Destiny Mine

by Anna Zaires

  I could break this door with a single kick if I were so inclined.

  I press my ear to the wood instead and listen. I can hear the low murmur of voices, so my information is correct. Sonny got a job unloading grocery store trucks at three in the morning and will be leaving for his shift shortly.

  I go back down and step outside to wait. I could’ve broken in while the fucker was sleeping, but Monica’s mother and brother are in the apartment, so it’s better to wait.

  It’s better if I catch Sonny on his own and make it look like a robbery gone wrong.

  It’s nearly a half hour before he comes out, but I stay sharp and alert, the adrenaline pumping steadily through my veins. I can’t deny the dark anticipation I’m feeling, the bloodlust fueling me like jugs of coffee.

  I’m a predator, a monster, and I know it.

  Now Sonny Pearson will know it too.

  I stay half-hidden in an alley, and as he passes by, I reach out and grab him by the front of his shirt, pulling him in.

  “Hey!” He tries to take a swing at me but freezes as soon as I press my blade to his throat.

  “Don’t move,” I whisper, leaning in. “Don’t even breathe.”

  The Adam’s apple in his thick neck bobs dangerously close to my blade. “W-what do you want, man? I ain’t got no m-money.”

  “I know.” I don’t have to see him blanch to know my smile is chilling. “That’s not what I’m after.”

  And with that, I slice my blade across his throat. His warm blood bathes my fingers, and the stench of evacuating bowels fills the air. I watch the life fade from his mud-brown eyes, and then I say softly, “Monica sends her regards.”

  Letting his body drop to the pavement, I wipe my hand and my blade on the cleanest part of his shirt, extract his wallet from his pocket, and step out of the alley, heading back to where Danny is waiting.

  We’ll have to stop by a motel on the way back.

  I need a shower before returning home.

  54

  Sara

  I’m still not ready to openly wear my ring in the office, but at lunchtime, when the dress people—two stylish women about my age—show up, I lead them through the main lobby, ignoring the receptionist’s curious stare. We go into one of the exam rooms, and they measure me from head to toe—a process that takes mere minutes with their skilled hands.

  “You’re very slender, which is great,” a tall, dark-haired woman who introduced herself as Suzie says. “We have a gorgeous Monique Lhuillier that will fit you with minimal alterations. Pam, do you have a picture?”

  Pam, a short, curly-haired blonde, pulls out her phone and shows me a sleek, mermaid-style dress hanging on a mannequin. Covered with delicate lace, it’s strapless with a square neckline and a row of pearl buttons in the back—simple yet so perfect that I can only stare and drool.

  “We have many other styles as well,” Suzie says, incorrectly interpreting my speechlessness. “Is there anything specific that you’d—”

  “No, this is great.” I tear my gaze away from the phone screen. “How much is it?”

  Suzie blinks and glances at Pam.

  “Mr. Garin told us there’s no set budget,” Pam says carefully. “Is that not the case?”

  “Oh, um… sure. I’m just asking out of curiosity.” Finances is yet another thing I haven’t discussed with Peter, so I do my best to hide my discomfort behind a brighter smile.

  “Oh, I see.” Pam beams back at me. “Well, rest assured that your fiancé is a very generous man. This dress is a one-of-a-kind runway edition with handmade lace, and it retails for thirty-three thousand plus tax. We’re throwing in the alterations for free, though.”

  “That’s… very nice of you.” My voice sounds choked, but I can’t help it. I’m no Cinderella—even after the pay cut at my new job, my salary is solidly in the six figures—but thirty-three thousand is still an eye-popping sum for a dress I’ll wear exactly once.

  I thought the twelve-hundred-dollar dress at my first wedding was expensive.

  “You’ll need shoes and accessories as well,” Suzie says, pulling a shiny catalog out of her oversized handbag. “Do you want to flip through this”—she holds up the catalog—“or would you rather we recommended something?”

