by Naomi West
But how would she live? She hadn't had a job in years, and all her money was tied up in accounts he controlled. And, if Liona ever said a word, deep down she knew what would happen to her. She felt it, without being able to describe how. He'd kill her.
For that reason, she didn't even want to imagine what bringing children into that life would be like. She'd be even more in his clutches, then. And, knowing him, he'd use the children against her. He was just that kind of man: small, petty, sadistic.
“You sure?” Carly asked again, concern in her voice. “Want me to get you a pop or something, to keep your blood sugar up?”
No, she didn't want a pop. She wanted to fly away, sail upon the wind like a fallen leaf, and land somewhere, anywhere, just so long as her destination wasn't here.
“Sure,” Liona replied, instead, a fake smile on her lips, “that sounds great.”
Carly bustled out of the room to go find her friend a drink.
“Almost finished,” the makeup artist said. “Already had your hair stylist in, I see.”
“Just before you,” Liona replied. “In and out, and working on the rest of us, now.”
“You know, I gotta say you're taking this really well.”
“How so?” Liona asked as the younger woman pulled out her setting spray.
“Well, for one,” the makeup artist said as she shook the bottle, “you're a lot calmer than most of the brides I deal with. Most of them are flying off the handle, frantic about this being their perfect day.”
“Well,” Liona said, closing her eyes as the woman began to spray her face, “that's why we hired a wedding coordinator. Besides, this was more about what he wanted.”
“Him?” the woman asked, giving a light chuckle. “That's kind of funny. Most guys I've dated could give two shits about this kind of thing. Hell, my boyfriend thinks we should just do it on the beach.”
“What about you?” Liona asked.
“Me? I love weddings. Especially other people's! They pay my rent, after all.” She paused and grinned before continuing. “Mine, though? Beach doesn't sound too shabby, if you ask me.”
Liona smiled. Years ago, back in high school, she'd known a man like that. The kind of guy who was down to earth, strong, caring, good with his hands. Sure, he'd been a little awkward but looking back, who wasn't at that age?
She'd chosen Wyland, instead. He promised her a great future, the kind of life she knew growing up. With his family's money and his future career prospects, Liona knew he could deliver on those promises. Not for the first time, she doubted the decision she'd made all those years ago. She didn't even know where he was, anymore. He could be dead for all she knew, or a thousand miles away.
“Well, this is more to impress his family, and their friends than it is to make me happy,” Liona confided. “If it were up to me, I'd get married by Elvis in a Vegas drive-thru.”
The girl grinned and began to look over her handiwork. “Almost there,” she said. “Just a few more minutes, and we'll be able to get you in that dress.”
Liona smiled, grateful she could at least let slip her own views on the wedding, if not her complete fear of the future. That was one small thing she had, at least. One small protest.
Not that it mattered.
Chapter 3
Cutter
The cops came for Big Jack in the middle of the lunch rush. And they didn't bother with being polite about the arrest, either. If anything, they went out of their way to cause a scene for all the diners in attendance.
“Can we at least do this outside?” Big Jack asked, his voice as controlled as he could possibly get it. “We've got paying customers in here, officer.” He was next to one of his tables, pitcher of iced tea in hand. Their drinks just sat there, full of ice, and empty of refreshment. It was almost sad, really.
Smalls had run in back and grabbed Cutter from the kitchen. Now, he stood at the lunch counter in his dirty white chef coat, drying his hands with one of the towels, keeping an eye on everything. First Jersey, now this. He couldn't think of anything else that could go wrong today.
Big Jack hadn't come by that nickname by chance. At six-six and weighing in at two-sixty, a name like that was kind of a given. He loomed over the cop, his massive build making the matchup with the averagely built officer look almost comical. If things got out of hand, it wasn't going to end well for the boy in blue.
Jack had done his time in the big house, doing a stretch on possession with intent to distribute. He had been head of that little side venture for the Vanguard for years, and had done a good job. Like all the others, he'd kept his mouth shut and his head down. When he came back, they'd had a position open for him at Farm to Fable. Part of the deal when he came back to the MC, though, was that he kept his nose clean. No former associates outside the crew, and no involvement in the shadier affairs of the business.
“You talking back to me, boy?” the officer asked, bowing up to the much larger biker. He had three other patrolmen backing him, their radios squawking and beeping the whole time. “I said I was placing you under arrest.”
“No, I ain't talking back,” Big Jack replied, clearly exasperated. He looked up at the ceiling and took a deep breath. “I'm just asking you if we can take this outside.”
Cutter knew that was his cue to step in. “Jack,” he said, coming out from behind the counter. “I'll take your table. Just go ahead with them, okay?”
“Cutter,” Jack boomed, his voice starting to rise, “I just want to know what's going on. I didn't do nothing wrong, man.”
