The Disciples: A Dark Romance Collection

by Sweet, Izzy

  Then he grabs my hand, the one that grabbed his wrist, and wraps his fingers around me. His grip isn’t harsh, but it might as well be given how much I loathe his touch. I have to stop myself from yanking my hand back as he pulls it up, close to his mouth.

  At first, I’m afraid he’s going to maul me, or do something else awful, like bite my fingers off one by one.

  But then his lips brush gently, slowly, almost tenderly, across my knuckles, and my skin wants to crawl right off my bones.

  Eyes locking on mine, his grip suddenly tightens painfully around my hand as he keeps it poised close to his mouth.

  I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out as he says, “If you feel it coming on again, zaika, you must let me know. Because nothing in this world, and I mean nothing, will stop me from protecting you and keeping you safe.”

  Grip suddenly loosening, his head dips and his lips brush once more across my knuckles as if he’s trying to soothe the pain he created.

  Then he looks up and flashes a smile so chilling my blood runs cold. “Even if I have to protect you from yourself.”

  Alexei’s words sink into me with the pain, filling me with apprehension and dread.

  What the hell is going on here? And what the hell does he mean by that? He’s sounding more and more like a possessive groom instead of a man who looks at me simply as an object or obligation.

  Does he want this marriage for more than political reasons?

  A knock on the door pulls Alexei’s attention away from me.

  “Yes?” he calls out, a look of annoyance passing over his sharp features as he lowers my hand and keeps it trapped in his.

  Every frantic beat of my heart seems to purge the lingering effects of his sedative out of my system. I’m almost completely sober now, and I don’t know what’s worse, being drugged against my will or having to face all this shit fully aware of what’s happening.

  “It’s almost time, sir,” an unfamiliar Russian voice answers on the other side of the door. “The priest would like you to take your place now.”

  “Ah, very good,” Alexei says, the corners of his lips pulling up as his attention returns to me.

  His eyes gleam with smug pleasure, and I have the sudden, almost irresistible urge to yank my hand out of his grip. I want to yank it out and slap that smug look right off his pretty face.

  But before I can, his grip tightens, and he uses my hand to pull me into him.

  Breasts meet chest and hips meet hips.

  I start to push away, unable to bear being so close to him, when his lips fall upon mine.

  His kiss is cold, so damn cold.

  I freeze in place, chilled to the bone.

  I endure his touch, the sensation of his cold, dead lips moving over mine, and try my best not to throw up in my mouth.

  Is this what I must endure for the rest of my life?

  I don’t kiss him back. I don’t try to reciprocate in any way, but Alexei doesn’t seem to mind. He just takes and takes.

  His mouth pulls and pulls.

  The kiss stretches on and on, trapping me in my own personal hell.

  When he finally breaks away, his hand comes up, cupping my cheek tenderly as he breathes hard.

  “We’ll finish this after the ceremony,” he says ominously.

  I’d rather light myself on fire.

  Alexei stares at me for another moment as if he expects me to say something.

  I just stare back at him, trying to come to terms with the dawning horror that my earlier suspicion was correct.

  He wants me, and not only for the alliance.

  3

  Meghan

  Alexei forces another kiss on me before leaving the room.

  Once the lock clicks in place behind him, my hands go to the bodice of my dress, tugging and tearing in desperation to free myself from it. As if shedding it could change my fate or what I am.

  Only the sound of the lock turning again stops me from trying to gnaw the damn thing off with my teeth.

  I freeze in place as the door swings open, fearing it’s Alexei returning to torment me some more.

  My father appears in the doorway, a grim shadow of the man I’ve known all my life. I swear, in the past two weeks, ever since he informed me of the arrangement, he’s aged twenty years.

  I almost feel a pang of sympathy for him. Almost.

  Then he informs me, “It’s time, Meghan.”

  Any sympathy I was feeling for him immediately evaporates in a cloud of anger.

  “No,” I say firmly while straightening to my full height and throwing my shoulders back.

  Alexei may scare the bejesus out of me, but my father is an entirely different matter. He doesn’t frighten me in the least, and standing up to him might be my ticket out of this mess.

  “Meghan…” my father sighs, and instantly a dozen more wrinkles that weren’t there a moment ago line his face.

  “No,” I repeat, my hands clenching into fists. “I won’t marry him. You have to call this off. I won’t fucking do it.”

  Before I even get a chance to finish my refusal, my father makes a motion with his hand, frowning like he expected this.

  A big, beefy thug suited up in all black steps around him and begins to approach me. The thug is no one I recognize, so he must be Russian.

  Another Russian to deal with me. What the fuck happened to my fellow Irish?

  “Don’t make me do this, Meghan, love,” my father says as I back away from the thug, throwing my hands up. “Come along nice and peaceful now, and let’s have us a lovely wedding.”

  “If you want the wedding so bad, why don’t you marry him?” I spit back as my spine hits the wall.

  “Would if I could,” my father mutters under his breath just as the thug grabs me roughly by the arm.

  I try to shake the thug off, and his fingers bite down, digging into bone.

  A whimper of pain and anger escapes my mouth, and I lash out, kicking the thug hard in the shin.

