by Sweet, Izzy
Jude walks by me with the rivet gun in his hand. His eyes are bright with an almost maniacal glee.
Holding the gun out for me to take, he asks, “Where ya starting first?”
“I’m gonna go with the hand first,” I say as I look to Anton’s hand.
“You must stop,” Anton garbles out from his bloody mouth and nose.
Spittle flies everywhere as he shakes his head at us.
“Get his pants off completely for me,” I say as I hold the rivet gun in one hand and grab Anton’s hand with the other.
I hold his hand firmly down.
“What are we going to do below the waist?” Jude asks.
“Shin bones, kneecaps, and I’ll probably rivet the ballsack to the table,” I say with a grin then squeeze the trigger of the gun.
There’s a loud popping sound right before Anton screams.
The rivet hit right through one of his hand bones, and I bet that hurt like a motherfucker.
* * *
Russians, Yakuza, and out of all the fucking things I didn’t think would be included, the fucking Irish.
Anton spilled the beans once we shaved off all the toes on his left foot and two from his right. Not sure why the fuck he waited so damn long. We kept going though. I wanted to know his sister’s middle name and when she lost her fucking cherry to his uncle.
From what we got out of him, the Irish were paid to blow up the bar and Cherry’s house. They used some former Polish military to do it. The hit on Simon definitely was the Yakuza from everything Simon got off the guys, but Anton and his boys weren’t a part of that and they’re not cozying up with the Yakuza.
Seems there’s a bunch of bad blood there we could take advantage of.
Lucifer and Simon say that the Russians have been trying to call a ceasefire and even denied the bombings, but we just found out why. They did it through the Irish for plausible deniability. The Irish are working with them for a reason we haven’t figured out yet.
But one thing we do know, there’s going to be a wedding tomorrow afternoon and we’re going to be attending. Some guy named Alexei is marrying the Irish boss’s daughter.
I’ve got a headache that feels like it’s going to fucking split my fucking skull in half. I’m not entirely sure what the fuck I stepped on, but I’m willing to bet it’s a fucking landmine.
Walking toward the exit of the building, I ask the guys, “Any of ya’ll got a light?”
“Thought you would have quit smoking in the pen,” John says to me as he digs into his pocket.
Taking the zippo from his hand, I say, “I did. But I still gotta roast that Russian fuck’s body.”
“Ah.” He points to a black pickup truck out in the parking lot. “That’s your new ride, picked her out myself.”
Looking at the big, hefty black pickup truck with tinted windows, I grin. “Good, I wasn’t looking forward to having Simon taxi my ass everywhere.”
“I’d rather slit your throat,” Simon says from behind me.
Shouldering the corpse we wrapped inside a plastic sheet, I smile at Johnathan. “I appreciate it.”
“You gonna need any help with the body?” he asks as he moves too slowly beside me.
I heard a little about the stomach wound he took from some battle on a landing strip, and I can tell he isn’t up to helping me even if he wants to.
“Nah, brother, I got it,” I say to him.
“Gentlemen,” Lucifer says. “Let’s get together tomorrow night at seven. Bring the family. Lily is planning a large dinner for us all. With the wedding in the early afternoon, we should have plenty of time to clean up and deal with any issues that might arise.”
Fuck me, that doesn’t sound like my scene at all. I’m guessing Lily is the big man’s wife.
Andrew nudges me with his elbow. “That means you, asshole.”
What the fuck?
“Yeah, I saw you looking for a way to get out of it. Doesn’t work like that. Lily would skin you alive for missing one of her dinners,” he says with a grin.
“She would more than likely have me do it,” Lucifer says as he opens the door ahead of us.
The guys all split off as they head to their vehicles, but Lucifer sticks by my side.
“We need to talk tomorrow evening, Gabriel,” he says calmly.
Walking up to the back of the truck, I wait as he opens up the cover over the bed for me.
Flopping the corpse into it, I listen to the heavy thump of the lifeless body. I’m going to dump this pile of shit right on the doorstep of the Russian Orthodox Church and see what rats come scurrying out. Might even be able to toss some gasoline onto the fire it’s going to start.
“Yeah, when and where?” I ask as I push the hardtop back down to cover the bed of the truck.
“At the compound, and how about six?” he asks.
Nodding, I point over to James. “I’ll have James bring me out there. Gonna try to see Thomas after the wedding. I need to say goodbye.”
“I see. I’ll see you tomorrow then, and Gabriel?”
“Yeah?” I ask as I turn back from watching the rest of the men leave.
He pulls me into a tight hug with a rough pat on my back before I have a chance to stop him. I’m pretty sure my stiff posture doesn’t bother him though, nothing ever does.
Pulling back from me, he looks me straight in the eyes as he says, “I’m glad you’re home, and thank you for doing it for me.”
I just stare at him. Those are the fucking last words I expected or needed to hear.
I’d tear his throat out if I wasn’t sure I’d be bored shitless not working for him. Fuck, even now, after ten long years in the fucking pen, I’m still tempted to do it.
Pulling the phone from my pocket, I press the open button on it. Seems pretty easy, I guess.
“Everything on here I need to get started? Numbers and such?” I ask.
