Page 61 of Unchained

She chews on the inside of her mouth. I don’t even believe my own answer.

“But I can appreciate a prank,” I add.

“Cool. Good to know I married someone with a sense of humor.” Her eyes gleam with thoughts that make me worry about my future.

She seems to bring out this side of me, without even trying. And I don’t fight it coming out either. And I don’t mind this less uptight version of myself either. My head has never been clearer, despite the fact that my dick fuckin’ hurts.

My jaw twitches, and against my better judgment, I lean in closer, close enough to feel the heat of her against my skin. “You started a war, sweetheart. And you have no idea when I’m going to strike back.”

I pull away before I do something I’ll regret. Me and Jett used to play stupid ass pranks on each other as kids, nothing like this. But I’m always prepared for the unexpected, and I’ve got some time on my hands to get plotting back.

I can’t piss my wife off too much, though. She will stab me in my sleep if I cross a line.

Her breath catches before she says, “Game on, cowboy.” That twinkle in her eye will be my undoing. “I’ve got a Glock and a knife. That's enough for tonight's adventures?”

Oh, she’s perfect. “Yeah, viper. I got you anyway.”

She rolls her eyes at me.

Hell. I think I’m in hell.

But I’m having the best time of my life down here.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Gianna

Song- Greek Tragedy, The Wombats

Coming here to eat in plain sight is a risk; we both understand that, but neither of us cared when we built this plan on the jet.

Hiding in plain sight adds to the thrill. So, here we are, in a quaint Greek restaurant, where the pillars have climbing ivy and my glass of wine is so chilled the glass is dripping. And the food is some of the most delicious meat I’ve ever had in my mouth.

Colt slides his hand to the middle of the table, palm up.

“You want a cigarette?” I ask, forcing in another mouthful of bread. Assuming that’s what he wants by putting his hand there.

“I want my wife to hold my damn hand.”

I nearly choke on my food, staring at his hand like it just grew a head.

“We’re newly weds, remember? On our honeymoon.” He tells me.

I’m trying to ignore the coil in my tummy as I place my hand in his, and he rubs his thumb over my wedding rings.

“Is this sweet enough for you, sir?”

He swallows as I drag my heel along his shin. I retrieve my hand before I combust at the table, and go back to poking food around my plate. I’m stuffed. I’ve eaten more in one sitting than I usually eat in a day.

“You don’t have to finish it all if you’re full, G. It’s not going to get better the more you shove a potato around a plate,” Colt tells me.

“I’m hoping the potato grows legs the more I prod it and runs off.” I joke, but I’m weirdly serious.

The candle flickers between us as I set my cutlery down on the plate. My dad always reinforced that we have to finish every bite of our meals. Even now, as grown-ass adults in his house, we can’t leave the table until every last scrap is gone, no matter the portion size.

Colten pours me another glass of white wine; I smile but avert my gaze.

The waitress comes over and takes our plate, and I wait for her to have some sort of reaction to me leaving a quarter of the plate of food. I almost brace myself, but nothing comes. She doesn’t give a single shit. Once she’s gone, I roll my shoulders and try to relax.