Verona Blood Read online

  “I said. No. Talking.” He wraps one hand around my throat and squeezes, not hard enough to scare me, but enough to reduce my air supply to the bare minimum. Will keeps thrusting into me with his fingers, bringing me close to breaking point. I pant against his chokehold, taking tiny sips of air as my head begins to spin, my hips mimicking his movements as my body cries for release.

  “Reason two,” he continues, anger rolling off him in waves. “Your father finally decided to make you marry that fucking pedophile who’s been following you around since you were a kid.”

  His eyes tell me he already knows the answer. He swallows with difficulty, looking up at the ceiling for a moment. His fingers loosen around my throat, his other hand gone from between my thighs. “You’re my girl,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. When he looks back at me, his hazel eyes are shining. “I’m not letting him do this to us, Aves.”

  I think about the embryos Enzo told me about. How, if I don’t follow my father’s plans, I have absolutely no doubt my family will continue in my absence. They’ll use my own unborn children as ammunition against me, against the boy I love. And it’s not just that. I fear what my father will do to Will if he sees him as a threat to his grand plans.

  My father has had people killed for less. Much, much less. I’ve loved Will since I was seventeen years old. And the last thing I want to do is be the reason he ends up dead in a hit-and-run, or from a mysterious overdose, or just plain disappears, never to be seen again.

  My cousin Ty’s girlfriend disappeared three years ago, after he got careless and she got knocked up. They found her in Mexico, in a poppy field. Or, they found pieces of her, buried amongst the flower beds. My cousin was never the same after that. He never suspected his own family, but I did. I know what the Capulets are capable of doing in the name of blood.

  “I have to,” I whimper. “I’m sorry.”

  “You will be,” Will snaps. “Take your dress off.”

  I unzip my dress and push it down over my hips, letting it pool on the floor like a dark puddle around my feet. I’m completely naked now, my nipples so hard they ache, my body desperately craving to be filled.

  Will dips his head, pressing his forehead against mine as he reaches between us. He’s still hard, the head of his cock purple with need.

  “Wrap your legs around me,” Will murmurs, ripping the condom off and dropping it on the floor. He lets go of my throat and uses both of his hands to grab my ass, lifting me in the air. My pussy rubs against his cock as he carries me three steps, slamming me against the mausoleum wall. Holding me against the wall with one hand under my ass and the weight of his body to pin me still, he uses his other hand to guide himself to my entrance. I don’t think I’ve ever been so naked, so desperate, so fucking turned on.

  “I’m not letting him take you away from me,” Will says through gritted teeth, pushing into me. It’s different like this, skin on skin. It’s never felt this good before.

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, screaming as he seats himself in one violent thrust.

  Will pulls back, gripping my chin with his thumb and forefinger, his skin hot, the room cold. “Avery,” he says, and then something clicks for him. He sees it in my face. He knows I’m not going to fight for him, at least not in the way he wants me to. He knows I’m going to marry Joshua. And the rage inside him, when he realizes this, needs somewhere to go.

  I open my mouth to explain, but Will clamps a hand over my mouth. His gaze is like fire, and in that moment, it’s like he sees everything I’ve ever kept from him in one devastating flash. I hear his teeth grind together, his jaw straining as he searches for my eyes. Is he looking for hope? For something to redeem me?

  Whatever it is he’s looking for, he obviously doesn’t find it. He takes his hand away from my mouth slowly, his intent clear: Don’t speak.

  So I don’t. I stay silent, watching him, both of us still breathing heavily, me still impaled on his cock, wet and needy and trying desperately to stop my hips from the shallow thrusts they seem to be doing of their own accord, as my body tries to draw him deeper. Even physically, I feel like I’m losing him.

  “Will,” I sob.

  His expression turns to pure rage, but I’m not afraid. Not when he takes my wrists in his hands and pulls them down by my sides. He makes a low sound in his throat, almost a growl, as he smashes my wrists against the hard marble wall. It hurts, shock waves of pain lancing from my wrists through my body. I choke on a moan as Will’s fingers return to my throat and squeeze again.