  “I’d appreciate a recommendation,” I say, and they swiftly find me a pair of white Louboutin pumps with delicate straps around the ankles, and a pearl necklace to go along with two pearl-and-diamond studs for my hair.

  “You’re going to want an updo, of course,” Pam says, flipping through the catalog to point at a few intricate hairstyles on the models. “It’s going to really bring it all together.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be sure to do that,” I say as they pack up and head out. True to their word, the whole process took just under thirty minutes—a fraction of the time I spent shopping for a dress and accessories for my first wedding.

  Maybe there’s some benefit to Peter railroading me like this, I think wryly as I step out to grab a quick lunch in the half hour I have left before my next patient. My first wedding was a big production, with George inviting everyone we knew and spending money we didn’t really have. We had two hundred people at the reception, and it took a year to plan—and I, swamped with residency at the time, hated every minute of that planning.

  A small wedding where all I have to do is show up might be exactly up my alley.

  “Who were those people?” the office receptionist, Annabelle, asks when I return from lunch, and I take a breath, realizing I do have one important task on my plate.

  I have to invite my friends and colleagues, enduring their surprised questions in the process.

  “They were here to measure me for a dress,” I say, deciding there’s no time like the present. Slipping my left hand into my bag, I surreptitiously put on my ring and take my hand out, displaying the large diamond to Annabelle. “You see, I’m engaged, and the wedding is—”

  An excited squeal drowns out my words before I can say “this Saturday.” Annabelle, a no-nonsense woman in her late fifties who handles insurance companies and difficult patients with equal aplomb, jumps to her feet as spryly as a teen and grabs my hand to gape at the ring, chattering the whole time.

  “Oh my God, look at that rock! Who’s the lucky guy? How did you meet him? I didn’t even know you were dating!”

  When she pauses for breath, I tell her that Peter and I have been dating on and off for some time, but that our relationship wasn’t serious because of his job, which required a lot of travel abroad. Now, however, he’s going to be doing something else, so we decided to take the next step and got engaged.

  “We’re not planning a big wedding,” I say before she can launch into the next set of questions. “Instead, we’re going to have a small ceremony this Saturday, and I would love it if you and your husband could attend. I know it’s short notice, but—”

  She squeals again and hugs me. “Oh, thank you, honey—I’m so honored! We’ll definitely be there. Did you already tell Bill and Wendy?”

  I grin at her excited face. “No, I’m about to.”

  “Oh, then go do that. Right now. I can’t wait to see the look on Bill’s face when he finds out I was right.” At my raised eyebrows, she explains, “I bet him twenty bucks that a pretty girl like you must have a boyfriend.” And as I burst out laughing, she sticks her head out to the waiting area and says, “I don’t see your patient yet, so you have a couple of minutes.”

  “Thanks, Annabelle.” I laugh as she makes shooing motions with her hands. “I’m going, I promise.”

  I hurry to my bosses’ office before Annabelle can physically drag me there, and knock on the door.

  “Wendy? Bill? Do you guys have a second?”

  Wendy opens the door a second later. “Of course, my dear. How can I help you?” Her smile is as soft as the white hair puffing out around her kind face. Everything about the female Dr. Otterman is kind, from the gentle tone of her voice to the way she regularly calls her patients
to check up on them.

  Working with her is an absolute pleasure, even with her grouchy husband always at her side.

  “Is Bill here?” I ask, then see him sitting behind her, chowing down on a sandwich nearly as big as his mustache.

  He gives me his customary glare and puts down the sandwich. “What is it?”

  If I didn’t know better, I’d think he hates me. But he’s like this with everyone, patients included, so I don’t take it personally.

  According to the nurses, the more he glowers at you, the more he likes you.

  “Well…” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Annabelle come up to stand next to me. She clearly can’t resist seeing the aforementioned look on Bill’s face firsthand. “I was wondering if you guys have plans this Saturday,” I say, figuring it’s best not to make a big deal of it. “I’m getting married in a small, low-key ceremony, and—”

  “You what?” Bill’s grizzled mustache quivers as his gaze falls to my left hand. “You’re engaged?”

