at bay if he turned up missing.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned with my own thirst for other people’s blood and the guilt that never materializes over that reality. I sometimes wonder if there is a me inside this hollow shell at all. I know I’m not normal inside, but maybe I just have the balls to do what other men only fantasize about.
Maybe the problem is that I think life is a game. I’ve always thought this way. There’s a sort of unreal quality about everything in the world to me, and I often think of others as mere characters in a virtual world—characters in my own playground, as if they exist only to move my story forward—as if they don’t have their own personalities or desires; it’s mere window-dressing, the shallow backstory of extras.
But hey, maybe that’s what happened. Maybe technology advanced to the point that I really am playing a game set inside an earlier timeline. Yes, I know how that sounds. I know what it says about me. Crazy? Narcissist? I don’t know. But I’m not right inside. I know that much. And isn’t admitting you have a problem the first step?
Shouldn’t I get some sort of pin or ribbon for this?
And here I am, crossing yet another line. Initially I’d thought to get Soren to loan his blushing new bride to me, but he came up with something better… something sweet, that I can keep forever… with conditions.
That something sweet is of course the beautiful and innocent Macy Laine. The condition Soren gave me was that I had to secure her future. Legally. I had to marry her. From his twisted perspective this somehow protects her and alleviates his guilt because she’ll be provided for in a lifestyle she could have only dreamed about before. From my perspective it just seals her doom. Not all money is good money. And I am most definitely not good money.
But a wife looks good to the stockholders. If I’m going to have a body count, I need to look as normal and respectable on the outside as possible. And nobody will make me look more normal and respectable than Macy.
This girl is so innocent and sweet, she doesn’t even have so much as a traffic ticket on her record. I couldn’t resist the urge to taunt her, to suggest that I might deflower her, use her, train her to all my dark and twisted desires, then return her to the man she’s meant to marry.
Of course that was a lie. She’s mine.
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