Sunrise Malice: Chapter 1

My virginity was never a topic of discussion back before I was going to marry a stranger.

Now it’s all I can think about.

“Don’t sit there and pretend like you aren’t nervous.” Kim leans against the boxing ring and takes a long sip from her glass of champagne. Nearby, a group of men laughs loudly and I swear one of them keeps staring at me. I look back but try not to let him know that I’m looking—is that my future husband? He’s not bad looking, if it’s him, but I really don’t know.

Which is obviously the problem.

“I’m totally fine,” I say, absolutely lying, because I’m definitely not fine. I’m somewhere between freaking the heck out and losing my mind. “Sex isn’t a huge deal, right? And it’s not like I’m going to marry this guy because I want to sleep with him.”

“But you will sleep with him, right?” Kim grins at me and stretches her neck. She’s pretty, with pale skin and light strawberry-blonde hair, and the kind of figure that guys obsess over. Kim’s technically blood-related to the Hayes family, though distantly. By contrast, I’m a brunette, I can actually tan in the summer, and I’ve been described more as “acceptably curvy” than anything else. And I’m not actually related to her, even though we pretend we’re cousins. None of that is a problem, since until right now, I never really thought too much about dating or men in general.

Unfortunately, because I am a raging moron with serious impulse control issues, I decided to skip over the whole normal dating thing and dove straight to getting hitched.

To a total stranger.

“I don’t know,” I admit and look down at my shoes. Basic flats that look decent with my tight black skinny jeans and a gray sweater that flatters my chest and hips. “I mean, I haven’t really thought that far.”

Again, absolutely lying, it’s all I can think about.

Kim knows me well enough to see through my crap, but she’s also aware of how stubborn I can be and decides not to press. Instead, she drinks more champagne before her face brightens up.

“Okay, I have an idea.”

“I’m already dreading it,” I say with a groan.

“No, it’ll be fun. Seriously, take out your phone.” She nods at me, fighting a smile.

Reluctantly, I hold it up. “If you’re about to tell me to take a slutty selfie, the answer is hell no.”

“Please, girl, you can’t take a flattering picture to save your life. No, open up your notes app. I want to make a list.”

I hesitate for only a second, but damn her, Kim knows me too well. I love a good list. I’m a total sucker for lists. I’ve been making lists my whole life: lists of all the books I’ve ever read (a whole lot), lists of my favorite foods, lists of jobs I’d want if I could do anything at all, lists of what I’d buy if I won the lottery, and on and on, endless lists. Kim used to think my lists were weird and boring, but I think she’s coming around to them.

“What’s the topic?” I ask warily, sensing a trap.

“Let’s make a list of all the sex stuff you’ve never done but want to try.”

Her grin is vicious. I glare at her, but a part of me starts thinking up ideas before I can even help it: deep-throat blowjob, doggy style, anal—no, definitely not anal—sixty-nine position…

“I’m not sure this is, uh, appropriate, given the setting.”

Kim snorts and gestures around us. “It’s the grand opening of a bar that features very illegal underground boxing matches. The original location burned to the ground after two gangs slaughtered each other in cold freaking blood. I think we can make this work.”

She’s right. Bloody Strike isn’t exactly the classiest place in the world. I’m grasping for any reason to get out of this. Missionary (no eye contact), eaten out from behind, reverse cowgirl. This grand opening party is filled with Hayes Group members, which is one of the larger Irish crime organizations in Chicago, plus all of their esteemed guests. Somewhere in here, Ronan Hayes himself, the head of the Group, is speaking with my future husband about me, and I have no clue when I’ll be introduced. That’s the reason Kim and I were invited at all; it’s why I’m leaning up against a rickety-looking boxing ring, surrounded by half-drunk gangsters and their dick-riding wannabe mob wives, feeling uncomfortable and nervous.

Normally, this isn’t my scene. I grew up with most of these guys and I learned early that they’re generally selfish assholes. My brother was deep into the Hayes Group, but Cormac’s dead now, thank fucking God for that. Unfortunately, my family name is more than a little stained due to my deceased sibling, which means I have to deal with a whole lot of stares from the Hayes Group members that hold a grudge.

“I don’t know,” I say, biting my lip. “I mean, I can think of one or two⁠—”

“Put down rope play,” she suggests, nodding at my phone.

“Rope play?”

“You know, bondage stuff. Getting tied up.” Her eyes go distant and misty. “And tying him up. My second boyfriend, Jeff⁠—”

“No, thank you, I’d rather not go down that particular memory lane.” I type down rope play to make her happy. “How about some normal stuff too?” I add mutual masturbation for a little extra spice.

“Mutual masturbation? Oh my god, like hand jobs? Bri, I know you’re inexperienced, but come on. You’re going to get married. At least stick to the fun stuff.”