  “As of yesterday,” I say, lifting my hand to display the ring. “I know it’s short notice, so if you have other plans, it’s totally—”

  “Oh, no, we’ll be there, my dear. Congratulations.” Wendy beams at me and reaches out to squeeze my right hand. “Who’s the lucky gentleman?” She peers at my left hand. “That’s a beautiful ring he gave you.”

  Bill’s mustache refuses to stop moving. “You have a boyfriend?” His glower deepens as he gets to his feet. “We didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

  I smile and repeat my explanation about us being on and off and Peter traveling a lot before. “So now we’re ready to take the next step,” I conclude and glance up at the clock on the wall. “Oh, look at that. My patient is probably here now,” I say, and watch as grinning Annabelle hurries back to her post.

  “Sorry, I have to run,” I tell my bosses. “So you’ll be there?”

  “With bells and whistles on,” Bill says sourly.

  I take that to mean he’s happy for me as well, and with a cheerful wave at Wendy, I hurry off, pleased that this part of my task, at least, went off without a hitch.

  Now I just have to tell everyone else—and then explain it to my parents.

  I have an appointment cancellation in the second half of the afternoon, so I use that time to start making the necessary calls.

  Simon and Rory don’t pick up, so I leave them a voicemail to call me. Phil, however, must already be done with his workday at school, because he picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, there you are. We thought your mystery boyfriend might’ve carried you off,” he says, and I laugh, hoping he can’t hear the semi-hysterical note in the sound.

  He’s joking, but Peter could’ve easily made me disappear.

  That’s what I thought was going to happen when I left the bar with him.

  “Still here,” I say when I stop laughing. “But I do have some news.”

  “Don’t tell me.” Phil mock-gasps into the phone. “You’re preggers.”

  “Um, no…” Or at least if I am, I don’t know it yet. It’s not impossible after two days of unprotected sex, but it’s definitely too soon to tell. “I am getting married, though.”

  There’s dead silence on the phone. Then: “WHAT?”

  “Yeah, it’s kind of a long story,” I say and launch into the same explanation I gave my coworkers about my on-and-off relationship and Peter’s travels.

  “But why didn’t you tell us about him?” Phil still sounds stunned. “We all thought you didn’t date because of your husband.”

  “It was a bit complicated at times. And since I wasn’t sure it was going anywhere...” I trail off, hoping Phil fills in the blanks on his own. “In any case, we are getting married, and it’s happening this Saturday, so—”

  “WHAT?”

  I grin, picturing his bulging eyes. “Yes, I know. We decided against a long engagement. In any case, I know it’s super short notice, so if you have other plans this Saturday, I completely understand. But if you can make it, we’d love to have you there, and obviously, you’re welcome to bring a date.”

  “You’re getting married. This Saturday.”

  “That’s what I just said.” I pause to give him a chance to emote more, but he seems to have lost his tongue, so I plow ahead. “You don’t have to tell me right now, but if you get a chance, I’d love to know by tomorrow if you’d be able to attend. Peter booked a catering company and everything, so it’s going to be small but hopefully nice.”

  “Where…” Phil clears his throat. “Where is the wedding going to be?”

  “At Silver Lake Country Club,” I say. “You know it?”

  “Yes, of course. My cousin got married there a couple of years ago. Beautiful spot.”

  “Oh, good.” I smile, though he can’t see it. “So can you tell me if you’ll be there, or do you need until tomorrow?”

  “Are you kidding me? Of course I’ll be there. Did you already tell Rory and Simon?”

  “Left them voicemails,” I say and look at the clock. I better hurry if I’m to call Marsha before my next patient. “Thanks a lot, Phil, and sorry to spring this on you,” I tell him. “See you Saturday.”

  “Yeah. See you,” he says, still sounding stunned as I hang up.

