Wrath (Malice Mafia, #2)

by Coralee June

But oddly enough, my humanity died when I fell in love. It was the price I had to pay for selling my soul to three monsters.

Anthony, Nick, and William still fought over me, but Nick? Nick claimed me. He destroyed the competition.

If Juliet needed a break, then she could take a fucking vacation on my cock.

“You’re out. Done. If I see you in my territory again—” “You’re kicking me out?” There was a sobriety in his tone that hadn’t been there for weeks. Good. Let it fucking sink in. “If I see you in Kansas City, I’ll put a bullet through your brain.”

“You think I don’t know every hair on your head? The color of your skin when it bruises? The fear in your eyes? The way you tremble when you’re scared? I know every fucking nuance of your body, Juliet. I know your mind. In fact, I’ve crawled inside every fucking crack in your soul and built a home for myself there. Not only did you lie to me, but you insulted our relationship by pretending I couldn’t see how much you’re suffering right now.”

Money was just another word for power. The powerless scream. Wealth whispers.

And with those parting words, he spun around, grabbed my cart, and strolled toward the checkout counter like he didn’t just finger fuck me on aisle nine.

Malice and I had become pen pals. Except we weren’t writing letters, we were just mailing a necklace back and forth. Every night, I’d drop it off in his mailbox, and every morning, it would be back in mine.

divine devotion. Gentle, gentle, gentle. In and out. In and out. I was going to do better. I was going to be better. I was going to be worthy of this beautiful woman I didn’t deserve.

Vicky was a motherfucking liar. Anthony was a dead man. William was about as useful as wet tissue paper, and my ass? My pathetic ass was pussy-whipped.

Blood was thicker than water and stronger than resentment, I suppose.

tightly. “I would do anything for you,” Nick whispered. To some, the declaration would feel like an empty promise, but I knew how serious Nick was being. I was his greatest weakness. He turned his head to look at me, and I could see his gentle expression in the soft, dark room. “I want to marry you,” he whispered.

Vicky nodded at me. “If you want to know about my past, I’ll tell you. If you want space from me, I’ll give it to you. If you want to forgive me, I would struggle with feeling worthy of your forgiveness, but I would graciously accept it. Watching you teach my brothers how to love you made me realize that I want to learn how to be your friend.”