His Broken Bride Is A Hidden Genius

The rain in Hell's Kitchen didn't fall; it attacked.

Adeline Summers kept her head down, her cheap canvas sneakers splashing through the oily puddles of the dark alley. The cold water soaked through her thin jacket, making her shiver, but she didn't slow her pace. She needed to get out of this neighborhood. Now.

A sickening crack echoed through the narrow space.

It was the sound of bone snapping. Adeline's body went completely rigid. Her breath caught in her throat. She pressed her back against the rough, wet brick of the building, her eyes piercing through the heavy curtain of rain.

Ten yards ahead, a massive man wearing a black surgical mask had another man pinned against the wall. The masked man's eyes were dead. Empty. Like a reaper calculating the weight of a soul.

The pinned man let out a wet, gurgling plea.

The masked man didn't hesitate. His massive forearm flexed, pressing harder against the victim's windpipe. The man's eyes rolled back, and he slumped into the muddy water, completely unconscious.

Adeline stopped breathing. She took a slow, agonizing step backward.

Crunch.

Her heel found a broken beer bottle hidden in the puddle. The glass shattered, the sharp noise cutting through the rain like a gunshot.

The masked man's head snapped toward her. His gaze locked onto the trash cans where she stood. A heavy, suffocating pressure slammed into Adeline's chest. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently it hurt.

She turned and ran.

Her wet soles slipped on the slick asphalt. Her knees slammed into the ground, tearing the skin. Before she could push herself up, a large, freezing hand clamped down on the back of her neck.

He lifted her entirely off the ground.

Adeline choked, her hands flying up to claw at the iron grip. He spun her around. The smell of fresh copper blood and expensive, woody cologne invaded her senses. It was a terrifying, aggressive combination.

His dark eyes scanned her terrified face. Without a word, his free hand ripped open the pockets of her jacket.

Adeline kicked and thrashed. His fingers tightened on her throat. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. Her lungs burned for oxygen.

His hand dove into her inner shirt pocket. He yanked out a silver necklace with a thick pendant. Her grandfather's only relic.

Panic spiked in Adeline's veins. She reached for it instinctively.

He caught her wrist and twisted it backward. A sharp, blinding pain shot up her arm. She gasped, her knees buckling.

He stared down at her, the killing intent in his eyes solidifying. He was going to snap her neck. Adeline's brain fired on all cylinders. She needed a way out. She needed him to see her as something else. Something harmless. Something broken.

She let her body go completely limp.

The sharp, calculating light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a hollow, vacant stare. She let her jaw drop slightly. A string of saliva pooled at the corner of her mouth. She tilted her head, offering him a wide, senseless, childlike grin.

The man's grip on her throat loosened a fraction. His dark brows pulled together in deep confusion.

Adeline raised a mud-covered hand. She reached out, her fingers clumsy and uncoordinated, and poked the edge of his black mask.

"Peekaboo," she giggled.

Extreme revulsion flashed in his eyes. He swatted her hand away so hard she flew backward, rolling through the muddy puddle.

Adeline didn't cry. She stayed on her hands and knees in the filth and laughed. A high-pitched, grating sound that echoed unnervingly in the rain.

The man's breathing suddenly hitched. The muscles in the hand that had just been wrapped around her throat began to twitch violently, the fingers curling and uncurling against his will. He stared at his own skin as if she had infected him with a disease.

Adeline reached into the puddle. She found a discarded, dirt-covered lollipop still in its wrapper. She tore the plastic off with her teeth and shoved the filthy candy into her mouth, sucking on it loudly.

The man watched her chew on the garbage. The urge to kill her was rapidly being swallowed by a visceral, physiological disgust.

Sirens wailed in the distance. The sound cut through the rain. The man's ear twitched. He wasn't going to waste time on a retard.

He shoved the silver necklace into his trench coat pocket. He looked down at her one last time, his eyes filled with absolute contempt.

Adeline sucked on the lollipop, offering him a blank, stupid stare. Inside, her mind was taking a photographic snapshot of his height, his build, the exact shade of his eyes.

