Only Yours.

2

2

There was no out. All week the breath of Cyrus’ henchman on the back of Whisper’s neck reminded her of her invisible bonds. Said henchman had stepped in on Thursday when it came time to take her to the City Clerk’s Office to sign for the marriage license.

She didn’t see Zaiden. The ink of his signature was still wet when the sheet was presented to her. Whisper guessed he was close by, but didn’t really care.

Once their names were dry, nothing could stop the inevitable.

So, just as her father commanded, Whisper ended up standing alone at the chapel inside of the City Clerk’s Office Friday at three. Other couples sat around, waiting to be married. Couples who had been there first. In what she could only imagine was deference to the bride and groom’s last names, no one minded stepping aside to give them priority.

Her father came up next to her. “Mom will be turning in her grave,” Whisper murmured as he took her arm.

His hand paused on the way to the door handle. “Your mother was a good woman… one who knew her place was under her husband’s command…” Turning a glare on her, Cyrus Doherty didn’t leave any equivocation. “Make him happy, Whisper, and he will do what I tell him when I tell him. The fate of our family rests on you being a dutiful wife. You will do whatever it takes.”

Whatever it takes. Those words rattled around in her mind while her father opened the door and took her inside. Whisper wasn’t sure what she expected to find in there. Yet, it was a surprise to discover there were only three people present. They stood at the head of the room and none of them were the McDade parents.

Guessing that the man facing them was the officiant, Whisper took advantage of the opportunity to examine the other two males who stood with their backs to the room. One was shorter than the other. The top of his head only reached the taller one’s shoulder.

Whisper figured the taller one was Zaiden. Every description of him mentioned his height and his jet black hair. Those locks were a mess, but matched the untucked shirt, scruffy jeans, and the heavy boots on his feet.

In her boat-neck ivory dress, Whisper’s effort outmatched his, but she wasn’t offended. If anything, it was a relief to learn he wasn’t taking the wedding seriously. Her dress was a nod to her father’s request; she’d avoided actually going with white. If Cyrus hadn’t made the request, she’d likely have shown up in her usual Friday afternoon apparel: yoga pants and a sports bra.

The shorter guy peeked over his shoulder. As soon as he spied her scrutinizing him and his buddy, his attention sprang back to the front. Being close to a McDade, she wouldn’t have expected him to be skittish. But he was shorter and less toned than she’d have expected too.

It was difficult to see Zaid’s physique beyond the breadth of his capable shoulders and the vee of his torso to the narrowing of his hips. The shorter guy had love handles above the cinch of his tight belt and she’d seen a little extra weight in his face when he turned. It wasn’t like the guy was overweight. Just an obvious contrast to the man at his side.

Her examination came to an abrupt end when she and Cyrus reached the front and the officiant started to talk. It wasn’t a long drawn out ceremony; there were no sermons or hymns. It was business only.

Zaiden didn’t turn to look at her, so she didn’t look at him either. Not that it was easy to be sure what he was doing because, like the guy on his other side, she was no giant. All her peripheral vision picked up was the lack of movement in his body. It didn’t flinch, which suggested he didn’t register her.

Whisper thought they might get through the whole ceremony without acknowledging each other at all. But her luck wasn’t that good. When the officiant asked Zaiden to recite his vows, the deep, growling voice that came from him filled her with chills that forced her body to react. Her baser instincts responded to him anyway.

Whisper couldn’t remember the last time anything had made her afraid. Not that she was afraid. In fact, it was sort of impressive how the sinister tone of his drawling voice made every word sound like a threat rather than a promise.

He carried on just like that, saying whatever he had to without changing his tone or looking at her. Whisper didn’t mind returning the latter favor on the occasions she was required to speak. She said only what was required and nothing else. Whatever impression that made on her groom, she couldn’t care less.

The officiant produced rings. He placed them on the sheet in his hand like maybe he intended to say or do something with them. Zaiden didn’t give him the chance. He grabbed the larger ring and shoved it onto his own finger, so she did the same with the smaller one. Apparently, they didn’t have to say anything about that, which suited her fine. It was done. That was it.

