Saving the Bride

by Kira Blakely

  Then my gaze rests on the lily-of-the-valley.

  It’s not in the herb garden. It’s not an herb, after all.

  In fact, it’s a sprint away at the entrance to what must be the flower garden. But it’s exactly what I need. I check the coast is clear – no one watching – then run over to it. I pick a few leaves and put them in my pocket.

  Then I go back inside.

  Just as Dorothy has instructed, I chop the herbs, placing them into two piles.

  “What did you get?” she asks, inspecting the piles.

  I almost jump. “Just the usual. Basil, coriander, radish leaves.”

  “Hmm.” Dorothy nods. “You seem to know how to cook.”

  “Thanks.” I smile.

  “Do you do pastry?” she asks.

  I nod.

  “Good. Because Tina used to make the desserts and since she’s not around, you get to do them this time.” She pats my shoulder. “Get started.”

  I blink. Dessert? I thought I was working on the main.

  “Cindy?”

  “Got it, Chef,” I answer. “What dessert?”

  She shrugs. “Impress me.”

  * * *

  Two hours later, I present Dorothy with layers of puff pastry, strawberries, nuts, and cream in between the layers and some powdered sugar and chocolate shavings on top.

  I hold my breath as she takes a bite and chews. It takes an eternity.

  Finally, she sets down her fork and dabs the corner of her mouth with a table napkin.

  “I like it,” she pronounces.

  I let out a sigh of relief.

  “In fact,” she continues. “It may be the simplest yet most decadent Napoleon I’ve ever tasted.”

  Dorothy like my dessert. A real chef said my food was good.

  The sense of pride and accomplishment is fleeting, though, robbed as the pork chops are plated.

  My hand goes over the pocket of my apron.

  I have to go to those chops and fast.

  “Ah, the main is ready,” Dorothy remarks.

  “Not yet,” I blurt.

  She raises an eyebrow.

  “You said some of the herbs for a finishing touch,” I say. “Would you mind if I sprinkle them myself?”

  “Right. I almost forget that.” She rubs her forehead. “I swear I’m not feeling well today. Go on.”

  I smile, my excitement returning.

  I go to the plates, sprinkling the pile of herbs I chopped earlier first and then discreetly mixing in bits of the leaves of the lily-of-the-valley. I finish up, and a hand clamps down on my shoulder.

  “Looks good,” Dorothy says.

  Wait. She’s not going to taste them first, is she?

  “These are good to go,” she announces out loud.

  I exhale a long thin stream of relief. Holy crap, that was close.

  Dorothy pats my shoulder. “Oh, and Cindy, since you did such a good job, why don’t you deliver the food yourself?”

  “Me?” I point a finger at my chest.

  She squeezes my shoulder. “Why not? Get them all in the dining cart and bring them to the third floor. That’s where the master’s bedroom is.”

  I take hold of the cart, and mentally steel myself for this. I’m well aware of the danger this task entails, but I don’t have a choice here. I can’t raise suspicion.

  I arrange the plates of the main course on top of the cart, the desserts on the tray beneath it. Then I use the elevator, and head to the second floor.

  I push the cart down the hall, and sweat breaks on the back of my necks.

  I keep pushing, though, up until I reach the doors at the end of the hall.

  For a long moment, I stare at it, unable to move, then just when I’ve mustered enough courage to knock, it opens. A heavily built man wearing sunglasses appears in the doorway.

  I try not to gasp.

  “Oh, the food’s here,” the man says. “Fucking finally, And it looks good. Smells good, too.”

  He opens the door wider and I push the cart in.

  I catch sight of Terrence sitting in the middle of a leather couch, his legs crossed. He’s discarded his jacket now so he’s in his white shirt and black slacks, the top button of his shirt undone.

  I try not to shiver.

  I fail, though: the other men in the room are familiar – the one in the leather jacket, who said he was from the Census Bureau and the other two, the guy with the long hair and the other in a checkered shirt, red Nike shoes on his feet.

  They were the ones Chase hit with the hoe.

  I bow my head as I set the plates of pork chops on the table, trying to hide my face as much as possible even as the fear of being recognized racks my every bone.

  My hands tremble, but I don’t drop a single plate. I catch movement in the corner of my eye.

  It’s Chase tied to a chair in the corner, a bleeding gash on his forehead and on his lower lip. The fork I’m holding falls from my hand.

  I kneel down to pick it up, my knees giving way under me.