He turned to walk away. But the violent twitch in his hand spread up his arm. His sanity was fraying. He stopped, his broad shoulders tensing.

He reached into his boot and pulled out a military-grade combat knife.

He turned back around. He walked slowly toward Adeline, the steel blade catching the dim, sickly yellow light of the streetlamp.

His heavy combat boots splashed through the puddles, closing the distance.

Griffin crouched in front of her. He pressed the flat, freezing edge of the knife against Adeline's cheek.

The blade was sharp enough to slice through a single layer of skin. A tiny bead of warm blood welled up, mixing with the cold rain on her face. The sting was sharp, but Adeline bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She kept the vacant, drooling smile plastered on her face.

Griffin's eyes were dark, stormy, and unstable. He pressed harder. The blade slid down her jawline, hooking into the zipper of her cheap jacket.

With a flick of his wrist, he popped the zipper. The threat was clear and brutal.

Adeline's stomach plummeted. Every survival instinct screamed at her to fight. But she clapped her hands together instead, giggling at the shiny metal like a toddler watching a magic trick.

The lack of normal human fear frustrated Griffin. His jaw clenched. He reached out, his large hand grabbing the collar of her jacket and shirt. He ripped the fabric down her shoulder.

The freezing rain hit her bare skin.

A wave of pure humiliation and danger crashed over Adeline. If she stayed passive, he might actually violate her. She had to end this.

She dropped the lollipop. Like a feral, cornered cat, she lunged forward. She opened her mouth and sank her teeth deep into the wrist of the hand holding her shoulder.

She bit down with every ounce of strength she had. The metallic taste of his blood flooded her mouth.

Griffin didn't expect the attack. But it wasn't the pain that broke him. It was the touch.

The feeling of female skin, of human contact, shot through his nervous system like a million volts of electricity. His severe touch-induced mania, a condition he fought every single day, detonated.

A low, agonizing roar tore from his throat. The veins in his eyes stood out in stark relief against the sclera, turning them bloodshot and feral, as if a hemorrhage was threatening to burst from within. His sanity snapped.

He violently swung his arm. The sheer force of his movement launched Adeline through the air.

She slammed hard into the metal dumpster. The air was knocked from her lungs. She crumpled to the ground, clutching her bruised ribs, gasping for breath.

The knife clattered into the puddle. Griffin dropped to his knees. He clutched his head with both hands, his massive frame curling inward as he let out ragged, tortured breaths.

Through the dim light, Adeline watched him. Her sharp medical mind immediately recognized the symptoms. This wasn't anger. This was a severe, pathological neurological episode.

Griffin surged to his feet like a wild beast. He kicked the heavy metal dumpster. The deafening crash echoed down the block.

He stood in the rain, his chest heaving. He turned his bloodshot eyes toward Adeline, who was curled in the corner.

Adeline immediately grabbed a dirty candy wrapper from the mud and shoved it into her mouth, chewing on the plastic with wide, terrified, empty eyes.

Griffin stared at her filthy, pathetic state. The physiological nausea finally overpowered the violent storm in his brain.

Tires screeched. A black Cadillac SUV swerved into the mouth of the alley, its high beams blinding them both.

Winston Ames, an older man in a tailored suit, jumped out. He popped a black umbrella and rushed toward Griffin. When he saw the blood and Griffin's state, Winston's face went pale.

"Sir," Winston said, his hand dropping to the holster at his waist. He looked at Adeline. "Do we need to dispose of her?"

Griffin closed his eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He looked at Adeline with absolute disgust.

"Leave the retard," Griffin spat.

Winston nodded, quickly holstering his weapon. He guided Griffin's shaking frame toward the back seat of the SUV.

Before getting in, Griffin looked back. His eyes locked onto Adeline one last time, filled with a lingering, chaotic irritation.

The heavy car door slammed shut. The SUV sped off into the rainy night, splashing dirty water onto the curb.

Adeline sat perfectly still until the red taillights disappeared completely.

She spat the plastic wrapper into the puddle.

