MARRIED TO THE DEVIL
BB HAMEL
June
SIX YEARS AGO
June Ashworth, 22
Rafe Corvino, 36
The stripper’s late.
That’s not something I ever thought I’d worry about, but Party Bill’s Wild Boys
promised to send their best-looking male dancer and I need my best friend’s
bachelorette weekend to go off without a hitch.
However, the entertainment isn’t here yet.
And the ladies were promised sexy man meat.
“They’re starting to get feral,” Beth whispers as another champagne bottle cracks
open to a loud screaming chorus of dump it down my throat, bitchhhhh. “Seriously,
where is that guy?”
“I tried calling but Party Bill isn’t picking up.”
“Big shock there. Who ever thought a guy named Party Bill would be reliable?”
“I did! They’re charging five hundred dollars per hour!”
Beth’s jaw drops. Her round cheeks turn slightly pink. We’ve known each other
since college at West Chester and I think she’s the most easily embarrassed person
I’ve ever met. “Wait, seriously?! That’s like, extortion. That’s sexy man extortion.
Sextortion? It’s wrong!”
“You know how Marnie can be.” We both gaze at our best friend as she laughs
loudly and knocks over a glass of wine. It rolls along the carpet and ends up under
the couch. I’ll be cleaning that up later, like always. “But she’s been going through a
lot lately.”
“Yeah, like being the biggest bridal asshole ever.” Beth bites absently at her
knuckle. “This guy’s gotta be really hot if he’s five hundred for an hour, right?”
“God, I hope so.” I flinch at another shriek. “At least Marn’s paying for
everything.”
“Yeah, and she’s going to be bankrupt if we don’t get this shitshow under control.”
Beth tugs at her hair. “Do you know anyone who can st ep in last second?”
I snort at the thought. “I’ve dated one guy in the last five years and you remember
how that ended.”
Dave. The infamous Dave.
Things had been going well. He was a nice guy I’d met in school and only really
started dating after graduation. I thought we were hitting it off and I was happy.
Until one afternoon, he straight up vanished, like he’d never been in my life at all.
Moved out of his apartment, changed his number, ignored my emails. It was the most
clinical and efficient dumping I’ve ever experienced.
Really messed me up.
I haven’t been able to look at another man since, not seriously anyway.
Beth’s nose wrinkles. “Yeah, okay, good point. I’m not exactly swimming in dick
either.”
“Beth! Terrible image!”
She laughs but it gets cut short at another shriek, followed by a squeal, followed
by the drunken chanting of ten sorority sisters out for blood and straight tequila
shots.
“I’ll handle it,” Beth says quickly, moving to interc ept the ladies before they get
too sloshed. “I’ll make them weak drinks. Just please, find that dancer!”
I curse to myself as Beth wades into the nightmare of twerking asses and cheering.
Marnie’s already glassy-eyed and it’s barely past nine at night.
This is going to be really, really bad.
But it’s Marnie. I love that girl more than anything. When Dave ghosted, she was
the first person on my doorst ep and she stayed with me for a week to make sure I
was okay. Even though she’s marrying a total toolbag named Dennis Mc Witt, the
douchiest douche-nugget to ever sail the seven Douche Seas, I love her more than life
itself. I’d kill for that girl because I know she’d kill for me, too.
With a groan, I hurry to the door and peer out the tiny hole, hoping against hope—
Only to find a man lingering in the hall.
Holy shit.
Without thinking, I rip the door open, elation burning in my veins.
He’s finally here!
The man looks up. There’s no surprise in his stormy gray eyes. I silently thank God
and Party Bill, because our stripper has to be the sexiest human I’ve ever seen in my
entire life.
He’s massive. Tall and broad. The fitted, dark suit pulls tight over his well-worked
muscles. Tattoos poke out at his collar and wrists, and I’m pretty sure he’s wearing a
real gold Rolex. He’s got the body of a Greek god, thighs like a professional wrestler,
arms like a football player, and that’s not the best part.
It’s his face. Those lips, full and serious, tugged into an expression somewhere
near annoyance. His chin is cut glass, his skin like marble, the stubble somehow so
fine and perfect that it makes my stomach churn. His hair’s dark, messy, ideally
tousled like he rolled out of bed looking like a model.
And those eyes. Like the ocean on a cloudy day. Not husky-bright, but intense,
etched with fine lines. I’d put him in his late thirties or early forties, but the age only
makes him that much more gorgeous.
My heart skips a beat as our eyes lock.
Sweet Jesus.
Party Bill did good.
I love Party Bill so much right now.
“You!” I lunge at the dancer. I rip a twenty-dollar-bill from my back pocket and
grab his wrist. “You’re late!” I tug at him, but it’s like pulling on stone. He doesn’t
budge. “Here, take this, find the bride, she’s the pretty one with the blond hair and
the glassy eyes, actually that’s all of them, her name’s Marnie—“ I’m babbling, my
god, and I can’t help myself, the dancer is too gorgeous and my heart’s racing.