“First of all, I might get married. Nothing’s decided yet. And second of all, what do you mean, fun stuff?” I pretend not to care, because I really don’t, not even a little bit. Although I’m curious.

Kim has more experience than I do. Not that she’s getting around a lot or whatever, but she’s two years older at twenty-four and she’s been with a few different long-term boyfriends since she was a teenager. Meaning a relatively safe situation in which to experiment with her freaky side, I guess.

“Well, there’s shower sex, but that can be hard depending on the shower. Oh, public sex is always really kinky and hot. There’s something about almost getting caught⁠—”

“I got it, you’re a voyeur.” I type in shower sex and public sex. “What else?”

She taps her lips with the rim of her glass. “You could watch porn together. Fuck in a car. Role play. A little light domination. Spanking, choking, blindfolds, handcuffs⁠—”

“Jesus, Kim.” I type it all down, heart racing. “Go easy. I’ve kissed, like, three guys.”

“I know, but, babe, you’re going to get married. That’s like, a green light to release the inner beast.” She nods at my list. “Add in sex on the floor, sex on a couch, rough sex, toys⁠—”

“What kind of toys?” I ask as my fingers tap it all down. I add a few of my own ideas as I go, unable to help myself. It’s a list, and it’s supposed to be my list, even if this is immature and lame.

“Dildos, butt plugs, gags, whatever you want.” She laughs lightly and flips her hair. “There’s also sploshing.”

“Sorry, what now?”

“Sploshing. You know, where you, like, grind food into each other during sex?”

I lower my phone and give her a serious look. “I’m not adding that. What the hell, Kim? That sounds gross.”

“Don’t you dare kink shame me. Anyway, I read about it online.” She blushes slightly, which is unlike her. “But I’d try anything once.”

I absolutely do not add sploshing to the list.

But there are a few other ideas banging around in my skull: phone sex, threesomes, skinny-dipping, videotaping. Kim cranes her neck, reads that last one, and launches into a story about how her last boyfriend wanted to constantly take videos of her sucking his dick and swore up and down he’d delete them, but before she ended up dumping him, she had to go through his photo app and find every single movie they made together, which she destroyed forever, and it confirmed her desire to kick him to the curb.

I slip my phone away, the list finished, but I keep thinking about it as we head to the bar to get another drink. Even though that was a stupid exercise, at least it took my mind off what I’m really doing here, and I think that was Kim’s plan all along. I’ve been trying my best to seem like this is no big deal, but internally I’m freaking out.

Ronan Hayes came to me with a proposition. The head of a powerful French crime family is looking for a wife, and since I’m single, and my brother basically tried to tear the Hayes Group apart by causing a violent rebellion a few months back, Ronan thinks it might be a good opportunity to make amends and rehabilitate my family’s standing. I told him I’d think about it, but I wanted to meet my potential husband first.

I didn’t tell him that I’m going to do it, basically no matter what.

I’m on my second glass of champagne when Kim grabs my arm. We’re standing near some booths, away from the crush of mafia guys, and her eyes widen ever so slightly in panic. My heart rate ticks up, and when I follow her gaze, I spot Ronan walking over followed by a tall, extremely good-looking man in a sleek, expensive black suit.

That has to be him. I have to force my mouth not to fall open. He’s athletic and lean, with a handsome, narrow face and thick, dark hair, slightly on the longer side. Full, pouty lips, stubble on his cheeks and chin, and muscles that look like I could take a bite and he wouldn’t even notice. And tall, the same height as Ronan, who’s easily over six feet.

The stranger stares at me with a look I can’t read. It’s not happy, but it’s not upset either. More like he’s curious, like he’s trying to get a read on me. I stare back and school my face, refusing to let him know that I find him attractive, and I feel the force of this moment threaten to pulverize me into a wet little paste.

“Ladies,” Ronan says, nodding from Kim to me. “I’d like to introduce Julien Moreau.”

“Hello, ladies,” he says. His voice is deep and there’s the slightest hint of a French accent. It’s obscenely sexy and almost unfair.

This is the man I’m supposed to marry. I half expected some old, out-of-shape, overweight guy on his third wife, but this is the total opposite. Julien’s youngish, probably in his mid-thirties, and seems fit and handsome like he’s straight off the pages of a fashion magazine. There’s a coolness to him, like he’s holding a piece of himself in reserve, and I find that insanely attractive. I want to tear him open and find out everything I can about him. I want him to make me work for it too.

“Julien, this is Kim Hayes, my cousin—” Ronan gestures to Kim. “And this is Brianne Campbell.”

He looks from Kim to me, and his eyebrows knit together as his mouth tugs into a small frown. “This one is your cousin?” he asks, nodding at my friend. “But she is not?”

