Page 42 of Guilty as Sin

It’s my fault.

Guilt sinks like lead to the bottom of my stomach.

My fucking fault.

“Brady,” Liam shouts.

“What?”

“Did you hear me? I said come meet us in the basement.”

It’s a direct order from my older brother. To disobey would be to go against our family, to break the foremost rule of this life.

I feel my guts churning as my insides tear apart. Cora’s my family now too. She’s my wife, and no matter how goddamn frustrating she can be, it’s my responsibility to guarantee that she’s safe. I can’t be assured of that until I’m holding her in my arms.

Liam needs an answer, and I make my decision.

“Not yet.”

Chapter 20

Cora

I don’t know whose blood is on my sweater. I pull it off with trembling hands and drop it to the kitchen floor. My feet feel weird, my whole body feels weird, but I manage to kick off my shoes. Pain is the clearest thing to me right now. The side of my head throbs from where that man clubbed me.

I turn the faucet as cold as possible and put my head under it. Frigid water flows into my hair and down my face. I gasp at the shock of it, but I don’t move. Beneath the ice-cold water, the pain recedes and my awareness sharpens.

I hear footsteps running toward me from the elevator, and I panic. Brady cannot see me like this. I shut off the faucet and whip upright as he rounds the corner.

He barges into the kitchen with fury on his face. Electricity zings through me as he rakes his gaze over my dripping hair, my torn dress, my bare feet.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demands. “Walking alone at night like that?”

How dare he.

I’ve just clubbed a man to the ground, I defeated my fucking attacker, I’m still shaking from the incident, and he has the audacity to blame me?

“I wasn’t alone.” I surprise myself with how steady my voice sounds. “You had your brother following me.”

Brady growls deep in his throat. He mutters something that sounds like “stubborn woman,” as if it’s a curse.

I pull back my shoulders because yes, I am a stubborn woman. I’m not the docile mafia bride he expected, and I have no intention of being so.

He glowers at me, his gray-green eyes piercing my soul. It’s like he can see too much of the real me, too much of my desire for him that I’ve tried so hard to overcome. Meanwhile, the thing I know most about him is how goddamn arrogant he is.

Arrogant and dangerous and sexy as fuck.

Adrenaline still courses through my veins. My nerves jangle as I take in Brady across the kitchen, his auburn-kissed hair, his thickly muscled arms and chest, the cut of his jeans promising more muscles beneath.

“Well?” I say, although this time I don’t sound nearly as confident. “Do you deny it?”

“Deny what?”

“You had your brother following me.”

“Of course I did. I have to protect what’s mine.”

“What’s yours?” I scoff. “I am not yours. I’m my own person.”