Little does Simone know, the entire house, except for a few select rooms, is rigged with cameras.
Everything she says and does is under surveillance.
I check my phone. She’s moping around the garden outside, her arms wrapped around herself like she’s cold. Her dark hair falls over her slumped shoulders, her entire aura dejected.
I pocket the phone and keep walking.
The truth is, this first week of marriage, I’ve been avoiding being home.
I resent the fact I’m now married. And I resent even more that I’m so damn attracted to a wife who hates me. A part of me hates her too, for interrupting my freedom and solitude as a bachelor.
When I wasn’t married, there were no expectations of me except to run the buttonmen—what the Irish Mob calls our enforcers—and collect cash from all our rackets.
But now that I’m married, it’s like I’m the new Lochlan. I’m no longer just the spare son. I’m the son expected to produce for the family.
It’s a hell of a lot of sudden responsibility.
But if I’m being honest, I’ve found it enjoyable getting under Simone’s skin. She hates me so damn much I’ve leaned into it.
Originally, I’d planned to let her sleep in her own room. It seemed easier that way since I’ve got no interest in having a wife and this marriage was forced on us both. But since she was so fucking disobedient, I decided to force her to share a room with me as husband and wife.
I make her endure my company in our marital bed because I know she hates every single second of it. I’ve put her on a strict schedule to further torment her.
Though it’s not like she’s the only one being tortured.
Waking up next to her warm, soft body every morning. The way she curls into herself in sleep, one hand tucked under her cheek. Watching how her little nightie dresses ride up her bare thighs, exposing smooth brown skin. Remembering how amazing her pussy felt wrapped around my cock on our wedding night.
She was so fucking tight. So wet and hot and silky from the inside.
I’ve had my share of women. But this was different. Simone was like heaven clenching around me as I took her purity and left her in a puddle of my cum.
It’s taken every ounce of my self-control to keep from giving in and taking her again.
More hours pass as we collect more debts and cash owed to us. At one point, Killian has to break the fingers of a gambling addict we’ve loaned a hundred grand to. The man can’t pay us back, so Killian does what needs to be done.
He’s one of our bonemen for a reason.
The cracking sound echoes in the cramped apartment, followed by screaming that I tune out.
Just another Tuesday.
It’s nightfall by the time we’re finished. Killian stretches, cracking his neck. “You good for another round at The Banshee?”
Before I can answer, my phone goes off.
It’s security at Callahan House.
“Mr. Callahan, we have a problem. Your wife—she’s left the premises.”
My entire body goes rigid. “What do you mean she left?”
“A convertible came to pick her up. We didn’t realize until she was already gone?—”
“You fucking useless idiots! You’re supposed to keep an eye on her!” I hang up on him, my hand gripping the phone so hard the case might crack any second.
I pull up my other means of keeping tabs on her, a tracking app that knows her whereabouts at all times thanks to the tiny device embedded in her wedding ring.
A little insurance policy she doesn’t know about. The app loads, a blinking dot appearing on the map, moving through the city streets.
