Page 39 of Viper’s Reign

“I don’t think that’s wise, Dima. You never let the women you fuck get close to your family. And she’s not just any regular whore. She’s a whore who lied to⁠—”

I raise my arm out in front of him, stopping us both dead.

“Don’t you ever fucking call her that again.”

“Hey, listen⁠—”

“Did. You. Fucking. Hear. Me?”

Noah swallows a response and dutifully nods. He must see the fire in my eyes.

I start walking again and he hesitates a split second before catching up.

“Why do I even bother?” He grunts, trying to recover the mood as we head outside toward the parked cars. “You’re going to do what you fucking want anyway.”

“Exactly.”

Despite his poor choice of words, he obviously has a point. I’m not stupid enough to ignore that. But this isn’t me thinking with my cock—I have a plan, not that I feel like explaining it.

I slide into the back seat of my car, my eyes shutting as my driver, Ben, eases the door closed. I don’t know why I’m so hesitant to tell Noah my plan, but a feeling uncomfortably close to protectiveness has lodged itself in my chest when it comes to Grace. It fucking unnerves me enough to realize I need to proceed carefully.

The convoy moves off the curb, and we merge into traffic. We’re picking her up at a hair salon downtown. Her excuse was that she needed to get her hair done, which is true as far as excuses go, but I know she’s avoiding me coming to her place—as if I don’t already know where she lives.

My gut tightens at the fact that she’s still trying to pull the wool over my eyes. The question is why. I’ve found out everything I can about Grace Turner, and nothing in her background points to a motive. Does she still not know who I really am?

If she does and she’s still doing this, then she’s got some audacity.

Turns out I like audacity in my women.

I tap my index finger against my thigh and open my eyes, watching the city blur past the window. It’s a beautiful day for a wedding.

We finally pull into the parking lot, my men’s cars flanking us on both sides. One can’t be too careful these days, especially not with everything going on with Daniel Salvi. Not to mention the usual shit we have to deal with: kidnappings, disappearing men, and that fucking explosion at the warehouse from a few weeks back.

People are out to get my siblings and me—and we won’t make it easy for them.

Ben opens my door, and I step out, adjusting the lapel of my suit jacket as I head toward the entrance. The doorman spots me through the glass and pales as the recognition hits. Good. I smirk faintly as he rushes to open the door.

“Good man,” I say amicably as I walk in, already scanning the chairs for a redhead. The salon reacts to me the way rooms always do. Conversations taper. Heads turn. Even stylists pause mid-motion.

I fix a mild smile on my face as I keep scanning and—there. A door opens, and Grace steps out. I inhale sharply, my lips parting.

I saw her in the dress yesterday. Hell, I fucked her in it. But seeing her now—accessorized, styled—knocks the air clean out of my chest.

Strands of red hair that burn like actual flames under the harsh lights overhead tumble in tight curls down her shoulders and back. Gold earrings glint at her ears. Her face looks different now, her lips look fuller, her lashes longer, shadows carved deeper around her eyes that make the hazel stand out even more. She’s fucking stunning.

I watch, my throat tight, as she slowly comes toward me, clutch held in both hands, a wary light in her eyes. The cape sleeve of her dress billows around her, and that slit—fuck—flashes creamy skin with each step. My cock reacts at once, remembering things my better judgment is trying to ignore.

“Hi,” she says shyly, stopping in front of me.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, Ace.” The words are out before I’ve decided to say them. I reach up to catch one of the red curls between my fingers. It spirals around them, warm and alive, and the possessiveness that moves through my chest is swift enough to alarm me.

“Thank you. You look… incredible.” She leans a little closer and lowers her voice to a hush. “Every woman here is staring at you.”

“I only care about one.”

Her face goes red beneath the makeup, her eyes dropping shyly. It’s fascinating that she can still be so shy after all we’ve done together. My cock swells some more at the memories, and I curse under my breath, letting go of her hair.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late.” I settle my hand at the small of her back and lead her outside, forcing myself to ignore the steady throb in my pants. No time for that now. The wedding starts—I check my watch—in less than an hour.