THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance by Elena Monroe (best big ereader txt) 📗

it wasn’t the kind that helped me maintain being frail the way they wanted in Denmark.

An exhale came before he responded, “Yes. You’ll see. And yes, but I’m not showing you…”

“You have tattoos?” I couldn’t stop my voice from sounding overwhelmingly excited as he sped down the highway. The streetlamps cascaded shadows over us as they blurred by, making us seem just as disjointed on the outside.

“More like brandings. The Clave logo is mandatory.”

“Where…?” I asked, even though I knew he wouldn’t tell me. It was worth trying.

Flicking his blinker on, he sped past the few cars on the highway as he got off the exit. He was flirting with death and it made me hate everyone who didn’t keep him safe for me.

“Somewhere no one will go. Good enough for you and your twenty-one questions? I’m dropping you off. I have work shit to handle.”

My eyes snapped into questioning slits at the thought of him having to go to work this late again. None of his world made sense and Denmark didn’t account for any of it.

He burned off the angelic parts of me with his searing glare to push me into silence. The Pretty Princess parts had run away, and I was left with the desire to crack through to the Bowen I used to know.

Crossing my arms and legs, I sat back. “I’m not going home; I’m going with you. You’ve been drinking and it’s my responsibility to care when you don’t.”

It was always my responsibility to care, always had been, even with a world between us.

He actually laughed, grappling the parts of me that were stern. “Your responsibility? That’s real fucking precious. I’ve been taking care of myself since the second you left and Braeden died.” His mouth tightened and his jaw ticked, trying to control whatever emotion was left in him. His face was tortured with too much that the bottle helped him chase away.

I wasn’t sure what to say in a rebuttal to his statement. Even though he and Braeden weren’t close, they were twins, and I knew that kind of loss would eat away at the Bowen I used to know. And I did leave, but not by choice. Either way, I’m sure that left him with zero lifelines.

If only he knew I didn’t have any either.

Reaching over the dash while going 80 MPH down side streets, I felt his knuckles brush over my skin. He wasn’t fucking my halo crooked; he was melting it down to tension that was slowly killing me. My knees were practically touching the glove box as his hand pushed my crossed legs apart, and I opened them automatically.

“Bowen,” I was begging him to stop making it worse in a breathy moan of his name.

“Eve,” was all he said when he fished out another nip from the compartment, not even noticing my legs or the heat coming from between them. “You’re staying in the car the entire time.”

Piquing my interest, I responded, “What if I have to use the bathroom or need water?” Still trying to ignore the heat between my legs, I watched him chug the nip down while behind the wheel.

“Hold it, Princess.” Leaving the keys in the cup holder between us, he got out of the car and slammed the door behind him.

I crossed my arms, annoyed that he would even have the balls to keep secrets from me of all people. What he did, where he went at night, and everything leading back to the Clave was off limits in ways we never allowed before. We never had secrets or boundaries, and to have them now felt like spitting on our past selves.

I didn’t know how much time passed before I gave up on playing nice, playing it the princess way that he hated so much.

Getting out of the car, I headed for the door right below the exit sign, glowing in red. The door got stuck on itself, making me bare down in my heels and use every ounce of strength I had to yank it open. When I finally did, the entire room was pitch black, and I realized all the light was being blocked by a set of thick, black curtains at the end of the short hallway.

There was this eerie feeling like when you look for trouble, find it, and quickly regret it.

Whatever was behind the curtain was going to be the source of my regret. Or Bowen’s wrath. Either way, I was fucked.

The space was huge and barely filled, all open floor concept and looked like it could be a club when it wasn’t empty.

What the fuck was Bowen doing here when it’s clearly closed?

Was his drinking so bad he made pit stops for more liquor?

A long bar with stools lining one side sat to the left of me, all shrouded in black. The bottles on the wall behind the bar all glowed in a dull white like it was the only purity in the room. I was now really in search of water since my mouth went dry the moment I realized whatever Bowen did wasn’t trouble but probably dangerous.

Emptied out clubs are normally the start or end of mafia movies.

Behind the bar, I searched for bottled water when I finally found a small fridge stocked with some fancy Ph kind. Snagging one of the bottles, I twisted the cap off, wondering where he disappeared to when my eyes landed on a cage.

A black, iron cage that matched the two Bowen owned.

My gut wrenched, and my perfect posture deflated. I felt myself being magnetized by the iron bars, running my fingers along them while I sipped my water.

What are you doing, Bowey?

My shoulders jumped, and my fingers dropped the water when a door slammed, and a loud pop rang in my ears.