The officer checked out Cutter, sizing him up. Cutter recognized that look. The officer knew who he was, knew his position in the MC. He could practically see the calculations going on behind their eyes.
“We'll figure it out after the officers do what they need to do,” Cutter said, ignoring the patrolman and reaching out to take the pitcher of tea from Big Jack. “Alright? You ain't gonna win an argument with a cop.”
Cutter could feel the tensions running high. It was like working in a steaming kitchen with all the burners going, and the over door gaping open. And, with tensions this high, all it would take was a single spark. Jack finally sighed, resigned to his fate. Hands now free, he put his wrists behind his back and turned around to offer his hands to the officer.
“James Chandler, I'm placing you under arrest for violation of the conditions of your parole,” the officer began as he snapped the cuffs down over Big Jack's wrists. He continued on in a monotonous drone, one that he'd clearly honed over years and years on the job performing similar arrests. This was old hat to him, just like it was old hat for Cutter to dice onions.
Just like with Jersey, they all knew this game. They all knew to keep their mouths shut, especially when the cops were trying to pin something on them. Cutter just narrowed his eyes as he watched the proceedings. Just like Jersey, too, this hadn't come at the most opportune of times. They were trying to go legit, trying to get out from under all this pressure from the cops. And now, twice in twenty-four hours, the boys in blue had come down on them.
They began to frog-march Big Jack out through the front doors. “Don't get too comfortable, boys,” said one of the cops back over his shoulder, his tone light and humorous. “New assistant DA says he's got y'all's number.”
“New DA, huh?” Cutter said to his back. “What's this new guy's name?”
“Wyland West,” the cop said. Just before he let the door slam shut behind him, he turned back and looked Cutter straight in the eyes. “Y'all folks have a nice day now, ya hear?”
Wyland West. He felt his blood go cold. The same man who'd ruined things with him and Liona. Cutter's former best friend. Cutter's hands clenched into fists, and his jaw clenched tight. What kind of sick joke was this? Did he want to take everything from him now?
He watched through the big glass windows as the cops ducked Big Jack into the back of one of their squad cars. Soon, the disturbance was nearly forgotten, and the restaurant returned to its normal hus
tle and bustle. Minus one six-foot-six waiter, of course. The patrons barely even batted an eye. This was a restaurant run by a bunch of rough-and-tumble biker types, after all.
As soon as the cops were gone, Cutter disappeared in back. Smalls, his shaggy overweight second in command, followed after him. He looked in even more disarray than normal, his frizzy beard sticking out like every which way. He'd picked up the nickname years before, when he was about seventy-five pounds lighter. Like all nominal names, though, this one had stuck over time, and changing physical attributes. Sometimes, there were things that never changed, no matter how much they actually did.
“Dude,” Smalls said as the swinging doors shut behind them, “what the fuck? First Jersey, now Big Jack? And what's with this West guy?”
“I know him,” Cutter said as he began to strip out of his chef coat. “He's an asshole, and apparently our new assistant DA.”
“You know this guy?” Smalls asked, shock in his voice. He was clearly confused by the whole thing.
“Yeah, I know the asshole,” Cutter said as he tossed his coat aside and grabbed the wedding invitation down from the bulletin board. “We went to school together. Guess you could say we got history. Need you to get on the phone with Big Jack's lawyer, and let 'em know what's going on, alright? If it's a parole violation, and it's for real, that means they're going to really try and turn the screws on him.”
Cutter went over and grabbed his leather jacket down from the peg where he'd hung it that morning. He pulled it on and headed for the door.
“Wait,” Smalls said as he looked around the kitchen with a stunned expression. “Where the fuck you going, dude? You taking off or something? It's the fucking lunch rush, man. On a fucking Saturday!”
Cutter stopped in his tracks. “Got to, Smalls,” Cutter said as he pushed through the double doors leading back out onto the floor. “There's a wedding I need to attend, and an asshole DA I gotta see.”
Chapter 4
Liona
Liona glanced from her and Carly's reflection in the full-length mirror in front of her to the clock on the wall. Outside, in the actual church, she could hear the guests gathering and the musicians tuning their instruments. It wouldn't be long now, she knew. Her fate was about to be sealed.
In here, they were surrounded by stray clothing and luggage bags. She hadn't shown up in her wedding dress, after all. It was too precious to just wear around.
“You look so beautiful,” Carly said from beside her, her eyes almost beginning to tear up. “I'm so happy for you.”
“I do, don't I?” Liona asked, her thoughts sinking to a dark place. There was no denying what was plain as day. Admittedly, she did look beautiful in the gown she and Wyland had chosen, even with the ridiculously long train he'd insisted on. And, like with everything, whatever Wyland insisted on, he got.
