by Fields, Sara
Reckoning
Sara Fields
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
Afterword
Mafia and Billionaire Romances by Sara Fields
Books of the Alpha Brotherhood Series
Books of the Omegaborn Trilogy
Books of the Vakarran Captives Series
Books of the Captive Brides Series
Books of the Terranovum Brides Series
Sci-Fi and Paranormal Romances by Sara Fields
More Stormy Night Books by Sara Fields
About the Author
Copyright © 2021 by Stormy Night Publications and Sara Fields
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
Fields, Sara
Reckoning
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by Shutterstock/Inara Prusakova, 123RF/toncsi, and Shutterstock/Kozyrina Olga
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Chapter 1
Willow
“Do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
“I do.”
It was always the same. Sometimes the priest conducting the ceremony would switch it up, which made it at least remotely interesting. Some of them were serious in their delivery, others cute, and some of them were just flat out unique in a sort of weird way, but this one was pretty run of the mill. All in all, it was a rather boring ceremony.
This was a normal wedding in a normal church with normal people who thought they were witnessing the happiest moment in two normal people’s lives.
It was all a lie. Every last wasted cent that went into this whole charade.
I was surrounded with more beauty and money than I could shake a stick at. My wedding dress was from some famous designer I couldn’t remember the name of, and it had come with a price tag of at least ten thousand dollars and that didn’t even include the veil, the lingerie beneath it, and the custom-made Louboutins on my feet. The church venue cost a great deal and so did all the flowers and decorations I’d demanded through the wedding planning process because I wanted what I want, and my groom’s bank account could afford it. He wanted to spoil me, and I let him.
I think this was my most expensive wedding to date and that was saying something.
If only they gave out trophies for that sort of thing.
“Do you take this woman as your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold…”
Blah blah blah. I stopped listening to his voice and waited for what would come next.
“I do.”
The groom’s blue eyes danced with excitement. He thought this was all real, which meant that I’d done my job perfectly.
He was probably just excited for the honeymoon that he’d never have.
I’d be gone before he knew what to do with himself.
I’d lost count of how many weddings I’d been in; of how many times I’d been the blushing happy bride standing at the altar. I’d planned more than a dozen of them at this point. I’d worn pretty much every different style of wedding dress that I could find. I’d had every type of cake. I’d been married outdoors, in a church, in a country club, on a boat, and even in a barn. I’d had Michelin star catering at my reception, and I’d had an outdoor barbeque at another and then everything else there could possibly be in between.
The venue was unremarkable. It was pretty, but that’s really all it had going for it. The church was covered in red roses. His tux was black, but the bow tie matched the flowers that surrounded us. Pretty scarlet bows decorated the stained-glass church windows and at least one hundred people sat in the pews watching the two of us take our lifelong vows together.
They didn’t know that my name wasn’t Sophia Jackson, that it was really Willow Rose, or that there wasn’t a single one of them who would see my face ever again.
Especially Dean Waterhouse.
This was going to hit him the hardest.
You see, he thought I was his perfect match. Each of my marks always did. I changed my look, my accent, and my behavior for each one of them. Sometimes that meant that my hair color was different, or I did my makeup to look like someone else, or that my entire wardrobe was modified to exactly what they would like. The people I worked for had deep pockets and they wanted to make sure I had everything I needed to do my job flawlessly.
Those blue eyes sparkled as they searched mine. Afraid that I’d let the ruse fall for a second, I smiled warmly in his direction and his lips turned up with joy. The corners of his eyes crinkled, and I was positive that this was the happiest day of his life.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” I mouthed back. I kissed the tip of my forefinger and held it up in the air. It had been our little thing ever since he’d taken me out on his yacht when he’d asked me out on a second date.
Like we’d found each other when the other was lost, beacons of hope no matter the direction of the wind.
Dean liked the cheesy stuff. The sweeter the better so I poured it on like rain.
Dean had been one of my easier marks. I could mostly be myself around him, which was pretty convenient. It was always the toughest when I had to become something of a persona. The last one had liked French girls and it had been some serious work to make sure I never dropped the accent, not even once.
Before I’d even met him, I knew that Dean liked his woman to be independent, feisty, and a real go-getter. He enjoyed when I pushed him, and he especially liked it when I put myself in charge in the bedroom. He was sweet and gentle, always buying me gifts and taking me to expensive dinners whenever he could get time off work at his Fortune 500 software corporation that cleared several billion dollars a year.