Sweating and pale, the officiant was nervous. Somehow, it had taken Whisper the whole ceremony to notice. “You can kiss the bride,” he said, his voice vibrating.

His hands were trembling, shaking the paper in his pale fingers. Whisper smiled. The man was terrified. It shouldn’t really be a surprise. The guy at her side, her groom, was more than twice the size of the officiant, and her father was somewhere behind them.

He’d probably never presided over a marriage with such potential to get him killed. Just one wrong word could be enough for either her father or her groom to order the officiant’s family murdered… or at the very least maimed.

“We done?” Zaiden asked without kissing her, sounding unimpressed.

Whisper wasn’t impressed either and had no desire to kiss him. The smart officiant wasn’t going to push the issue. He backed away to show the paperwork on the table behind him.

“You… you both have to sign the—”

“Right,” Zaiden said.

Taking her by surprise, Zaiden grabbed her upper arm and hauled her forward, throwing her in the direction of the table. The force gave Whisper no choice but to run the way he’d tossed her. With that momentum, her body kept going until she was bent over the hard surface, clutching the edge.

Whisper pushed up onto her palms. “Asshole,” she muttered, snatching the pen from the officiant to scribble down her details. “What’s that?”

Jabbing the pen toward the blank line at the end of her section, she looked at the officiant for an explanation.

Twisting around, he dipped his attention to where she was indicating. “Oh, that’s a new feature. It allows couples to record their own words; like a sentimental phrase that means something to them or a tender wish for the future.”

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head to begin writing, reading her words as she recorded them for posterity. “f**k you, asshole… good luck sucking your own cock.”

Pleased with her addition, Whisper smiled at the officiant and raised her chin, pushing her shoulders back as she did. Ignoring the shock on his face was easy. Shocking people was a regular occurrence for her. Her sentiment probably didn’t match what other people wrote on their marriage certificates, but she was proud of it.

“Ma’am, I—”

“You married, sir?” she asked, turning on her sultry side and drawing the pen to her lips. Swaying her hips, Whisper twisted her body toward his, ready to have some fun. Raising her arm up, she locked her elbow, and let her arm sink down to rest straight on his shoulder. “You must get tired of working so long… and hard…”

Flirting was one of her favorite things to do, she considered it a hobby. Her desire to tease and play was probably rooted in her years of teenage rebellion. Back then, her father and brothers were dead against her showing any kind of sexuality. Never stopped her from doing it whenever she could, usually whenever they weren’t around. As she’d got older, her interest in their presence or opinions had waned.

“Ma’am—”

“Shh,” Whisper said, tossing the pen onto the table. Moving in, she got up close to rest the length of her finger on the shaking man’s mouth. “All these men who stand before you every day…” With her finger still on his lips, she flattened her other hand on his torso and let it turn to slide south. “All these men get their happy ending…” Pouting, she forced herself even closer while pressing her palm against his groin, rubbing his d**k through his slacks. “Where’s your happy ending… Have you got an office…” Trailing her finger from his mouth to his belt, she slid the leather from its buckle. “Or would you like it right here.”

“Whisper!” her father barked.

Rolling her eyes away from the stunned officiant, just a moment before her father seized her arm and yanked her away, Whisper groaned. “Daddy, I’m just having some fun.”

He hauled her closer to hiss in her face. “That kind of fun could get a man killed. You’re a married woman now.”

Somehow she doubted he cared about the officiant’s safety or her virtue. “Yeah? What does that matter?” she asked, admiring her manicure. “Are we going someplace to get drunk?” Peeking over her shoulder, she ignored the groom and his buddy who were just out of her field of vision. Her focus stayed on eyeing the officiant, running her tongue along her top lip as she did. “Or have I gotta find my own fun?”

“You are going to your wedding reception,” her father said, tightening his grip and giving her a shake. “And you will behave yourself.”