It’s excruciatingly uncomfortable. Ronan glares at Julien and lowers his voice. “Does that matter? Brianne’s family was important to the Group⁠—”

“You said was,” Julien interrupts. “We had a deal. I need a wife from your organization⁠—”

“Brianne is from my organization.” Ronan’s jaw works in anger. “Don’t be a fucking asshole right now.”

“This one is your cousin. This one isn’t. I need a wife that’s connected, Ronan, I told you⁠—”

I take a step back, my cheeks burning with mortification. The men don’t even seem to notice me slipping away. Kim’s still standing there, looking absolutely outraged on my behalf, but I don’t stick around to hear the ending of their fight.

I get the fuck out of there.

What a nightmare. Oh my god, that was so embarrassing. Julien looked at me like I was an utter disappointment, like I was the worst possible outcome. And there I was, thinking he was attractive and starting to wonder if maybe we really might start checking off some of the boxes on that stupid sex list I put together earlier.

But no, God, no, it’s not happening.

There’s no way I can marry that asshole now.

He wants Kim, not me, and I’m not going to debase myself by hitching my life to a man that sees me as second prize.

Kim hurries after me. “Hold on,” she says, grabbing my arm. “Oh my god, Bri, I am so sorry. What a fucking asshole. Can you believe that?”

“It’s fine,” I say, fighting tears. My cheeks are burning with mortification and all I want to do is go home. “It’s not a big deal, okay?”

“No, it’s a huge deal. Fuck that guy. What the hell was that even about? You’re not good enough because you’re not Ronan’s actual blood cousin or some crap? I’m pretty sure all I share with Ronan is that stupid last name. I doubt we have any genes in common.”

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal. I don’t even know the guy, okay? I just want to go home.”

“No,” Kim says, shaking her head. She looks pissed, and when Kim gets pissed, all hell breaks loose.

Which can be good sometimes. She’s like a five-foot-three Pitbull with great tits and an amazing ass. I never worry about dudes being assholes when she’s around because she goes absolutely berserk and tries to murder anyone being remotely rude to the people she cares about. It’s something I admire in her—and also something I really hate. Because the girl doesn’t know how to avoid making a scene.

She turns back toward the men. Julien’s approaching with a hard look on his face like he’s marching off to an execution, while Ronan’s gone already. I can already see how this disaster’s about to play out, and all I want to do is avoid the further embarrassment of Kim trying to rip his big, gorgeous Frenchman’s head off, which she is absolutely about to try.

“Don’t,” I warn her, but I might as well whisper good doggy to a deranged rabies-infested bear.

“You arrogant motherfucker,” she says, marching up to Julien. “You selfish, stupid, self-righteous piece of⁠—”

Julien brushes past her. It’s almost comical the way he bends his body around her like she’s a piece of the scenery. Kim’s jabbing her finger in his direction and cursing at him like a sailor on meth, but it’s like she’s nothing more interesting than a parking meter to him.

“Hey, little dick, did you not hear me? Don’t you dare walk past me, you motherfucking⁠—”

Julien stops in front of me. His eyes burn into mine and his full lips press together in a tight line. Kim chirps at him some more, but she might as well try punching a brick wall for all the good it does.

“Ronan tells me you’re the one willing to be my wife,” he says with that sexy-as-silk accent again. “He tells me you’re important to this family. Is that true?”

“What the fuck is with you and this weird status obsession, you Frenchy fuck?” Kim snaps at him.

Julien continues to ignore her. He holds out his hand. “Give me your phone. We’ll exchange numbers.”

That finally breaks my spell. I gape at him and burst out laughing.

My weird reaction makes both of them pause. Kim stops trying to bite his head off, and Julien’s eyebrows pull in tighter, like he’s confused about what’s so funny.

I laugh in his face, unable to help myself. The situation is so absurd, it’s ridiculous. The guy just tried to reject me for not being important enough, and now he’s demanding my phone number. I can’t even begin to fathom how I found myself here.

“I’m not joking around,” Julien says, tone turning dangerous. I feel a chill at the intensity of his stare. “If you are going to be my wife, then I think we should have the option of speaking to each other.”

“Listen, you egotistic maniac, you just called me unimportant to my face and asked Ronan for another girl like we’re cattle you can just buy. There’s absolutely no way⁠—”

Julien steps forward and puts a hand on my elbow.

It’s not threatening. He doesn’t apply any pressure. Only his fingertips brush my skin, and that’s enough to send a sudden rush of fluttering butterflies right into my stomach. He’s close enough now that I can smell the musky warmth of him, the sharp scent of his cologne or deodorant or whatever he’s got on mixed with a husky, outdoorsy smell, which is shockingly pleasant.

And there’s the way he’s staring, like he’s out of patience and he’s going to take what he wants now.