“It'll make more of a statement,” he'd said at the time. To her, though, the only statement the dress made was about how immobile she was while wearing it. How trapped she was, how trapped she'd allowed herself to become. It was like that train was everything wrong with her life, everything wrong with all the decisions she'd made up to this point. Trading comfort and poshness in one area for pain and torment in another.
She realized, then, that she wanted her life back. But no one was simply going to give her free will back to her. She needed to take it. She needed to grab hold and pull it to her.
“Are you ready for this?” Carly asked in her most cheery voice, snapping the bride back to reality by squeezing her bare shoulders.
“Yeah,” Liona replied with a weak smile, “I think so.”
There was a knock at the door.
“You almost ready in here, dear?” the wedding coordinator asked through the door. There was no hint of doubt in her voice, no expectation of impending disappointment. Poor woman.
“Almost,” Carly called back, reassuring her. “We are, aren't we?”
Liona smiled as her eyes flickered over to one of the windows on the far wall, the one she'd been looking at earlier as she daydreamed about being a stray ray of sunshine. It was a fairly large picture window. Easily large enough for a grown woman to fit through. Even if she was wearing a wedding dress.
“Just about,” Liona said. “Can you give me a minute, though?”
“Honey?” her dad called through the door. “Almost ready? The natives are getting restless, dear.”
“Just a minute, dad,” Liona called back.
“You still feeling bad?” Carly asked as she touched the back of her hand to Liona's forehead.
Liona slapped her hand away, laughing as she did so. “I'm fine, silly. I just need a minute to ... I don't know, say goodbye to the single life?”
Carly laughed. “Whatever,” she said as she leaned in and touched her cheek to her friend's. “Five minutes can't hurt, can it?”
Her friend headed out into the hallway and quietly shut the door behind her. Liona heard her on the other side of the door, soothing both the coordinator and her father. Thank god for Carly, and her help. Even if she didn't realize she was giving it.
Finally alone, she sprang into action. She quickly removed the gown's unwieldy train and left the bundle of cloth in a crumpled mess on the floor. With that done, she grabbed her overnight bag off the chair she'd set it on earlier and began to throw any discarded clothes she could find inside of it. She hadn't packed much since they'd planned on going by the house before their so-called honeymoon.
With her bag haphazardly packed, she went over to the big picture window and examined the frame. She could fit through easily. But her car wasn't here. Liona had driven in with Carly. There wasn't much she could do about the vehicle situation at the moment but maybe if she could get away from the church grounds she could call an Uber and use that as her getaway.
She chewed at her lip as she glanced from the window to the door and back again. The door to the hallway didn't have a lock, unfortunately. Someone might hear her in the hall if she started to mess with the window. Liona went over and grabbed the chair her overnight bag had been resting on and carefully pulled it over to the door.
“Honey?” her dad called from out in the hall, startling her. “You alright in there?”
“Yep, be right there,” Liona said from just on the other side of the door from him. “Just one more second, okay?”
She didn't necessarily enjoy lying to her dad, or relish the thought of what she was about to put him through, but she didn't see any other way forward. There was no way in hell she could marry Wyland, and if she told her father what she planned he'd probably just try to talk her out of walking out this way. And, just like always, he'd win his argument and she’d roll over and listen to her him.
Instead, she wedged the back of the chair under the doorknob. It would be difficult for him to win the argument if he couldn't have a chance to make one.
She grabbed her bag and headed over to the window as someone began to jiggle the doorknob. She lifted the window and tossed her luggage through.
“Honey?” her dad called, his voice frantic. “Just tell me you're okay!”
“I'm okay, dad,” Liona called, then silently. “Better than I've felt in years.” She lifted the window the rest of the way, letting in the bright, fresh spring air. A hint of roses hit her nose, setting off a flash of memories about her grandma's backyard gardens. She didn't even want to think what Granny Copeland's opinion of her running off would have been, had she still been alive to give it.
Luckily, the church staff hadn't thought to put a screen in on this window. Either they didn't have a problem with bugs getting in, or maybe they understood that a bride sometimes needed to escape while the getting was good. Liona hoped it was the latter as she tossed her overnight bag out through the window and onto the well-manicured grass, then followed after her flying luggage.
A loud tearing sound ripped through the still morning air. Shocked, she looked back and saw the hem of her dress caught on a nail sticking out of the wi
ndowsill.
“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled. It had been a pretty dress, and expensive.
Back in the bridal room, her dad was pounding on the door. “Liona! Honey!”
It tore her heart out to run away like this. She didn't want to consider how her mother would react when she heard the news. Or how poor Carly and her other bridesmaids would take these events. They'd invested almost as much time in this wedding as she had, put just as much effort into this thing. She felt bad for pulling the rug out from under them like this, but she didn't have a choice.
And then, of course, there was her Wyland. What were the consequences of embarrassing him like this? Whatever the case, it couldn’t be much worse than what she’d already endured.