The dull, empty look in her eyes vanished instantly. Her gaze became razor-sharp, cold, and calculating.

She reached up and touched her bare neck. Her grandfather's necklace was gone.

She pushed herself off the wet pavement, ignoring the throbbing pain in her ribs. She pulled her torn jacket tight across her shoulder. She was going to get that necklace back. No matter who that monster was.

Adeline walked out of the alley, the neon lights of the Manhattan streets reflecting in the puddles. She needed to find a subway station.

Two massive men in cheap black suits stepped out from the shadows of a closed bodega. They blocked the sidewalk.

The first goon pulled out his phone. He looked at the screen, then looked at Adeline's dirt-streaked face.

"It's her," he sneered, his thumb swiping across the screen before pocketing the device. He cracked his knuckles, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Looks even worse in person. Let's get this over with before the rain ruins my suit."

Adeline's heart went cold. Katrina. Her stepmother hadn't even waited for her to arrive in the Hamptons. She had sent killers to stop the marriage before it even started.

The second goon laughed, reaching out a meaty hand to grab Adeline's wet hair. "Come here, sweetheart. Let's make this quick."

Adeline ducked.

Her wrist flicked. Two incredibly thin, surgical-grade needles slid from the seams of her sleeves into her fingers.

She let out a fake, terrified squeak and stumbled forward, crashing directly into the first goon's chest.

In the split second their bodies collided, Adeline drove the needle precisely into the vagus nerve cluster at the base of his neck.

The man didn't even gasp. His eyes rolled back into his head. His massive body instantly lost all motor function and collapsed onto the wet concrete like a sack of dead weight.

The second goon froze, his eyes wide with shock. He thought his partner had just suffered a massive heart attack.

Adeline dropped to the ground. She sat in the puddle, pointing at the fallen man, and began to wail like a frightened five-year-old.

"Shut up!" The second goon yelled, his nerves fraying. He raised his hand to slap her across the face.

Adeline rolled away clumsily. As she scrambled, she brought her heel down hard on the arch of his foot.

The man grunted in pain and bent over.

It was all the opening she needed. The second needle flashed in the dim light. She drove it straight into the motor nerve node in his lower lumbar.

The goon's legs gave out instantly. He crashed to his knees, paralyzed from the waist down, his eyes wide with absolute horror as he stared at the crying girl.

Adeline stopped crying.

She stood up, brushing the dirt off her jeans. Her eyes were completely devoid of emotion as she stepped over the two paralyzed bodies and kept walking toward the subway.

Miles away, inside the speeding Cadillac SUV, Griffin leaned back against the leather seats. He took slow, deep breaths, forcing the manic energy back down into the dark corners of his mind.

Winston offered him a glass of ice water and a small white pill.

Griffin smacked the pill away. It bounced off the window.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the silver necklace. He rubbed his thumb over the heavy pendant, his mind racing.

"Sir," Winston said cautiously. "The Martinez family is pressing for details regarding the marriage arrangement."

Griffin let out a dark, humorless laugh. A monster like him, a man who couldn't even stand the touch of a woman without turning into a violent animal, didn't need a real wife.

An image flashed in his mind. A girl covered in mud, chewing on garbage, laughing at a knife.

Griffin opened his eyes. A twisted, brilliant plan formed in his head.

"Tell Martinez I agree to the marriage," Griffin said, his voice cold and absolute. "But I want the eldest daughter. The one they just brought back from the country."

Winston's eyes widened in shock. "Sir? But intelligence says she is... cognitively impaired. A defect. It will ruin the Herring family's reputation."

"Exactly," Griffin snapped. "A wife with no cognitive function is the perfect cover. She won't ask questions. She won't talk. She won't touch me."

Winston swallowed hard. He knew better than to argue when Griffin used that tone. He pulled out his tablet and began drafting the prenuptial agreement.

An hour later, Adeline sat in the back of a late-night bus heading toward the Hamptons.

She leaned her head against the cold glass window. Her reflection stared back at her. She wasn't going to run from this arranged marriage. She was going to use her "stupid" identity to tear the Martinez family apart from the inside out.