“Don’t pretend like you give a shit about me,” he says, low and rumbling. Kim’s standing to the side, her mouth hanging open. “I have my reasons for wanting a marriage and I’m sure you do too. Let’s not pretend like they have anything to do with each other.”

Well, crap. I didn’t know someone saying you’re unimportant to me could be so freaking sexy.

And also infuriating.

I brush his hand away and set my jaw. “You’re right about that. I don’t care about you at all.”

“Perfect. Then we can agree on something. That’s the basis for a good marriage, no?” He holds out his hand again. “Give me your phone.”

Kim chooses that moment to find her voice again. “Don’t you dare, Brianne. This outrageous piece of shit doesn’t deserve your number, let alone your hand in marriage. Why don’t you scamper back to your stinky cheese and shitty French threesomes, you pathetic surrender monkey?” She pushes his shoulder, but he doesn’t even budge, and he still hasn’t looked at her.

His eyes are entirely mine.

“Kim,” I say, cutting off another tirade. “Will you give us a second?”

She lets out a shocked grunt and throws up her hands. “Unbelievable. You should be kicking him in the nuts right now.”

“Kim.”

“Fine. I bet you’re going to tell him about your little list next.” Kim storms off, looking frustrated, and I glare after her. Heat fills my cheeks. That comment about the list was childish and stupid, and when I look back, Julien’s face has softened.

“What list, mon minou?”

“It’s nothing, and don’t call me that. Whatever it means.” I’m completely knocked off balance now and annoyed with my friend. And I’m picturing Julien ticking off all my boxes, which is… not unpleasant. “Listen, you really screwed this up. I don’t know what your deal is, but that was just about the shittiest way to introduce yourself to your future wife imaginable.”

“I can see why you might think so, but from my perspective, we are doing this for our own reasons.”

“Still, we can at least be civil.”

“Yes, I agree with that. Give me your phone and we’ll be civil.”

I want this to be over with. More people are staring now and I’m totally embarrassed by Kim’s behavior and by Julien’s overly intense attention. I want to melt back into the background and let this be done with, and if giving this guy my phone and letting him type in his phone number is what it’ll take to get out of this interaction, then I’ll do it.

“Just be fast.” I unlock my phone and shove it at him. He takes it, a slight smile coming across his face as he swipes a few times. I glance back at where Kim’s waiting near the bar and cross my arms over my chest.

This is a total disaster. My meeting with Julien wasn’t supposed to go like this. I didn’t expect to have some instant true love connection with the guy, but I also didn’t imagine he’d express nothing but disdain at first. He’s being okay now, if at least a little dickish and pushy, but it’s that first impression still lingering in my head.

I’m not the greatest beauty in the world. I think I’m okay-looking, sometimes even decent, but I’ve never had a man look at me with utter disappointment before. I know Kim’s prettier and more outgoing than I am, but I like to think I can hold my own.

Now I know that’s all stupid vanity.

Julien wanted her, and now he’s settling for me because Ronan told him to.

Which shouldn’t matter. He’s right—I’m not marrying him because I give a crap about who he is or what he looks like. I’m open to it for my own damn reasons.

But that still felt like total crap, and I just want to be done.

“Alright, mon minou, I’m in your phone as Julien Moreau. I’ll be in touch.” He hands me back my device.

I lock the screen. “Okay, great.”

“And as for our marriage⁠—”

“I’ll think about it. I mean, nothing’s decided. We have some time.”

He nods slowly. “That’s true. Nothing’s decided yet.” Then his lips pull into a handsome, arrogant smile. “But perhaps I can change your mind.”

“Maybe, okay? I don’t know. We’ll see. It was good talking to you.” I turn to walk away. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get over that first impression, even if my reasons for this marriage are still valid.

“It was nice talking to you as well, Brianne. And by the way, I love that list of yours. We have a lot in common, mon minou.”

I stop in my tracks. My feet go cold and my blood hammers in my ears.

I slowly turn, but Julien’s already striding away.

No. No no no.

He didn’t see it.

He couldn’t have⁠—

I unlock my phone. It goes straight to my messages app.

There’s a single text thread with a contact called Julien Moreau on the screen.

A strangled moan drags itself from my throat as I stare at the two texts sent to his number.

The first is a simple message. I look forward to checking off all your filthy little boxes, mon minou.

And the next is a screen shot of the list.

The dirty list.

Every single filthy entry.

I am going to murder Kim. If she hadn’t tipped him off, there’s no way he would’ve gone looking for something.

But he sent it to himself. The bastard must’ve swiped into my previous apps, screenshotted it, and sent it to himself.

Which means he has a list of all my stupid, weird, mostly-joking-but-kinda-not sexual fantasies.

All I want to do is melt into the floor and disappear.