“Anyway, find her, and tell her you have something for her—“ I tuck the money into
his waistband. “And tell her to use her teeth—“
It’s around this point, my fingers shoved into the front of his dress slacks, when I
realize something is wrong.
There are two other men in the hall, for starters. Do male dancers have pimps? Do
dancers need pimps? These men are also in suits, also large, but they’re much more
worn-looking, like they’re used to hard miles and burning weather. Craggy is the
word that comes to mind.
They stare at me in horror.
One is reaching into his jacket for something. A phone, maybe? The other st eps
forward, powerful shoulders bristling.
I look back at the dancer.
Why is a male stripper wearing a suit? Why is he wearing what looks like a real
Rolex? And expensive shoes? And a belt that feels like supple baby calfskin...
“I think you’ve confused me for someone else, little doll,” the dancer rumbles, his
voice like the grinding edges of a tectonic plate.
My entire body pulses. My core clenches. My guts go damp and I want to beg for
his forgiveness but I can’t make words come out.
Mortified. This is the definition of mortified.
I try to snatch my hand back, leaving the money behind, but he catches my wrist,
moving lightning-quick. I let out a gasp as he holds me close, his smell like cologne
and musk, pleasant and scary too.
He oozes danger. I don’t know how I missed it. I was too worried about Marnie and
not thinking, but this man, he’s so clearly not an exotic dancer that it’s like I mistook
a hungry lion for a tabby cat.
“Boss, you want me to handle her?” the closer man asks, hand still inside his
jacket. I catch the hint of what he’s holding.
Not a phone.
A fucking gun.
I open my mouth and only a pathetic moan es capes my lips.
The man holding my wrist studies me like he’s not sure what to make of me, like
I’m an alien that landed in his yard and he can’t decide if he wants to exterminate me
or not. My knees go weak and it’s all I can do to stay upright.
“What do you think, doll?” he asks, grip tightening. “Should he handle you? Or
should I handle you myself?”
“I’m sorry,” I manage to gasp, forcing words from my chest, because I’m pretty
sure that if I don’t talk, something bad will happen. “I’m so, so sorry, we’re having a
bachelorette party and we were waiting for a stripper and you were here—“
He squeezes. My wrist grinds, and I yelp. “Is that why you shoved your hand down
my pants, little doll?”
“Please, you’re hurting me.”
He looks at my arm like he didn’t realize. His grip loosens. “What’s your name?”
“June.” I whisper it, hoping that if I’m small and weak, he’ll go away. Like playing
dead for a hungry bear. “Please, I’m sorry.”
There’s a long moment. One of the worst of my life. I wish Grandma were here,
even if she can’t walk so well these days. She’s the strongest person I know. She’d be
able to get me out of this.
“Uh, sorry, but I think I’m supposed to be here?”
A voice cuts into the moment. I’m so relieved I let out a soft sob as the man
releases me. I st ep back, rubbing my wrist. A fourth person she epishly approaches,
looking around like he’s lost. He’s a few inches taller than me, out of shape, not
terrible looking but a pale wisp of a human compared to the monster who nearly
broke me.
This newcomer is dressed in a cop’s uniform and he’s carrying a boombox.
“I think your entertainment is here.” The monster gazes at me a second longer
before waving once at the men beside him. “Stand down. Enjoy your evening, June.”
I lean against the door, heart hammering, as he walks away, followed by his two
men. Neither glances in my direction like I’ve completely disappeared already.
In their wake, I’m left horrified.
What the hell just happened? Who the fuck was that guy?
I feel like I narrowly es caped with my life, but I don’t understand why.
It’s like I met true evil in person.
I touch my wrist, wondering if I’ve been poisoned by that creature.
That beautiful monster.
“Uh, excuse me? You okay? I’m looking for a bachelorette party—“
The door to the hotel room opens and screaming spills into the hallway. Beth
pokes her head out. “Hey, everything okay? They’re getting restless. Oh, is that—“
“It’s the dancer,” I say, gathering myself together the best I can. “Let’s take him to
see Marnie.”
Beth looks at the guy sk eptically. “You sure it’s him?”
“Hey, babe, don’t worry, I put on a great show.” The dancer grins. His teeth are
crooked. He does a few hip-thrusts that aren’t too bad. “You got a place I can plug
this in? And maybe charge my phone? And some coke if you got it?”
“Jesus Christ...” Beth leads the real dancer into the room by the arm. “No, we
don’t have coke, but there’s a plug over here.”
I take a moment in the hall. The monster and his two men are gone, turned the
corner, vanished into nothing. Who was that guy? And why do I feel like he’s still
standing beside me? His smell infuses the hall, leaving his mark.
I run a hand down my face with a groan.
What would I have done if he had tried to drag me off?
Nothing, I don’t think.
What the hell is wrong with me?
There’s a shriek from the hotel room followed by laughter followed by the low
thump of terrible techno music, and I drag myself into the party, putting thoughts of
that man behind me.