  “I love you,” Will says, choking me as he rears back, almost pulling out of me. “But I fucking hate you, Avery.”

  He slams into me on the word hate, and I’d scream again if he weren’t choking me. He must realize I’m on the verge of passing out, because he lets go of my throat, returning his palm to my mouth. Every time he fucks into me, it’s brutal. Painful. Carnal. He’s hurting me, but I don’t want him to stop. I want him to fuck me like this until it kills us both.

  I’m so wet. He’s so violent. Every time he thrusts, I’m on the brink of coming.

  “Don’t you dare come until I say so,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  A small whine of protest escapes my throat before I can tamp it down. I’m so close it aches, even though the hard wall behind me makes my back hurt, the bite of pain distracting enough to stop me from fully letting go.

  “Is this how Daddy’s little whore wants to be fucked?” he asks. “In the dark, against the wall, like a fucking slut?”

  My eyes widen when he says that. He takes his hand away from my mouth and continues to rut into me, his eyes burning into mine, demanding an answer. His words should offend me. But I suppose the truth hurts, right? My father is whoring me out, literally, to the highest bidder. A billionaire with a penchant for marrying equally rich teenage girls, whether they like him or not.

  But instead of being offended by Will, I’m fucking turned on. “Yes,” I moan.

  “Yes, what? Say it.”

  Will’s eyes are fire, his grip a vise.

  “Ohmygod. Yes! This is how I want to be f-fucked,” I gasp.

  Will leans down and sucks my left nipple into his mouth, biting down hard enough to make me squeal. “Fuck!” I protest.

  “Say it properly. Say, this is how Daddy’s little whore wants to be fucked. And then I’ll let you come.”

  I draw in a ragged breath, everything overwhelming me. Will pinches my other nipple in warning. “Say it.”

  Shame and lust flood every cell of my body as I repeat the words. “This is how Daddy’s little whore wants to be fucked,” I moan. Will sucks on my neck hard, hard enough to leave a bruise, and then he fucking bites me.

  “Ahh!” I yell, watching him as he pulls his teeth away and kisses me on the mouth. He catches my bottom lip between his teeth and bites down, not enough to draw blood, but enough that it fucking hurts. At the same time, he presses his thumb to my clit and rubs rough circles. His anger thrills through me, the sudden violence welcome, and it’s more than enough to lift me up past the pain.

  I break apart before him, every part of me tightening, fireworks behind my heavy-lidded eyes.

  He moves faster, fucks harder, until he’s done. Suddenly I’m on my feet again, empty, my thighs damp, watching as the only boy I’ve ever really loved staggers back a step, hatred in his eyes and the remnants of our fuck shining on his cock.

  “I can’t marry you,” I blurt out. “It’s too late.” I need to get out of here. “I’m s-sorry. I have to go.”

  Will laughs, but the sound is devoid of any joy. “Do I look like I’m finished yet?”

  I turn and take a step back, bracing my hand on the smooth wall we were just up against. I know if I really want to leave, he won’t stop me. But maybe I’m not ready for this to be over, either.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, his eyes fixed on my thigh. I follow his gaze, to the sticky semen rolling down my inner thigh. “Do you have an
y idea what that does to me? Seeing my cum on you like that? Knowing some other asshole gets to do that to you?”

  I’m going to be late to my own birthday party. My father will be pacing his office right about now, wondering where I am. At the hotel, flowers will be hung, crystal glasses polished, the rooftop pool beside the ballroom heated to the perfect temperature, even though nobody will be swimming tonight. Everything will be on schedule. Except me. Because I’m too busy standing in a mausoleum full of my dead family, naked, with cum leaking out of me.

  It’s kind of fucking awful when I think about it like that. But it’s my party, and I’ll be late if I want to. Will’s erection shows no signs of going away, and I’ll probably never see him again after we get in our respective cars and leave this place today.

  And I love him.

  So, fuck it.

  Daddy can wait.

  Wordlessly, I reach down and run my finger through the creamy liquid on my thigh, all the while acutely aware of Will’s concentrated gaze. I bring the same finger to my mouth and suck, my pussy throbbing in anticipation as Will sucks in a sharp breath.

