Five Years in Prison for Him,Now I'm His Enemy's QueenChapter 1
I took the fall for Dennis Henson's money-laundering operation. Five years in a women's prison, where they beat me so badly I nearly lost my uterus.
Before I went in, he kissed the shell of my ear and whispered that when I got out, the entire East District would be my wedding gift.
The day I walked free, his motorcade was waiting. And there he stood, in the middle of it all, draping his suit jacket over the shoulders of a rival syndicate's simpering little bastard daughter.
"She's carrying my child. In this line of work, she won't survive without a clean name. You've already got a record, so just hand over the queen's seat to her."
Every man in the Syndicate swallowed hard, certain I was about to pull a trench knife and sever his tendons at the ankle.
Instead, I brushed the dust off my prison uniform and let one word fall, cold as a blade: "Fine."
I turned around and slipped on the wedding ring offered by the Inner Circle's bloodthirsty crown prince himself.
On our wedding night, Dennis knelt on a carpet of broken glass, a gun jammed under his own chin. "You take off one piece of clothing and I'll blow my brains out right here in front of your marriage bed!"
——
"Drive. Don't let the filth outside dirty my eyes."
I leaned back against the Maybach's leather seat, my voice raw.
Beyond the window, Dennis was slamming his palms against the bulletproof glass.
That face of his, always so composed, so calculating, was twisted now. Nothing but shock and panic in his eyes.
Nellie Fox stood where he'd shoved her aside, shivering in the autumn wind, staring in disbelief at the convoy of blacked-out sedans bearing consecutive government plates.
"Margot Delgado! Have you lost your mind? Get the hell out of that car!"
The driver didn't hesitate. He floored it. The V12 engine let out a deep, guttural roar.
The man I'd spent five years protecting with my life shrank into exhaust fumes and dust.
The man sitting beside me took his time peeling off the black leather gloves he always wore, revealing a pair of pale, elegant hands.
Christian Finley. The Inner Circle's infamous crown prince—bloodthirsty, volatile, and utterly unpredictable.
He tossed the gloves aside. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, narrow eyes studied me.
"Ms. Delgado. Right now, you look like an abandoned dog."
He leaned in without warning and seized my chin.