  Marsha is next on my list, and it’s a conversation I’m dreading nearly as much as the upcoming dinner with my parents. As I dial her number, I’m half hoping she doesn’t pick up, but she grabs the phone on the first ring.

  “Hey, hon.”

  I take a deep breath. “Hey, Marsha. How’s it going?”

  “Eh, you know. Just about to head in for my evening shift. Andy pulled the short straw this week, but her boyfriend threw a hissy fit because it’s their anniversary today, so she asked me to swap with her. How’s it going with you? What are you up to this weekend? Tonya and I were going to hit up a couple of bars on Saturday. Want to join us? You don’t have a performance, do you?”

  “No, but actually, about this Saturday…” I grip the phone tighter. “I have some news.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s a guy I’ve been seeing for a while. Kind of on and off.”

  “Really?” Marsha’s voice perks up. “Who? Not that red-headed bodybuilder from your band, is it?”

  “Rory? No, not at all.”

  “Oh, good. Because Tonya really liked him and thought it might be mutual. Who then? Have I met him?”

  “No, you haven’t.” I take another deep breath. “It’s gotten very serious between us, though.”

  “Really?” Her interest level is clearly spiking. “Serious how?”

  I brace myself and rattle out, “We’re getting married this Saturday.”

  “You’re what?”

  The cat is out of the bag, so I repeat as calmly as I can, “I’m getting married. This Saturday. And if you can, I’d love for you to be there.”

  “This is a joke, right?”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “No. We decided against a big formal ceremony, so we’re just inviting a few people. It’s going to be at Silver Lake Country Club. You know, over in Orland Park?”

  “Uh-huh. And I’m going on Dancing with the Stars.”

  “Marsha… I’m not joking.”

  There are a few moments of heavy silence. Then: “You’re getting married?”

  “Yes. This Saturday.”

  “What the fuck? Are you serious? When did you two meet and how? What’s his name? How come you never mentioned him to me?”

  “It’s a long story. We were on and off for a while, and then—”

  “What do you mean for a while? How long is a while? Weeks? Months?”

  I wince internally. “Um, months. Definitely months.” Technically, this October will mark two years since Peter waterboarded me in my kitchen, but in terms of actual time spent together, it’s probably closer to seven or eight months in total.

  “Wow. Okay. Just… wow.” Marsha falls silent for a second,
then asks in a vaguely hurt tone, “Why didn’t you say anything? You know we all thought you were single after… well, you know.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. Because we were so on and off, I didn’t think it was that serious at first. He traveled a lot for work. But now he’s done with that, so we decided to go ahead and take the next step.”

  “And the next step is marriage? What happened to just dating and living together? Sara, hon…” Her voice takes on a concerned note. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

  This is the hard part, because unlike Phil and my new coworkers, Marsha has known me for years. She knows I always look before I leap, and she also knows what happened with Peter.

  Well, the darker parts of it, at least.

  “Everything is fine.” I put as much cheerfulness into my voice as I can. “We’re just excited that we can finally be together, and we see no reason to wait. Neither one of us wants a big ceremony, so—”

  “Okay, okay, whoa. Back up the truck. You still haven’t told me his name or what he does.”

  I take a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “His name is Peter Garin. He used to be a security consultant, but he just retired from that field.”

  “Peter Garin? Wait a minute…” Marsha’s voice grows tense. “Wasn’t that Russian assassin who kidnapped you named Peter something?”

  “Sokolov—and please, let’s not go there.” Mostly because I don’t want to lie to her any more than I have to. “Anyway, as I was telling you, we’re going to have a small wedding this Saturday, and we’d love it if you could attend. But I know you said you have other plans, so if you can’t—”

  “Oh, please, Sara. I’ll obviously be there. The fucking bars can wait. But I’m still confused. Your guy’s name is Peter too? And what kind of name is Garin? Where is he from?”

  I drum my fingers on the desk. “He’s from… kind of all over. But he was born in Eastern Europe.” I can’t lie about this; Peter’s accent, faint though it is, clearly marks him as being from that part of the world.