  “Turn around and put your hands on the fucking altar,” he demands, his eyes almost black in the weak light. Black and predatory. Lust alights in my belly anew, but I don’t obey.

  Rage keeps his dick hard as he spins me around, his big palm on the side of my face as he pushes my cheek into the cold marble of the altar. A few meters away, on the other end of the hard table, our two candles burn, streaks of wax tumbling down the fat pillars. I watch them, mesmerized, as Will’s cock splits me again. It’s even deeper like this, him fucking me from behind, and I moan as he fucks me so hard I almost pass out.

  It hurts, this way, him so deep, so punishing, that he bottoms out against my cervix every time he drives his hips into me. I squeeze my eyes shut, pain and pleasure a singular feeling now, no clear line where one ends and the other begins. Will lays his big body over me, his chest slick with sweat against my back as he licks along the shell of my ear.

  “He can put you in that ivory tower, but you’ll have to leave eventually,” he whispers in my ear. “And when you do, I’m fucking taking you. I’ll take you away and lock you up so nobody can have you except me.” He pulls out of me, pressing the tip of his cock to my ass. I stiffen. I’ve never done that before.

  “This does not belong to Augustus Capulet, do you understand? Not him, not Joshua Grayson, not any of those fucks. This is mine,” he says, pushing insistently against the tight ring of muscle. He reaches both hands around and pinches my nipples, hard. “These are mine.” And finally, he slides back inside my pussy. “This is mine,” he repeats, reaching around to pinch my clit. It’s enough to make me come again, and as I tighten around him, a long moan dragging from my lungs, he comes, too, fucking me so hard I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk on my high heels tonight.

  We lie there for several moments, both catching our breath, Will’s breath hot on my exposed skin. Finally, he pulls away from me, and I press my legs together to stop any more sticky liquid leaking down my leg. The last thing I need is to worry about leaving a puddle of jizz on the mausoleum floor. I’m already going to hell for what we just did in here.

  “Here,” Will says gruffly, throwing my dress on the altar beside me. I straighten, with some difficulty, my body used and abused and feeling boneless, floaty.

  “Thank you,” I say quietly, drawing the dress over my head. Will zips up the back of the dress, his movements slow, almost reluctant. I fiddle with my hair, locate my shoes and hold them on hooked fingers, and then, finally, I’ve run out of reasons not to face him.

  I turn and face the man whose heart I’ve just ripped out, shame and guilt rising with the blood in my cheeks. Will’s waiting patiently, just as he always has, his gaze hooded, suspicious. He looks fine, not a crease on his shirt, not a hair out of place, and I’m pretty sure I look like I’ve just been gang raped in a ghetto and left for dead.

  “Tell me what happened today,” he demands, zipping his pants up. “Everything.”

  I swallow. I need some water. And a case of wine. A faked death and a new identity wouldn’t hurt.

  Goddamn it.

  “Joshua was in my father’s office this morning,” I say tiredly. “He left a ring.”

  “A ring,” Will repeats.

  “An engagement ring,” I clarify. “For tonight.”

  Will’s entire body seems to shake. He’s so fucking angry, it’s a wonder he doesn’t start smashing his fists into the walls. “Avery,” he says, his tone terrifying. He’s never hurt me before, but he’s never looked like this before, either. I can see the way his fists are balled up, the brutal fucking rage, and if a Cartier box could make a bruise on my face, imagine what a man’s anger could do.

  “This isn’t over,” he seethes. “We’re not done here.”

  I don’t answer, but I guess the look on my face is answer enough.

  He stares at me for a long moment, shaking his head. He opens his mouth to say something else, but he must change his mind, because the next minute, I’m alone.

  He’s gone. I blink through tears, sliding to the floor, curling my legs around beside me as I stare up at the plaques that mark the final resting places of my sister, my mother, and my stillborn brother, the longed-for son whose entry into this world ended both of their lives.

  All three of them dead because they were born Capulets.

  Not just a surname, not just a bloodline — but a curse.

