THE CONTROL: An Arranged Marriage Romance by Elena Monroe (ebook reader android .txt) 📕

Twisting around, I tugged down on the emergency brake again, prompting the elevator to continue dropping to the garage where we were all headed.

The elevator doors opened, revealing all of their husbands sporting looks of worry when Vic spoke into his phone, “Ernie, forget it. It’s working again.”

Bowen was leaning against his car sharing a joint with Khaos, pinching it from his lips and passing it. He looked amused, and full of attitude instead of whatever was running between the others.

Khaos laughed, telling the only one I liked, the spunky blonde he belonged to, “You so owe me $100. I knew Eve was going to dominate that shitshow.”

“Worth it. That was gold,” the blonde retorted while I watched Reaper hug onto Abigail and Justice start to make out with Vic.

That alone explained the differences between all of us.

A bet.

A hug.

A make out session.

And silent discontent.

Testing Bowen’s limits, I looked at him, “Were you worried about me?” He cared enough to hurry me out, but I wanted to measure all the care he had for me by squeezing it out of him.

“I knew you were the one who pulled the emergency stop latch. You’d use their bodies as a damn ladder to get out. You’re nothing if not wildly resourceful, Princess.” He deadpanned like it was obvious to everyone I was the problem child.

Khaos had this grin plastered to his face that made this seem like a dangerous game. “Great, my troublemaker of a wife and Miss Wild Child over here will probably start enough fires to turn us to ashes.”

Offering her a hand, I joked, “So weird, I hear you’re trouble, I’m apparently wild. I haven’t seen you at the meetings...”

Laughing, she offered her name, “Grace: troublemaker, man-child wrangler, this guy’s star-crossed lover.

BOWEN

There was really nowhere else we could go except Sins and Forgiveness. Carrying our last names meant making sure we portrayed a certain image publicly—not someone getting a photo of us with strippers to circulate on every news outlet.

Our fun had to be more private and S&F was the dungeon of our sins.

Almost all of our taste levels were formed in this club. When you step into power, go to a boarding school for the elite, and are told the world is yours on a string, you develop less than savory habits like killing, drugs, women, pain, party favors, or worse.

We weren’t even scratching the surface with our bad habits. These were accessories we lived with.

Walking in against my will, Vic’s hand in the air guided me forward into the darkness right inside the door. Oleg was standing there with a bottle of Hennessy and a grin like he wished this certain death upon me.

Waiting for the guys to move past me, I lingered in front of the stairs of the VIP with Donte when I threatened him into not making this worse, “No one touches me, or I kill everyone in this club. Got it?”

Throwing his hands up, my eyes floated with the Hennessy bottle’s movements in his hand like it was flirting with me and playing hard to get. “No trouble from me, boss. Congratulations.” Handing me the bottle, I didn’t wait to break the seal to hear that sweet sound of the cap cracking before I took a big gulp.

Upstairs there were lush, dark green velvet couches, small tables, and women in smaller outfits serving every power player of LA. I’m not one to drop names, but I’m sure you’d know them all if I did. We had our fingers on every pulse from influencers, politicians, actors, musicians—you name it and they were probably initiated as an honorary member.

No one gets the joy of doing this job without one of our last names.

Pushing past Vic’s and Khaos’s legs, I fell down to the couch and almost bounced back. I was feather light without any alcohol coursing through me. I was so concerned with trying to figure out what the girls had in store for Eve that I forgot to drink.

A new development.

The girls might as well have been a cult of their own when I realized their lips were sewn shut. I couldn’t even get an estimated time of arrival back home from Abigail or Grace. I didn’t even attempt to ask Justice; that would only inspire even worse ideas like leaving LA to go to Vegas or some shit.

Add more risk to the already dangerous situation Eve and I had contained at home.

A parade of girls strutted into the VIP area, and Khaos was punching the air with his fist like his taste for variety would never truly die.

Leaning back and crossing my feet at the ankles that rested on the table in front of me, I drank every time someone annoyed me. It was often and a great rendition of a drinking game to get me through the night—or the bottle, whichever came first.

Khaos swapped spots with one of the girls, pulling out moves that made me uncomfortable, grinding his hips onto her lap and swaying in ways I didn’t know he could. Vic enjoyed his lap dance the traditional way someone should and to the left of me, Grimm’s gun was resting against his thigh to ward off anyone who attempted to come too close.

I was safely untouched while I flirted with the idea of being drunk when I looked down to see that a hefty amount of the liquor was gone. I had my reasons for not wanting to be touched. Most of them stemmed from being molested by creeps every summer after my brother died and ended with Eve being so tempting, I nearly considered giving her my virginity every damn day.

That was one of my secrets—my purity in the form of an untouched