“Or what?” she snapped, jerking her arm down and out of his grip. The kind of bruises that would leave were normal for her, she’d worn them most of her life. “No one said anything about a reception. I have plans later.”

Grabbing her again, Cyrus hauled her up the aisle. At the other end of the room, by the door they’d first come through, he swung her around to slam her back against the wall. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Do you care?”

“Whisper,” he growled, slapping his hand flat to the wall next to her head. Instinct made her flinch. Damn instinct. “You think I’m going to hit you?” With a shake, he seized her chin to force her attention back to him. “That’s not my responsibility anymore, sweetheart. If you need to be taken in hand, it will be your husband’s job… Tell me who you’d rather have disciplining you? Your father or the man you branded a psychopath?”

Gritting her teeth, she sucked in a breath. “If he touches me, I’ll slice him open.”

Easing back, Cyrus’ eyes dropped for a moment. In the next breath, he lunged forward again, getting so close that his nose bumped hers. “You’re carrying a weapon? On your wedding day? Are you f*****g insane?”

“I’m a Doherty, Daddy,” she sneered. “I haven’t walked the streets unarmed in all my twenty-nine years… Momma used to hide her blade in my stroller… remember, Daddy?”

Shoving away from her, he put a foot of space between them. “For all the good it did her, she was still slayed by that bastard Byrne.” He opened his hand to her. “Give it to me.”

“No,” she said.

There was a chance her new husband might have designs on what he’d like to do with their wedding night. Complying was her duty. Giving him what was left of her shredded virtue was her obligation. But there were some acts she’d never consent to. If he tried to take from her against her will, she’d take something precious of his in return… Something that would make it impossible for him to ever violate another woman.

“Whisper,” he growled, but she remained defiant.

Her father’s backhand was swift. Her head snapped to the side, but she felt nothing, not really. It wasn’t like she’d never been on the receiving end of his wrath before. Tossing her hair away from her face, she brought her focus back to where it had been before.

“You should’ve just killed me,” she murmured, sneering at him.

Sliding her shoulders down the wall to bring her leg up, she hooked the heel of her stiletto on the back of the wooden pew-like bench behind her father. Whisper curled her fingers around the end of her skirt to drag it up, revealing the sheathed knife strapped to her thigh and wrapped in a length of white silk.

“Festive,” came a voice from the aisle beside them.

She rolled her head on the wall to see the shorter man from the altar. That was her first chance to get a good look at him. In his thirties, the man wasn’t exactly smiling, but he wasn’t scowling either. His attention was fixated on the weapon on her leg.

“Like what you see, baby?” she asked, shifting her foot from the back of the bench to his torso.

Her shoulders were still on the wall giving her an anchor point. Whisper raised her leg a little higher to bring the silk over her crotch into his view, which was exactly her plan. Her grip on the hem of her skirt remained firm to ensure it stayed high.

With heavy eyes, she maintained her focus on the man under her heel. Pushing it a little deeper into his gut made his mouth open, Whisper wanted more of a reaction than that. A shadow appeared behind him, putting an end to her toying. For a man of his size, Zaiden McDade moved quietly. Despite being aware of him, she did her best not to look over her prey’s head.

“Stop this bullshit,” Cyrus hissed. “Give me the knife, Whisper.”

“Let her keep it,” Zaiden said, startling both her father and the man under her shoe. “Anyone who can be taken down by a little girl deserves to go down.”

Grabbing his lieutenant’s shoulder, Zaiden pulled him away from her, sending her foot back to the floor with a thud. The two men vanished through the door without waiting.

Whisper boosted herself off the wall to straighten up. Swiping her hair from her face, looking at the door, she touched the cheek her father had struck. “He’s got some damn nerve.”

“He’s not the only one,” Cyrus said, snatching her shoulder to pull her through the door. “You’re going to get yourself in check, Whisper. No more of your bullshit.”

Those waiting in the hallway outside didn’t dare look at her being dragged past them. Even the people who probably weren’t from the area seemed to get the sense that it wasn’t a moment to gawk or, God forbid, step in.

