Of all the sins piled on my life, that was never one of them.
“Let go of me,” I hissed, shoving at his arm.
His fingers slid around my throat. Gripping the back of my head, he tugged me forward. His gloved hand wrapped around my shoulders as he crushed my body to his. His lips found mine, hard, bruising, all teeth and heat. The kiss was violent with need, like he was trying to steal my breath to prove I was still alive. I tasted leather and blood and him, felt the scrape of his stubbleagainst my skin, the pressure of his grip forcing me to stay right there.
And damn me, I didn’t pull away.
I kissed him back just as fiercely, mouth open, desperate, my hands fisting his jacket like I could anchor him to me. It wasn’t tender. It wasn’t romantic. It was fear and anger colliding, the kind of kiss that comes after thinking you might lose someone. When he finally broke it, his forehead pressed to mine, both of us breathing hard and shaking as the raw emotions swirled between us.
“Get out of the car,” he growled.
“Why?” I taunted. “So you can storm off, feeling self-righteous in your delusions?”
“I said, get the fuck out of the car, Gabriella!” Liam shoved me back. “Don’t you see what you do to me?”
I did.
It was the same madness that coursed through my veins. I wanted to launch across the car, tear his shirt from his body, and score him with my nails. With my teeth. He needed to know that I might have a past, but it was so far from what he thought that it was almost comical how wrong he was.
But if I told him, he might forbid me ever making contact with my past again. Being killed would be easier than locked away.
I shot out of the car and slammed the door.
That thunderous blue gaze followed me into the house. My husband was possessive. I was his. A pretty little wife that he didn’t allow anyone else to touch. The claim was right there, shadowing me even when he wasn’t around.
I had no idea how I was going to manage it. For now, I needed to juggle my murderous father, keep his plans for making me a widow in check, and keep the insanity of my jealous husband at bay.
But as I poured myself a whiskey, not caring that it wasn’t even ten a.m., I realized that keeping the information of the tracker to myself still wasn’t the best course of action.
“I’ll find a way to tell him.” I raised the cup in a salute and downed the liquid fire. Storm pranced into the kitchen, wagging his tail and nudging my calf. At least he wasn’t judging me for my life choices.
Chapter 31 – Liam
Dinner was loud. And long. My mother had always treated silence like a personal failure, so she filled every gap with a healthy dose of craic. Laughter, stories, and questions were shouted across the table. Plates clattered. Someone argued about politics. Someone reached across me for bread without asking. It was chaos. Familiar chaos.
I would have enjoyed the normalcy of it. Da looked spry, even after the grueling treatments this week. Doc Ryan and Nurse Cara Ryan sat at the end of the table, clearly at ease. If they were worried, or watching my father like I did, I would have worried. A group of family friends filled the other seats. Everyone was having a grand time.
Andshewas smiling.
Not the professional smile she wore in public. Not the tight one she used when she was choosing her words. This was easy. Open. She leaned toward Ma, laughing at something that wasn’t even funny, her shoulders loose, her hand relaxed around her wine glass.
I watched it happen and felt something ugly twist in my chest.
Gabriella never smiled with me. We’d been married long enough now that it should have happened. I waited, but it never flashed in my direction. With me, her guard was always fucking there. Like she knew I wasn’t worth it. My mother earned it without trying.
The saints knew how fucking hard I tried.
Jealousy slithered through me, sharp and mean. It sat heavy in my gut. I had bled for her. Killed for her. Burned half the world to keep her breathing, as I hunted for the source of the assassination attempts. And still, I didn’t earn that smile. Still, she didn’t relax like that when she looked at me.
Ma reached over and touched my wife’s cheek, said something soft and teasing. Gabriella laughed again, warm and unfiltered, and it felt like a punch. I looked down at my plate, jaw tight, hands curled around my fork like it had offended me.
I didn’t blame my mother.
I blamed myself.
No woman as beautiful as Gabriella wanted to be married to a devil like me.
“How about we clear the table and play cards?” Doc waggled his bushy red eyebrows.