  I stare up at my sister’s spot in the wall, at eye-level if I were standing. Adeline would know what to do. She always knew what to do. That’s why her suicide was even more tragic. Death was the only logical choice for her.

  I don’t want to die. I’m too weak to pull the trigger and end it all, too much of a coward to put my head underwater and let cold death rush into my lungs.

  I understand Will’s warring love and hatred, I do. It’s exactly the feeling that claws at my throat whenever I think of my sister and what she doomed me to in her absence. It’s exactly the sensation that fills me when my father kisses my cheek, and I melt into his carefully doled out ration of affection like an emotionally malnourished child, even as I want to kill him with my bare hands for using me like a worthless pawn in our family’s name.

  Chapter Three

  ROME

  Have you ever tried getting your dick sucked after you’ve been snorting yourself stupid for three days?

  It’s all milk and cookies on day one, all warm and soft and lovely. But after a while ... After a while, it just hurts.

  “Rosaline,” I mumble. My hands are on her head, but there’s so much loose blonde hair that I can’t find her face.

  It’s day three of a sex-and-drugs bender that should have ended before it began, when Rosaline called me on Friday night. I’m still not sure why I answered, but you can probably blame my aforementioned dick for that.

  This girl is insatiable. She’s so pale, her small, firm tits firm in my palms as she bounces in my lap. We’ve moved to fucking now that her jaw is sore. Rosaline’s pussy is tight enough. My dick is hard enough. It’s all vaguely pleasant. And yet … it’s like sandpaper against my skin at the same time. I’m too high to come. I’m like an engine revving at eighty percent, but my handbrake is jammed on, and I’m not getting anywhere. And goddamn it, her hair. It’s everywhere. There are strands on my couch and on my clothes and earlier, when I swallowed a mouthful of the beer she'd handed me, one of those strands got stuck halfway down my fucking throat and made me gag. She’s got so many hair extensions weaved into her head, if she committed a crime a lot of innocent Russian women would be going to prison.

  “Rosaline,” I snap, pushing her off my lap.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, toppling to the side of me, landing on a pile of cushions at the far end of my long, antique leather couch.

  I put myself back together, wincing as I tuck my thoroughly-fucked cock back into my jeans and button up. I faste
n my belt, too, selecting a notch one tighter than normal. What is it about girls who get high and suddenly turn into sex-crazed demons?

  Though, to be fair, Rosaline is a sex-crazed demon when she’s straight. Can’t blame the coke for her insatiable libido.

  Rosaline leans back on my leather couch, the only nice thing in this falling-down room. Her eyes are red-rimmed and empty. She’s fucking high, and her comedown is yet to kick in. Oh honey, just you wait. The higher you go, the further you fall.

  “I’m tired,” I say, my only explanation. I stretch my arms above my head and let them fall out to the sides, my head resting on the low back of the couch. I’m an offering on an imaginary cross, a crucifixion of my very own making. Because I’m starting to come down off this shit … and the fall is brutal.

  Rosaline pouts beside me. She’s still flying high, her eyes like a cat stalking in the middle of the night. She straddles me again, placing her hands on the back of the couch, lifting herself into a position where she can graze her nipples against my lips. She rubs herself all over me like a sex-starved devil, as if we haven’t just been screwing for days, and when I don’t take the bait, she pushes off me dramatically.

  “You hunt me down in a bar, bring me to your piece of shit house, I let you fuck me in the ass, and this is the thanks I get?”

  I laugh. “This house is not a piece of shit,” I reply. I would be offended, but it kind of is a piece of shit. “And I seem to remember you begging earlier for me to — well, you know.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Think you’re so fucking cool, living in a house that’s falling down around you, just to spite people who’ve forgotten you exist.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, toward the large bay window, and the estate that is basically a modern castle on the lot next door.

  “Ouch,” I say, holding my hand to my chest as if she’s wounded me.

  She rolls her eyes in response.

  “Trust me,” I say, staring at the rose garden that flanks the Capulet residence next door. The rose garden they keep finding snakes in during the summer, when the damn things slither through my uncut jungle of lawn and spook their horses in the stables out back. “They haven’t forgotten.”