The Discarded Heiress: Marrying My Lethal Husband

t wash things clean; it j

rt. She shivered, not from the cold, but from the calculated effort to look pathetic. She shifted her weight, letting he

intersection. It looked like a shark swimming in a sewer. It slow

olled down t

canned her boots-caked in mud-up to her wet, stringy hair. He didn't hide his disg

e door. He honked.

in,

a puddle she could have easily stepped over. She fumbled with the handle, her fingers

ulled the heavy door op

acy partition slid up with a mechanical whir. Then came the hiss

ney. She pushed her wet bangs out of her eyes. In the reflection of the darkened window,

p, outdated relic, but the internals were gutted and rebuilt with military-gr

nal a

the partition. Miller was on the phone. The Bluetooth

ller said. "Yeah. 8 Mile. Sh

pa

er the I-94 overpass. The boys are waiting. Just a scare. M

small, cold smil

as titanium alloy with a sterling silver coating, tapered to a needle point, disguised as a cheap trin

m of asphalt to the crunch of gravel. The streetlights vani

, swinging into the darkness beneath a dec

ngine

the driver's door, and the slam. Then, the distinct t

as tr

seconds, then s

rew herself against the window, slapping

arette. The cherry glowed

ped out of the shadows. They wore ski masks and carried baseball bats wrapped in chains

rain. "Just break her spirit. Mrs. Moon wa

f a vending machine, stepped up to the re

AC

webbed. The sound was deafe

opped sc

the wet flannel over her knees. With calm, precise movements, she gathered her hair at

der swu

AS

way, raining diamonds

reached through the jagged

here,

a mo

und the man's wrist. Her grip was iron. She used his own momentum, twisti

N

us bone snapping was

eamed-a hig

and kicked the door. The latch gave way under the force of her boot. The door swun

pped out

ken glass. She stood to her full height,

garette. His mouth hu

men hesitated,

r. She moved inside his guard, fluid like water. The silver hairpin was in her

e a puppet wit

h the nose of the third attacker.

ight. It was

d energy. Every strike broke a joint or hit a pressure point. Withi

twitching body. She

ar. No anger. Just a clinical, bored detachment. She twirled the

ls slipping in the mud, until his

," he w

ot away from him.

Her voice was low, smooth, and utter