Not that she’d be averse to getting a little blood on her dress. Her father hauled her out to the street and threw her into a waiting limo that got moving the minute the door closed.

“Dragging the name of this family through the mud has always been a specialty of yours,” he said. Her skirt had ridden up when she’d fallen face first into the back of the car, so she raised her hips to tug it down. “Your mother would be ashamed of you.”

“No more ashamed than she’d be of you,” she said, lifting and dropping into the seat to get comfortable. “You think this is what she’d want for any of us?”

“I think she would be disgusted that you dishonor your brothers’ memory.”

Losing Adan and Keegan had changed everything about their lives. Most of the time, her brothers found something to be on her case about. Despite that, there was no way she could deny they’d loved her, in their own way.

Both were hard men… or they had been. Their father had raised them both to believe that showing affection was a sign of weakness. The one thing none of the men were allowed to do was expose any vulnerability. Women were seen as weak just by their very nature. Whisper had fought against that ideology all her life, which was probably why she acted out. It wasn’t easy to be noticed when you were considered the weakest member of the family, even if that was the Doherty family.

The Doherty legacy was a lot to live up to and it wasn’t a role she’d coveted. Her brothers were expected to take over the family business. Whisper was a drain on resources, as her father often reminded her. Although she’d been in the bosom of the family, it had never fallen on her to prove her loyalty, not to the level of handing herself to the enemy.

Whisper opened the fridge to retrieve a bottle of champagne. “I married him, didn’t I?” she said, filling a flute. “I did what I was told.”

Her father seized her arm and tugged her around with such force that champagne sloshed onto the floor.

“You were told to make him happy,” Cyrus hissed. “Finding out his wife is a slut will not make him happy.”

“You don’t have a damn clue what will make him happy,” she said. Despite still being in her father’s grip, Whisper turned her head to tip some alcohol into her mouth. “He didn’t have a problem with what I was doing and, like you said, I’m his to discipline now, right?” His grip tightened. The pinch was obvious, its meaning was not. Wearing her own glare, she drew her lips away from the glass to pin it on him. “You put another bruise on me, Daddy, I’ll go to the cops and tell them he put it there… What will that do for relations with the new in-laws?”

“I made this deal to show this family we are serious about an alliance… If I have to sedate you to hand you over, I will do it. You will behave. You will show respect and deference. You will not make a fool of me or your husband.”

The vicious look in his eye didn’t scare her, it disgusted her, but that didn’t prevent her from returning it. “You hate that you have to rely on me.”

“Yes,” he spat. “You’re a woman. You’re weak and unreliable. I told your mother we should’ve drowned you at birth.”

Hissing, she lunged at him. “And I told her she should’ve left you when we found you balls deep inside that hooker.”

The next slap sent her onto the limo floor, scattering her champagne. Still, Whisper wouldn’t relent. On a sharp inhale, she whipped around to glare at him. The power in that last hit was impressive given their restricted space. Practice really did make perfect; her father had always been quick and strong with his hands.

“It should’ve been you that day,” he growled.

She breathed out a laugh. “There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t wish it had been… Daddy.”

Spitting out his title, she checked for blood on her lip and was pleased to find none. A speckling daze crossed her vision; Whisper damned him and his short fuse. Resenting him was only half the battle. Frustrating as it could be to exist only as an object for her father to despise, at least she’d always known where she stood with him.

For the first almost two thirds of her life, Whisper’s mission was to make her father proud of her, to get his attention or some kind of recognition that she even existed.

That changed the day of her mother’s funeral when she discovered him having s*x with one of the servers at the wake. Her mother’s body wasn’t even cold in the ground, and he was enjoying himself in the first nubile body that crossed his path.

Her respect for him had dwindled almost daily since then. She’d known he cheated. Whisper didn’t know a single man in their circle who was faithful. But to see her mother so disrespected did something. It twisted whatever optimism was left inside her, wringing it out until cynicism was all that remained.