  The kick doesn’t faze him one bit.

  “Now, now, Igor, gentle now. She’s my daughter,” my father says with reproach.

  Igor’s grip immediately loosens.

  Igor… of course the thug’s name is Igor. Fucker looks like an Igor, I think as I try to yank my arm back.

  “Sorry, boss,” Igor says, his Russian accent grating on me.

  I’ve heard enough Russian accents today to last me a lifetime. I swear the Russian accent must be the ugliest sound in the universe.

  Like nails dragging across a chalkboard.

  I give another hard yank on my arm, trying to take advantage of Igor’s loosened grip, but like the annoying bottom feeder he is, he remains latched on.

  “Meghan, lass, if you don’t calm down and cooperate, I’ll have to give you something to calm you.”

  My eyes snap to my father in disbelief. Is he threatening to drug me, just like that monster Alexei?

  “You wouldn’t…” I challenge, but as soon as the words leave my mouth, I know deep in my heart that he would and he will.

  I no longer expect him to treat me with any sort of respect or dignity. No, he’s shown how much he truly cares about me by trading me away and forcing me to do this.

  Igor looks at my father expectantly, and with another sigh my father nods his head in agreement of something.

  “I don’t want to. Believe me, I don’t want to resort to this, but you give me no choice, lass…”

  No choice? I give him no choice? Oh that’s rich, coming from him.

  One beefy hand still locked around my arm, Igor reaches into his pocket and pulls a syringe out.

  “No!” I cry out as Igor lifts the syringe up to his mouth and bites the plastic tip off with his teeth.

  I start to throw my weight forward, trying anything and everything to get the brute off my arm.

  Igor spits the plastic tip out and orders me to, “Stay still.”

  Ignoring him, I slam my heel down on his foot and watch with satisfacti
on as he lets out a yelp of pain.

  My satisfaction is short-lived though when his grip tightens. No matter how hard I fight him, he has no trouble straightening my arm out against my will.

  I slap at him and even make a grab for the syringe. As soon as I do, he lifts it high out of my reach and gives my trapped arm a twist.

  The resulting pain causes my knees to buckle beneath me.

  I drop to the floor.

  Igor looms above me, and I watch in horror as he pushes the syringe toward my arm.

  Reaching up, I try once more to slap the syringe away.

  He gives my arm another twist and yanks the syringe out of my reach.

  The pain is unbearable. My arm feels like it’s ripping away from my shoulder.

  Looking to my father once more, I finally resort to pleading.

  “Daddy, please,” I beg with tears swimming in front of my eyes. “What would mother think?”

  My father reacts as if I punched him in the gut. The color drains from his face and he seems to shrink in on himself.

  I wasn’t afraid of my father, wasn’t afraid to stand my ground on this, because he’s always been my safe place. With my mother gone, he was the one person I could always turn to. The one person I could always count on to at least take care of me…

  But not anymore.

  And it hurts. It fucking hurts beyond words. I’m powerless now, utterly helpless, with no one in this dark, fucked-up world.

  “Igor, stop,” my father orders just as I feel the needle prick my skin.

  Hope swells inside me. Perhaps I’ve finally gotten through to him…

  Igor looks to my father with a frown of confusion. My father takes a deep breath, regaining his composure.

  Then he looks at me, his eyes filled with both love and sadness.

  “Your mother would want me to do anything in my power to protect you, Meghan. And that’s what I’m doing.”

  I shake my head in denial, the word, “No,” spilling from my lips.

  How can he possibly believe giving me to Alexei protects me?

  “But she would also want me to give you another chance,” my father goes on. “So I’m going to give you one more chance, lass, to come with me calmly.”

  So that’s it then? Once again, I’m being given the choice to do this clear-headed or drugged out of my mind.

  Perhaps you should take the escape, a little voice whispers inside my head.

  Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all feel like a bad dream.

  Or maybe I’ll wake up with Alexei grunting and thrusting on top of me.

  Staring at my father through the blur of my tears, his betrayal boils inside me like hot acid, eating away at the love I once felt.

  The choice he is giving me is really no choice at all.

  “So Meghan, what will it be?” my father presses for my answer when I remain silent.

  To be drugged or not to be drugged…

  That is the fucking question of the day.

  To stay in control or say fuck it…

  “Fine. I’ll come calmly,” I mutter bitterly.

  * * *

  The double doors leading into the Cathedral are thrown open wide. The pews are sparsely filled with men in black suits and a couple of women dressed in pastels that wilt against all the dark. As soon as my father and I come into view, the first chords of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ blare from the organ. So loud, I can feel every note vibrating in my bones.

  The entire left side of my body aches as I walk down the aisle, the pain radiating from my arm. Reminding me with each step that I chose to do this sober.

  I chose not to take the out.

  “Don’t forget to smile,” my father hisses through his own flashing teeth.

  I attempt to stretch my lips into something resembling a smile and fail.

  There is absolutely no joy left inside me, no hope. I can’t even muster up a happy memory or two to help me fake it.

  ‘Here Comes The Bride’ might as well be my funeral march. There’s no way, no way in hell I’m going to let Alexei violate me tonight, or any other night of my life.

