I stare out at the beach, unseeing as my mind’s eye conjures Elena’s image from this morning when she tossed back the sheets and bared herself to me. Her come-fuck-me hair, flushed cheeks, and the way she swayed her hips.
I bite down on my lip, stroking myself faster. Imagining her bent over, that perfect ass in the air, and taking her from behind is all I need to finish.
Cum spurts in the air, spattering my shirt and coating my fist. I don’t stop until I’ve expelled every drop.
What a mess. I clean myself up, tugging off my shirt and tossing it in the laundry hamper. Accidentally, I catch sight of my bare chest in the full length mirror.
I cringe.
Walking toward it, I force myself to look at the damage and the tattoos that attempt to cover the worst of it. But I know what’s beneath them.
The stab wounds left short, white marks across my abdomen. They’re crisscrossed with shallower, longer scars from the sweeping cuts of the lashings. My left side is a mass of melted flesh intermixed with skin grafts from when I was doused in gasoline and set on fire.
That pain was the worst. I remember the acrid scent of my flesh burning with a vividness I wish I could forget. But six years isn’t long enough for those memories to fade. In fact, I doubtthey ever will. One night of terror changed my life forever. Now, I have to spend the rest of my life living in its aftermath.
Resolve hardens my heart. I’ll never be at the mercy of a woman again.
Never.
Not that Elena could ever want a beast like me. Who could ever find this wreck attractive or desirable?
My gaze flicks up to meet my eyes in the mirror. But they don’t only belong to me, they are the same pale blue as my brother’s were. Those eyes, and the matching birthmark on my elbow–that’s obscured by a spider web tattoo–are constant reminders of his betrayal.
My ex’s treachery was horrible, but my brother’s part in all of it was even worse. I lost a part of my soul that day.
Turning away, I change into a new T-shirt, and I zip up my jeans.
Where the fuck is my wife? Then I remind myself that I don’t care. She’s on this island, not going anywhere. She’ll be back when she wants, and I don’t give a fuck that she’s not by my side.
I groan, raking my fingers through my hair. Hell on earth. That’s what this week is shaping up to be and we’re not even twenty-four hours into it yet.
My phone rings, and I immediately answer. “Tell me it’s urgent and I need to come back to New York immediately.”
Wolfe, my right hand man, chuckles. “Honeymoon going that well, huh? Or did you already kill the Italian bitch and you just need help burying the body?”
I bristle at him callingmywifea bitch. Then remember that’s the phrase we’ve always used when referring to the woman I’d marry. I shake off my unreasonable anger. “No. Unfortunately the Italian bitch is still alive and well.”
“That’s too bad.”
I murmur my agreement. “You and I both know I can’t kill her without the Italians getting all bent out of shape about it. But I don’t think they know what they’ve saddled me with. This one isnota meek little thing. She’s a walking, talking bull-headed disaster. With a temper like a honey badger.”
“A honey badger?”
“Yeah. Broc meala. They’re aggressive little buggers. Better to avoid them at all costs.”
Wolfe laughs—a rarity. “Sounds to me like you’ve met your match.”
“Don’t even start.” I rub the back of my neck. “Why did you call?”
“I know how you get, so I just wanted to tell you that everything is fine here. Quiet. Business as usual with minimal bloodshed.”
I grunt. “Good. Keep everyone in line until my return, especially Finn and Kody. You know how they can get without direct supervision.”
“You got it, boss. We’re all anxiously waiting for you to get back so we can start working with the Italians. This is going to mean big business for us.”
“No shit. Why else would I agree tomarryone of them?”
“I don’t judge, but I know you like punishing yourself?—”