When I went in a fucking decade ago, I was just starting to see these phones out in the public. I had a flip phone, not a personal computer in my pocket.
“Simon has everything set up and encrypted. Everything should be good to go.”
Looking back up at Lucifer, I ask, “What the hell’s Tinder, Plenty of Fish, and Grindr?”
2
Meghan
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, awareness and horror slowly begin to creep in.
If the reflection staring back at me is true, I’ve been gowned in a snow-white wedding dress, and I can’t remember how it happened.
Have I been drugged? Or is this another nightmare to torment me?
Even now the edges of my vision is hazy and my movements are slow. Too slow. My thoughts struggle to surface, to breathe, as if I’ve been held underwater for too long.
Blinking my eyes, I reach out and touch the mirror in front of me, hoping my reflection will change. That I’ve somehow become Alice and fallen down the rabbit hole. But everything remains the same. Only the expression on my painted face changes. Shifting from a look of confusion to one resembling anger.
I push at the mirror, half-expecting my fingers to go through it, but it’s solid.
“Those… bastards…” I softly mutter, my words coming out slightly slurred.
Someone must have spiked me with something this morning… Someone who wanted my compliance guaranteed.
I strain my brain, trying in vain to pull up the moment it happened, but it’s a wasted effort. It doesn’t matter when it happened, just that it happened period.
Reaching down, I tug at the bodice of my dress. It’s uncomfortably tight and constricting. Vaguely, I can remember women speaking in Russian as they prodded, poked, and pulled on me, treating me like their doll.
My dark hair has been curled, swept up, and pinned. My makeup artfully done. Jewels glitter around my throat and dangle from ears. My arms are covered up to my elbows in silky gloves.
I’ve been molded into a beautiful bride.
And yet, I can only faintly remember bits and pi
eces of this being done.
Giving up on the tight bodice, I drop my hand and shake my head, trying to clear it. The sharp, sudden movement though only causes a wave of intense dizziness to sweep over me.
Jesus, whatever they gave me is strong.
Looking to the mirror again, I focus on my reflection as I wait for the dizziness to pass. When it finally does, I decide it’s time to get the hell out of here while I still can.
Turning away from the mirror takes more effort than it should. Another wave of dizziness threatens to overwhelm me, so I take it very slow. Like I’m outside, watching my body struggling without me, I carefully put one foot in front of the other and make my way to the door.
Hand reaching out, my fingers brush across the knob when it suddenly turns. My reactions still delayed, my hand lingers in the air as the door swings open.
“Ah, there you are,” Alexei says as he suddenly appears in front of me.
An apparition from my deepest, darkest nightmares.
Like a trapped bird, my heart flutters behind my ribs, and my feet itch with the need to escape his presence. To run and run and run.
The things I’ve learned about this man have haunted and tormented me since the announcement of our engagement.
I discovered he’s not your typical Russian kingpin. No, he’s so much worse than that. He’s a monster, even in the eyes of the criminal underworld.
His deeds go far beyond kidnapping, extortion, and even murder. Go far beyond what’s considered beyond the pale even in our circles.
He deals in the selling and exploitation of young women and children.
Most of his empire has been built on the success of his human trafficking operation. Built on the success of selling little boys and little girls to the highest bidder.
It makes me sick. So fucking sick and scared.
He has no soul. No heart. I doubt he’s even human.
Standing in the doorway, Alexei’s black eyes sweep slowly over me, appraising me with keen interest. My eyes are much slower to move over him, and when they do, when I finally see what he’s wearing, I feel like I’m going to puke.
He’s dressed in a sharp black tux that’s been tailored to fit his body perfectly.
Oh god, maybe we’re already married…
Hand finally dropping, it bounces against my skirt in defeat.
He takes a step into the room, and I nearly fall on my ass as I take a stumbling step back.
Closing the door behind him, his body blocks off the exit.
“Going somewhere?” he asks, his eyes hardening.
If he wasn’t so damn big, and if I wasn’t so damn clumsy and slow from being drugged, I might be able to get around him. But as it is, I’m fucking trapped.
I briefly consider trying my luck anyway, but the last thing I need right now is to force a physical confrontation with him. He’s got at least six inches on me, and probably a hundred pounds of pure muscle. No, it would be better if I wait for a better opportunity… like when the drugs wear off and I actually stand a chance.
What I really need right now is to know if we’re married. Because if we are… fuck…
I might as well be a dead woman walking.
Going out on a limb, I manage to slur out, “Isn’t it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?”
His lips curve into a sharp smirk and I find myself holding my breath as I await his answer.
“You know this ceremony is merely a formality. A show for the families,” he says dismissively, taking another step toward me. “I already own you, Meghan.”
Any relief I might have felt to learn that we’re not already married is immediately crushed beneath the weight of his statement.
At first, I want to balk, to protest. He doesn’t own me. I’m not a fucking object, I’m a person. I can’t be bought, sold, or traded.
But isn’t that exactly what my father did? He traded me to Alexei in exchange for the Russian’s protection.
I’ve been reduced to a fucking bargaining chip.
“What did you drug me with?” I ask as he continues to approach me, eating up the distance between us.
