I can’t marry him. I barely know him.
He’s in the goddamn mafia…
Chapter Twenty-Three
Flynn
“She’s pissed,” Kian mutters as Kaden hauls her down the aisle. She is a feral kitten, five-three of pure hate and violence, and I fucking love it.
“Let me go!” she screams, kicking wildly at the air like she could gut him. Kaden towers over her, unbothered. I smile.
She whips her head toward me the second they reach the altar. “Flynn! What the hell—” Her voice cracks, cheeks flushed crimson, hair a wild halo of snarls.
“Just do as you’re told, trouble.” I lean in close; she snaps her teeth at my nose, barely missing.
“Declan,” she pleads, twisting in Kaden’s iron grip.
“It’s for your protection,” Declan says. It only fuels her rage.
“Protection? From whom? The stalker hasn’t shown up.” She jabs a finger at me. “He’s in the mafia. And so are you. How the hell is this protection?” She tries to pinch Kaden’s arm, nails scraping skin.
I nod. Kaden shoves her forward. She stumbles on the heels, but I’m already there, arms snapping around her waist, yanking her flush against my chest. She gasps, dark eyes blazing up at me, innocence drowned in fury. Hernipples are hard points against my shirt through the thin dress, betraying her fury with every ragged breath.
“I’ll explain later,” I whisper against her ear. She scoffs.
“I’m not marrying you, Brady.” The snarl vibrates through her ribs into mine.
“Yes, you are. You’ll be Mrs Brady, whether you like it or not.” I hold her stare and wink. Her nostrils flare.
She curses, tries to knee me. I drag her to the front, arms locked around her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides. Her toes barely skim the floor.
“You can start,” I tell the priest. He nods, throat bobbing. Sweat beads on his brow, crucifix trembling in his grip.
He begins. I tune him out. She keeps cursing, breath hot on my neck. I lean to her ear. “You’re in a chapel, trouble. Stop fucking cursing.”
She gets louder. I clamp my hand over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air. “Stop, or I won’t let you breathe.”
The priest falters, staring.
“Keep going,” Declan orders, voice low. The man resumes, words trembling.
She thrashes, teeth scraping my palm. The corner of my mouth lifts. She’d rather black out than obey.
Her body sags heavier. Kian and Connor trade glances. I roll my eyes, ease my hand down just enough for her nose to flare, sucking frantic breaths. My palm stays sealed over her lips.
“Flynn.” Declan nods toward the priest.
“Do you, Flynn Brady, take Autumn Glass as your wife?”
The words hit differently than I expected. I knew I had to get married eventually, have kids, and leave a legacy. Marry some rich woman I never cared for. But her? The thought of another man breathing near her makes me want to torch the country.
I’d burn the fucking world for her.
“I do.” I don’t look away. A single tear slides down her cheek. I lean in, lick it off her skin, slowly. “Fuck that taste? That’s you breaking for me.”
“Do you, Autumn Glass, take Flynn Brady as your husband?”
She screams under my hand, the muffled “No” clear as a gunshot.
