"Where do you think you're going, baby doll?"
The voice hits me like a physical force—deep, rumbling, and undeniably awake. I freeze, one hand extended toward the door handle.
I turn slowly, and find myself pinned by the darkest eyes I've ever seen. Vance is propped up on one elbow, sheet pooled around his waist revealing a chest so broad and muscled it belongs on a billboard. Tattoos wrap around his torso, disappearing beneath the sheets. But it's his face that stops my breath—handsome in a rough, dangerous way, with a scar cutting through one eyebrow and lips curved in a smile that's equal parts amusement and predatory intent.
"I—" My voice fails me. My heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can see it through my dress.
His eyes drop to the ring on my finger, then back to my face. His smile widens, revealing white teeth that somehow remind me of a wolf.
"Running out on your husband already?" he asks, voice rough with sleep but clear of any hangover. "That's not very wifely of you."
And just like that, the reality of my situation crashes down on me like a ton of bricks. This is real. This is happening. And from the look in those dark eyes, getting out of this mess isn't going to be as simple as I hoped.
two
. . .
Vance
She lookslike a startled doe caught in headlights, frozen there with her hand on the door. My cock hardens instantly at the sight of her in that tight little black dress, her hair all messed up from my hands last night. The wedding band on her finger catches the light, marking her as mine. Fuck, she's perfect—those big innocent eyes, that tiny waist flaring into hips made for gripping, and those full tits that filled my palms just right. My wife. The thought sends a surge of possessiveness through me so strong I have to clench my fists in the sheets to keep from lunging at her.
"I—I think there's been a mistake," she stammers, pressing herself against the door like she might phase through it if she tries hard enough.
A mistake. That's cute.
"No mistakes, baby doll," I say, voice still rough from sleep. "Just the best fucking decision I've ever made."
I can see the confusion on her face, the wheels turning as she tries to piece together the night. She won't be able to. Those fancy cocktails I kept ordering for her made sure of that. But me? I didn't have a drop. Not a single fucking sip.
I remember every second of last night with crystal clarity. The moment she walked into that casino bar in her innocent black dress, looking wide-eyed and out of place among the sharks and predators of Vegas. The way she bit her lip when she was thinking. How her laugh made my chest tighten. The slight tremble in her hands when she caught me staring.
"But we…we were drinking. I don't even remember the ceremony," she protests, her fingers twisting the ring like it might burn her.
"I wasn't drinking," I tell her, enjoying the shock that widens those big eyes. "Stone cold sober the whole night."
"What?" The word comes out as a whisper.
I sit up fully now, letting the sheet pool at my waist. I watch her eyes dart to my chest, my arms, the tattoos that mark every victory and battle I've won. At thirty-seven, my body tells a story of violence and power. The president for the Devil's Claim MC doesn't get to this age without collecting scars—and without learning to take what he wants when he wants it.
"You walked into that bar, and it was like getting hit by a fucking freight train," I tell her, my voice dropping lower. "One look at that sweet smile, those curves...I knew you were mine. Forever."
Her mouth opens, closes, opens again. "You can't just...that's not how it works."
I laugh, the sound rumbling from deep in my chest. "That's exactly how it works in my world, baby doll. I see something I want, I take it."
"So you...what? Got me drunk and tricked me into marriage?" Her voice rises an octave, a flush spreading across her cheeks.
"No tricks. Just helped you relax enough to do what you wanted to anyway." I swing my legs over the side of the bed, standing to my full height. I'm completely naked, and I see hereyes widen further as she takes in all six-foot-six of me. "You couldn't keep your hands off me, Wynter. Begged me to take you to the chapel yourself."
That's stretching the truth a bit. She was flirty, handsy, and definitely interested, but the chapel was my idea. The way she said yes, though, all breathless and eager when I suggested it...that was real enough.
"This isn't legal," she insists, but there's uncertainty in her voice. "We were—I was intoxicated."
"Got the marriage license right here." I reach for the bedside table, pulling out the official document. "All signed and notarized. Legal as it gets in the state of Nevada."
She shakes her head, hand on the doorknob now. "I'm leaving. We can...we can sort this out later. Get it annulled or?—"
I move faster than she expects. For a big man, I've always been quick. In three strides I'm across the room, my palm slamming against the door above her head, keeping it shut. She gasps, her back pressed against the wood as I tower over her.