It’s what bought the five-carat diamond engagement ring on my left hand and the diamond-encrusted wedding band he was sliding onto my finger right now.
Dean liked to be a sugar daddy of sorts and I was just the sort of fixer upper that he adored taking care of.
Before I even bumped into my marks, I studied them extensively. I scoured social media and the tabloids for indications of what they liked. I tailed them for more than a week at a time just to understand who they were and what they wanted in and out of the bedroom, and I was really good at it.
Dean was a very rich man, which meant that he would be a very rich payday for me. It had been less than six months since I’d accidentally knocked into him and spilled his coffee before I insisted on buying him a new one. We’d spent at least four hours together that morning and the whirlwind romance hadn’t stopped since.
I hadn’t let it.
He reached for me and took my hands in his. His hands were firm, dwarfing mine as he squeezed gently.
I slid his own wedding band on his left hand and didn’t meet his eyes. For some reason, the gleeful excitement in his face was something I couldn’t bear to see right now.
Instead I took a deep breath, stared at the floor, and feigned a nervo
us look, playing the part of an anxious bride.
Get it together, Willow. You’re fucking better than this.
“Then I now pronounce you man and wife,” the priest declared, his voice resolute and firm.
The crowd watching roared and applauded with approval. The beautiful tune of a violin sang above us, and Dean took my hand in his and held it up high in the air, putting us on display together in front of everyone watching.
Every one of them were his guests. No one was there for me.
No one ever was.
I smiled and painted my face with the joy they all expected to see. I just had to play the blissful bride for a little longer before I could disappear forever and move onto my next job.
* * *
After the ceremony, my wedding planner rushed me back to the bridal suite for a wardrobe change for the reception to follow. Whenever possible, I liked to avoid the man I married on the day of the ceremony as much as I could. It minimized the chances of getting found out at the last minute. I couldn’t have that.
My record was perfect. Each job was ridiculously expensive and horrendously time-consuming, but I nailed each one every time.
It was a special sort of talent to be a con woman like me. My skills were dangerous to the rich, no matter what was between their legs. Man or woman, they were all the same.
They all wanted to fall in love.
They all yearned for a best friend.
They all dreamed of the perfect fucking fairy tale.
They wanted it all and I gave them everything they could ever wish for.
Over and over again, because at the end of the day, I didn’t really have a choice. The moment I stopped, I was as good as dead. The organization I worked for didn’t tolerate even an ounce of disobedience and I really didn’t want to find out what it felt like to take a bullet between the eyes.
With a heavy sigh, I fingered the scarlet lace of the racy number I had planned to wear that was waiting for me on its hanger. There was a knock on the door, and I raised my voice just high enough to tell them to enter. My wedding planner’s assistant smiled, and I nodded in greeting. Time to step into Sophia’s persona again.
“Jenny,” I said lightly.
“Sophia,” she replied far too happily. “Are you ready to get out of your wedding dress?”
“I thought you’d never ask. Wearing this mermaid gown is work on my legs,” I laughed, and she chuckled right on cue.
“I wore a similar style at my wedding too. By the end of the day, my inner thighs wanted to scream, but the pictures were beautiful. I just know yours will be too,” she replied.
She was far too fucking cheery.
With a fake happy sigh, I slid my fingers along the soft red lace. Jenny turned me just enough so that she could begin unbuttoning the long line of tiny silk-wrapped buttons that cascaded down the length of my spine. I looked in the mirror one last time, taking in the intricately embroidered sweetheart neckline and slim waist. The fit was perfect, showcasing the gentle curve of my hips and my long lean legs. The embroidery was light pink in contrast to the stark white silk and wrapped down the length of the dress all the way to the hem at my feet in an explosion of color. It was as if I was covered in a bouquet of flowers from my head to my toes.
Like cherry blossoms drifting on the wind.
I had to admit that it was one of the prettier dresses I’d ever worn and even though the ceremony was boring by my standards, I wouldn’t forget that look of pure adoration Dean had when the priest had pronounced us man and wife.
I shook my head.
“Just another minute. There’s a lot of buttons,” Jenny said curtly.
“Did we clock how long it took to get me dressed this morning?”
“At least an hour and that most definitely didn’t include makeup and hair.”
“I imagine Lola has a schedule?” Lola was my wedding planner.
“Yeah. She’s on top of everything like that. We had a big meeting yesterday to make sure everything was perfect for your big day,” she continued.
“Do you do a lot of weddings?” I asked, wanting to fill the air with conversation rather than the sad void of my own lonely mind.