I’m hoping my question will trip him up, or at least stall him. If he touches me or even breathes on me, I don’t think I could take it.
Despite his handsome face, everything about him repulses and unnerves me. When I look at him, my skin crawls and my stomach clenches. I don’t see his perfect bone structure or his soft, pouty lips.
All I see is the cold, dead space inside his eyes that’s utterly inhuman.
My little ploy seems to work because he pauses for a moment, as if he’s thinking, before saying, “We were forced to administer a mild sedative when you became hysterical.”
“Hysterical?” I repeat, my voice thick with disbelief.
When have I ever been hysterical? I don’t think I’ve ever been hysterical at any point in my life. In fact, I believe I’ve held up pretty fucking well given all the shit that’s happened to me lately.
“Yes… hysterical…” he drawls out, as if he wants those two words to really sink in. Then his eyes suddenly gleam with a strange light as he continues. “You were quite distraught over poor Callum.”
Poor Callum?
“Why would I be distraught…”
My brain jumps in to answer the question for me before I even finish the sentence.
Flashes of blood and gore flood my mind as the memory comes pouring back in. The smoking gun in Alexei’s hand. Callum sprawled on the floor with half of his skull blown out. His once beautiful hazel eyes that sparkled with life, empty of light and staring up at me accusingly.
Callum is… was… my father’s youngest enforcer. He was so eager to please, and as loyal as a damn puppy. I always knew he harbored feelings for me. I even messed around with him for a bit before I went off to find myself at university.
Fuck. I tried to use Callum to help me get away and Alexei killed him.
“Oh god,” I mumble, and sway on my feet, my white skirt swishing around me.
This nightmare is too damn real.
“Meghan,” Alexei says, sounding a little bit alarmed.
Before I can fall to the floor, his arms are around me, catching me and pulling me close.
His touch, his hold only increases my distress. I try to push him away, but I just don’t have the strength to do it.
His arms tighten. “Don’t fret, my dear. It’s all done and over with.”
Don’t fret? Don’t fret?! A man is dead because I tried to use him. A man I was friends with is dead because Alexei killed him.
Leaning as far back in Alexei’s hold as I possibly can, I glare up at him accusingly. “You… you didn’t have to kill him!”
Alexei’s face hardens as he stares down at me. His eyes are so dark, so cold, they’re practically glinting like black glass.
“Of course I had to kill him. He tried to take what’s mine.”
Any normal girl would probably be cowed by the look on his face, or at least have the sense not to push a murderer when he’s holding her trapped in his arms.
But I’m obviously not a normal girl. I’m not a very smart girl, either, for that matter.
Because I open my mouth and tell him, “But it wasn’t his fault… I tricked him into helping me. He didn’t deserve to die, Alexei. If anyone deserves to die for betraying you, it’s me.”
Alexei just stares at me. He stares at me for so damn long, it goes beyond creepy. The air seems to chill around us, his cold expression sucking all the warmth out of the room, and I have plenty of time to wonder if I just played my last hand.
He could kill me right now and no one would stop him. I have no protection. No one to help. No one to come to my rescue. Now, I don’t even have my father. I’ve been abandoned for the good of the family. We haven’t even spoken any vows yet, but I’m completely and utterly at Alexei’s mercy.
He can do anything and everything he wants to do to me.
But m
aybe it would be a mercy if he killed me right now, before we walk down the aisle. Then I wouldn’t have to endure our wedding night. I wouldn’t have to endure him forcing me to consummate this marriage.
But I don’t want to die, dammit. I want to live. As stupid as I am, I’m not ready to give up yet.
“Meghan,” Alexei finally says after what feels like an eternity. “I think you’re still suffering from some hysteria. Perhaps another sedative is in order?”
What the fuck? Seriously? He’s giving me an out instead of punishing me for my admission?
What’s up with this guy? And why is he showing me, of all people, mercy? Sure, I’m his bride-to-be, but this is an arranged political marriage. He’s not necessarily marrying me because he actually wants to marry me. He’s marrying me for the benefits. He could easily use this as an opportunity to get rid of me and still have his alliance with the Irish.
So why isn’t he?
I just stare at him in confusion, unable to make sense of him. Then he releases one hand from me and reaches into his tux pocket.
“No!” I blurt out and grab his wrist, fearing he’s reaching for that sedative.
If he drugs me again there’s no way I’m going to have the mental capacity to escape if the opportunity presents itself.
When he arches a brow at me, I realize my mistake.
Softening my voice, I immediately release his hand and hope my impulsive reaction doesn’t cost me my life. “I’m sorry, I mean no more sedative. I’m fine, really. Any more and I might fall asleep. Any more and I’ll be too groggy to say my vows…”
“Are you sure?” he asks, his eyes narrowing with what could be suspicion, but what could also be taken as skepticism.
“I’m sure.” I bob my head maybe a little too enthusiastically. “The moment has passed. It won’t happen again.”
I swear at first he looks like he doesn’t believe me, and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t believe me either.
But something, I don’t know what, must change his mind because his expression softens. “Very well.”
I’m still so out of whack, I almost say whew out loud. Seriously, I feel like I literally just dodged a bullet.