Page 3 of Carnal Wagers

“No.” I batted aside Da’s wagging finger. “I’m here for one thing and one thing only. To pay off the Urabá cartel. No one, not my brothers nor anyone else in our clan, will meet their end like Galagher ever again. His death was your mess, old man, and I’m cleaning it up.”

The O’Leary clan protected their own, and no loyal man in the outfit deserved to be skinned alive and left on our doorstep like Galagher had been. He died because our leader forgot about those who followed him. That was never happening again.

Liam huffed at me. “At least have some fun with her once. Your bride looks like she’d take it good and hard.”

“Like I said, not interested.”

“She’s a dead woman walking. If you aren’t, I am.”

Again, I backhanded Liam’s head. “You’ll do nothing to jeopardize that money. And you”—I pointed at our da—“won’t touch those funds. Remember what we discussed.”

Angus O’Leary clenched his jaw, not pleased to be reminded of our deal, but I couldn’t find one fuck to give. The moment I signed that contract, I took over as head of the O’Learys. No more gambling on his part, or I’d throw him out to the wolves—family or not—then stick whatever was left of him in rehab. It was as good as he deserved after everything he’d put us through.

The De Villier French mafia needed our muscle for a possible war with the Italians in California, while we needed their infinite funds over the next decade. The caveat—the De Villiers demanded their daughter marry the heir of the O’Leary clan and stay married for a minimum of fifteen years. Enter me, the newly widowed heir.

“That won’t go over easy with the crew heads,” Da argued, and I scoffed.

“They won’t know any better if you tell them straight out, old man. You’re seeing gold today, but the well will run dry if the Love Knot killer skewers and brands the French woman. And I’m not marrying for kin and duty again.”

“I’ve more than one son.”

“I refuse,” Brody stated flatly.

With the constant furrow of his brow, his shaved head, and scraggly ginger beard, he was always mistaken for the brawn of our brotherly trio, when he was, in fact, the most withdrawn and unlikely to fight.

“I will, but she’d better be smoking.” Liam grinned and covered his head with his arms.

I pinched his exposed tricep, smirking at his responding squeal. “You need to toughen up.”

“Toughen up?” He put me in a headlock and knuckled my head. “I’ll show you.”

With one pointed strike to the radial nerve of his arm around my neck, Liam released me with hissed inhales.

“You’ve still got much to learn, baby brother.”

The car crawled to a stop in the middle of a road that split into a wide pedestrian street. The intercom hummed.

“We have arrived at your destination,” our driver said, his voice distorted and words nearly lost beneath a strong French accent.

I gazed out the window at the gated building in front of us, stretched out with rectangular arched windows, odd stone faces at each window corner, statues atop the roof, and several flags flying over the entrance. All gray and bleak.

“Does she even speak English?” Liam asked.

“The whole family does,” Da said. “So, all of you, mind your tongues in there.”

I grunted, whirled my knife around my finger before pocketing it, then pushed my door open. “Let’s get this over with.”

Chapter 2

Most girls dreamed of their wedding—the venue, cake, dress, groom, and of course, the grand romance that led up to it. I got the dress—a gorgeous rainbow-gradient bust that flowed into a pure-white skirt—a veil embroidered with dozens of colored crystals, and exclusive stiletto heels from my favorite designer.

That was about it.

There was no great love. No big ceremony. No bouquets. No reception. No joy. There was only my queasy acceptance and guarded optimism.

As we waited for the groom to arrive, I paced the front of the aisle at the Lyon City Hall, snapping my fingers, and kept one eye on the solid oak doors. The clack of my heels thundered against the hardwood flooring, louder than my apprehension.

I fanned the air. There was way too much air freshener in here. The lavender, eucalyptus, and lemon blend tickled my nose, and I stifled a cough. My veil scratched my face. My clammy palms fisted my skirt. Was I sweating? I probably was. My armpits felt sticky. I cracked my neck.