“Yes. Somewhere between three to five a week, except for this week. Dean paid enough to clear our schedule so that we could focus entirely on you,” Jenny added.
Of course he did.
“That was sweet of him,” I whispered.
“He loves you,” she answered, sounding all chipper, happy, and kind.
“I know,” I replied, not having the heart to return the sentiment. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything at all.
Her fingers worked down the middle of my back, and when she finally reached the bottom of those cursed buttons I felt like I could draw the first full breath of air into my lungs since the crack of dawn that morning.
“There now. Just a few more,” she murmured.
When she carefully pushed the dress down my hips, I stayed still until I was able to gracefully step out of the expensive gown. Quickly, she hung the dress back up and smoothed out any wrinkles before she turned back to see me already slipping the stretchy red lace up my legs. I pulled it up into place and turned for her. She zipped it up and straightened it a bit to hide the fancy white lingerie set I was wearing beneath.
She unclipped my hair and it cascaded down my back in waves. Part of my up-do was still intact and when I glanced in the mirror, I realized it was really quite beautiful. I’d have to get my hair done like that again.
Not at my next wedding of course. I’d have to do something else.
Jenny touched up my red lipstick and swept a little bit of setting powder on my nose. When she was done, she smiled in appreciation.
“Perfection. Dean won’t know what hit him,” she said.
“No, he definitely won’t,” I whispered. She really had no idea how accurate of a statement that would be.
For a moment, she let me admire myself in the mirror before she beckoned me back to the door.
“The reception is already in full swing. They’re already clamoring for dinner, the cake, and especially for the wedded couple’s first dance,” she beamed.
Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that.
I grinned nervously and she shook her head.
“No need to be nervous. You’ll be perfect. I’ve seen the two of you dance. You’re magic together,” she said confidently.
I really was too good at getting people to believe whatever I wanted them to.
Too fucking good.
I giggled with contrived giddiness as I took the arm she was offering and strode to the door. She guided me down a few lesser used hallways to the back of the reception hall where I planned to make a rather big second entrance into the biggest after-party I’d ever planned.
Once we arrived at the elegantly carved wooden doors, Jenny opened them with a flourish. The dim hue of red and pink lights flittered across the landing, spiraling down the marble staircase and casting an otherworldly glow. I took a step out to see everyone seated at their respective table, the ones Dean and I had worked on for hours together in order not to seat Auntie Laura next to Uncle Joe because they’d had some sordid affair together that pissed off his parents, among numerous other issues he informed me of along the way.
Family drama was really quite amusing.
The crowd applauded as I walked down the stairs, careful not to slip in my red-bottomed shoes. Once I was at ground level, Dean swept in from the right side and curled his arm around my waist before pulling me into a deep kiss.
I pressed my lips against his, playing the part of a happily married bride.
Very soon, I’d turn his world upside down.
He pulled back and smiled down at me, his regal blue eyes dazzling. He was such a good person, so giving and kind. I knew it gave him great pleasure to see me smile so that’s what I did.
I usually didn’t feel guilty for doing my job.
With him though, it was beginnin
g to take its toll.
If I had a choice, I’d stay. But I didn’t. The two of us were never fated to be one and I just had to accept that.
Chapter 2
For once, I allowed myself to really enjoy the wedding reception. There was an open bar and endless glasses of champagne. The cake was especially delicious and when the time came for the tables to be cleared, the excited energy of the crowd rose along with the music.
The first few beats of Passenger’s ‘Let Her Go’ played over the speakers and I drew in a shaky breath.
I don’t know why that song spoke to me. Maybe it was romantic. Maybe it said something about me, but none of it really mattered. Dean offered me his hand and I took it. The two of us strolled onto the dance floor and the sound of our song echoed throughout the room.
The dance had been choreographed. It was something he wanted to do, and I’d jumped at the chance. He’d hired one of the top choreographers in the country for private lessons together, which gave me even more time with him to deepen the whole ploy.
“Only know you love her when you let her go.”
His eyes held mine and in them, I saw how steadfast, strong, and perfect he was. Dean was the kind of man I’d love to call mine, but I knew I would never be allowed such things. A life like mine didn’t allow for love or even the smallest bit of happiness.
My life was work. Every day. Every hour. Every minute.
Within a week, I’d be onto the next mark with a new city, a new name, and a new life, and I’d never get to look into those soulful eyes again. I’d never see him again after this was all over.