Ravenous Kingpin (Kingpins of the Syndicate #4)

16. Emory

CHAPTER 16

Emory

I woke up with bright, warm sun on my face and skin that poured through the windows of the penthouse. But there was coldness in my chest and my heart.

Four days had passed since our civil ceremony.

After Killian fucked my brains out on the dining room table, we’d ended up on the rug in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass door with city lights glimmering in the night. After he fell asleep, I listened to Killian’s even breaths, knowing that staying here wasn’t an option. I lay awake for hours, the reality of the fact I had gotten sidetracked felt like lead in the pit of my stomach.

Shifting over, I found nobody next to me. Just a written note on the pillow. I sat up, pulling my knees to my chest, then reached for the note.

Gone food shopping. Will be right back. ?? KBC.

I stared at the heart next to his scribbled handwriting and wrapped my arms around myself. I was only wearing Killian’s T- shirt and boxers. We hadn’t left the penthouse, and so far they had been the best days ever.

Except, the inevitable was waiting.

Every time I thought of it, my heart would slow down while my conscience spun faster and faster, warning me of my responsibilities.

I got up and made do with Killian’s dress shirt and a pair of running sneakers that his sister had kept here. I reached for my cell, and with my heart in my throat, I quickly ordered an Uber, then headed down the emergency exit stairs.

My determination grew with each step away from Killian, and by the time I was in front of the building, I didn’t even look back as I slid into the waiting Uber.

“To JFK,” I said, then focused on the screen of my phone, typing a message to my pilot to have a plane ready and waiting for me.

Forty minutes later, the Uber pulled up in front of the JFK airport. After I exited the car and a gust of wind tore at me, goose bumps rose all over my body. I headed straight for the gate that accommodated passengers of private jets, ignoring curious glances at my unconventional wardrobe.

I was almost at the security gate when my shoulder collided with another’s. I didn’t bother slowing down when fingers wrapped around my wrist, gripping it firmly.

“What are?—”

I whirled to face whoever dared to touch me without my permission when my stomach dropped like an anchor.

Killian.

Darkness and anger glinted in his eyes.

“Running away so soon, wife?” I attempted to yank my wrist out of his grip, but Killian refused to let go.

“I’ll make a scene,” I hissed.

“Go right ahead, but you can be sure to kiss our agreement goodbye.”

I ignored the threat in his tone and instead asked in a challenging tone, “And this marriage?”

“Never, álainn .” A dark undertone slipped into his Gaelic.

Anger bubbled in my veins and I snapped, my mouth losing all its filters. “This is ridiculous, Killian. You can’t lock me up and use me for sex.”

“Why not?”

“Come on, this marriage isn’t real,” I blurted out and he raised a brow which only served to piss me off further.

“What did you say?”

I should have known to keep my mouth shut, but words spilled from me without my permission. “Italian and Irish families don’t recognize civil marriages. You know that! No ring exchanges. No witnesses. And then, taking me to the same wedding shop of your ex-fiancée. Fuck you, Killian!”

His expression turned into a blank mask, something volatile flickering in his eyes.

“You’re going to come with me,” he said, his burning eyes locked on me. We stared at each other, my blood drumming in my ears from frustration and anger. “Or I swear to God, Emory, I’m going to set this city on fire.”

His jaw clenched as he waited for me to obey, his gaze cold enough to freeze the rainforest.

“Killian, I?—”

“Get. Moving. Now.”

There were passengers rushing around us, some giving us curious looks while most ignored us, and I finally caved.

I started walking, Killian’s firm grip on my wrist, guiding me out of the airport and into his Audi that was parked illegally and blocking several cars behind it. I climbed in and he shut the door behind me, then got into the driver’s seat.

Thick tension rolled off him in waves that were strong enough to drown me as he pulled out a phone and typed a message before throwing the phone on the console and putting the car in drive.

The hostile silence stretched and stretched, until it felt like a tiny spark would create an explosion.

“We’ll have it your way,” he snapped. “We’ll get married in the church.”

“There is no need to rush thing?—”

“We’re getting married in the church,” he repeated, his tone curt. “Today.”

An invisible hand grabbed me by my throat. “But?—”

“Don’t you fucking dare say another thing, Emory. We had a deal, and at the first chance, you broke it.”

I turned my head around, looking at the fast-approaching city with a hollow ache in my heart.

“The dress is at the dry cleaners,” I said flatly, unable to look at him. Did he look like that the morning he found me gone? Or the day he learned of my fake death?

“Don’t worry about that. I got it all handled.”

And he certainly did, because thirty minutes later, the same team from the same bridal shop helped me get ready for the church ceremony. I stood still as the women fussed around me, and once finished, Killian and I were back in the car.

Mere ten minutes later, we stood on the sidewalk, gasps and congratulations whispered around us by strangers on their way to their normal jobs and living their normal lives.

It felt like déjà vu, except this time, we were walking up the church steps.

My heart raced as we ascended the steps and pushed through the doors of St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

I had no idea how he succeeded in securing one of the most sought-after churches in New York on such short notice, but I silently cursed at anyone up there listening to me.

Once inside, I turned my head sharply to focus on my surroundings.

Empty pews. Empty prayers. Empty church.

Our breaths and footsteps were the only sounds bouncing off the hard surfaces in the house of God.

Unlike traditional weddings, where a bride was walked down the aisle by a member of her family, Killian and I approached the priest together.

Once in front of him, we came to a stop, and he barked, “Start,” not even bothering to look the priest’s way.

Killian squeezed my waist and pulled me so close his chest nearly crushed against mine. He refused to give me any space. Almost as if he feared I’d vanish into thin air, never to be found again.

The priest started, and as he recited words, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that this was only the beginning of our end.