  My gaze falls upon Alexei standing at the end of the aisle. Tall, dark, and as handsome as a fucking prince. He watches me with black, glittering eyes as if he finds my misery amusing.

  Tonight, one of us is going to die. I know it deep in my soul.

  God, please don’t let it be, I pray.

  Unable to look upon him for a second longer, I tear my gaze away, taking in those who’ve come to witness this farce.

  My side of the church contains only a few high-ranking Irish. Men who helped raise me. Men who I looked upon as second fathers and uncles. Their wives and daughters however are suspiciously absent. I recognize a couple of mistresses, but no women of worth. No women I can trust to help me.

  A small, tight group of big men in dark suits stand in the pews on Alexei’s side of the church. The men study me with sharp eyes that size me up. Every inch of me, from the top of my head down to the bottom of my toes, is being judged.

  At this moment, I can’t help but feel like I’m the pretty young sacrifice being led to the edge of the volcano. My father willing to give me the push to appease the savage gods.

  With that depressing thought, I return my gaze to the end of the aisle.

  Only a couple of pews remain between me and the rest of my miserable life.

  My father’s arm tightens around mine, sensing my desire before it even registers in my brain. The need to run, to flee, courses through my limbs.

  Would they stop me? Would someone tackle me and drag me up to the altar?

  “Don’t even think about it,” my father hisses. “You agreed to be calm.”

  His steps quicken, and with my arm trapped in his, I have no choice but to speed up too.

  Well, I guess that answers my earlier question. They will indeed drag me up to the aisle against my will.

  I finally look to the priest, hoping to find an ally in a man of God, but the bastard is avoiding my eyes.

  I stare long and hard, willing him to look at me. To fucking see me. To step up and call this off.

  Color begins to creep up his neck, staining his droopy jowls.

  He knows I’m looking to him for salvation, he has to know…

  The priest clears his throat nervously and asks, “Who gives this bride in marriage?”

  Coward.

  Impatient, or simply aware that I’m about to make a scene, Alexei takes a step forward as my father answers, “I do.”

  Silence falls across the church as my father’s arm slips from mine and Alexei grabs my hands.

  With a little tug, he forces me to turn, facing him.

  Fingers squeezing around mine, he holds me tight as the priest tries to lead everyone into prayer.

  “Remember, I already own you, zaika,” Alexei whispers softly as the priest’s wheezy, old voice drones on and on. “This is merely a formality.”

  My gaze jerks up to peer at his smirking face.

  “Nothing you do or say during this ceremony will change the outcome. It’s already been predetermined.”

  I know he’s trying to scare me into not embarrassing him, but it’s actually having the opposite effect. If everything is already predetermined, if nothing I say or do will change the outcome, then there’s really no reason to hope for the best and bite my tongue.

  My lips curving to mirror his own smirk, I ask softly, “What kind of loser forces a woman to marry him against her will?”

  Alexei’s hands suddenly squeeze painfully around mine and I let out a little yelp just as the priest finishes his prayer.

  The priest glances at me in alarm and a few angry murmurs and grumbles from my side of the church reach my ears.

  “Carry on,” Alexei growls.

  Glancing down at our hands, for a moment the priest looks like he’s going to protest. Then Alexei shoots him a dark look.

  “Yes… yes… where was I?” the priest nervously stammer
s and looks away.

  He begins to start up the same prayer again only to stop abruptly.

  With a look of frustration, Alexei snaps, “Just get to the vows.”

  “Of course,” the priest grumbles and begins to flip through his book.

  Returning his attention to me, Alexei stares into my tear-filled eyes.

  Thumbs stroking against my hands, he says, “My patience is limited. The next time you insult me, I won’t be so gentle. Do you understand?”

  Fearing he might hurt me again, I have no choice but to nod my head.

  Pleased by my answer, Alexei smiles and gives my hands another squeeze. “Good.”

  Pain suddenly shoots straight up my bad arm, and I can’t tell if he did it intentionally or unintentionally.

  “This marriage can be quite pleasant for you, if you allow it. Or you can be completely miserable. The choice is yours…”

  Before I can even think of how to respond to that, the priest begins to recite our vows.

  “Alexei Rastov,” the priest stammers. “Do you take Meghan Fiona Callahan for your lawful wife, 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?

  Grinning like he’s the cat that ate the canary, Alexei stares into my eyes as he says, “I do.”

  The priest nods and looks back down at his book. I know he’s purposely avoiding looking at me.

  “Meghan Fiona Callahan, do you take Alexei Rastov for your lawful 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?”

  Alexei squeezes my hands, his grip becoming tighter and tighter until I cry out, “I do.”

  The priest smiles, a look of relief settling over his wizened face. “What God joins together, let no man—”

  A gun shot rings out, echoing off the rafters in the nearly empty church.

  At first, I think my ears must be playing tricks on me. But then another one rings out, and another. Chaos erupts around me, so sudden, so unexpected, I can’t help but wonder if this is real.

  Seriously, is this shit really happening?

  “Meghan!” my father cries out, and I spin to face him. Clutching at his arm, he orders me to, “Get down!”