  “Hey,” one of the goons says. “Careful there.”

  “Sorry,” I mumble, fingers closing around the utensil.

  I can’t stand though, my body drained of all energy.

  They have Chase. And they’ve already hurt him.

  “Hey. What’s wrong with you?” A hand grabs my arm and helps me to my feet.

  I keep my head bowed. Red shoes shift in front of me.

  “Wait a minute,” the man says, lifting my chin. “I’ve seen you before.”

  As if something has snapped inside me, my body starts moving again and I take a step back. “No. I’m… new.”

  “I’ve seen her, too.” The man with the leather jacket approaches me, rubbing his chin.

  I look to Chase.

  “Run,” he mouths.

  But the goon in the checkered shirt already has my arm. “You’re that girl from the ranch, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean, Steve?” Terrence asks.

  “I mean, she was there,” Steve answers. “She was there with Chase when he was hiding.”

  Terrence narrows his eyes at me and all the color drains from my face, the knot in my throat is so big I can barely breathe.

  “Take her.”

  Chapter 22

  Chase

  I tug at my restraints, blinking away the blood from my ruptured eyelid as I watch the man my uncle calls Steve place his arm around Lauren, pinning her to his chest and pointing a gun to her head.

  Her eyes grow wide with fear, her lips pale and parted, trembling. Her hands shake at her sides.

  Mine curl into fists on the arm of the chair I’m tied to, my jaw clenching as I grit my teeth. I pull harder but the ropes are too thick and I topple over. My swollen face smacks into the burgundy carpet.

  “Chase!” Lauren screams. Steve holds her tighter, pinning her breasts. He presses the barrel of his gun to her temple.

  “Quiet!” he growls.

  Terrence laughs, the rumble filling the room. “What’s this? My nephew smitten by a maid.” He clicks his tongue as he cuts into his pork chop with a steak knife.

  I snarl. I’ll cut off that tongue with that knife.

  “Ooh. So, you’re Chester’s girlfriend, are you?” Steve strokes Lauren’s cheek and she cringes.

  “Get your fucking hands off her!” I growl.

  Steve laughs then sniffs Lauren’s hair. “You’re going to be sorry you took my silver Nikes,” he says.

  My stomach twists. I struggle to free myself but crash down on the carpet once more.

  “Easy, boy.” Terrence puts the slice of pork chop in his mouth. “George, help him out, will you?”

  The man in the leather jacket steps forward.

  “Just kidding,” my uncle says. “Leave him there.”

  I glare at him.

  “Hmm.” He chews on the piece of meat in his mouth, closing his eyes. “This pork chop is quite good. Who prepared it?”

  “D-Diana,” Laure
n answers.

  “Diana, huh? I don’t think I’ve met her but I’ll have a chat with her soon.”

  He slices into the chop again then looks at the thugs standing near the couch – the guy with the sunglasses and the other with the long hair.

  “What are you doing standing there, Jeff, Bert? I thought you were hungry. Let’s eat.”

  The men sit down, the man with the sunglasses on the couch beside my uncle and the one with the long hair in an armchair both getting their plates.

  “I’ll eat later,” the man behind me – George, was it? – says. “I’m still full.”

  “I’ve got a tastier treat,” Steve says, licking his lips and giving me a wink.

  Another wave of disgust rolls over me, turning into fresh determination to free myself so I can get Lauren out of his clutches but again, I fail.

  Badly.

  Lauren’s eyes flicker fear, tears beading at the corners.

  I stop, letting out a grunt of anguish as I let my head fall on the carpet.

  There’s nothing I can do. I’m helpless, powerless.

  I’m tied to this fucking chair and even if I can get free, I’m up against four well-trained criminals with no hesitation to kill, five if I count my uncle.

  If I fight them, I’ll die. There’s no way I’ll win. And then Lauren will die, too.

  Lauren.

  The pain of knowing I’m going to lose her explodes in my chest, the guilt that I’m the one who got her into this mess is unbearable.

  If only I could give my life so that she could keep hers, I’d do it in a heartbeat. I’d give anything to have her back on that ranch, safe with her father.

  Even if it meant she’d never know me, I’d gladly turn back the time so she’d wouldn’t be here.

  I don’t care anymore about the company or stopping my uncle or getting my life back. I’d give anything to save Lauren.

  Anything.

  “By the way, Chester,” my uncle speaks as he continues eating. “There’s something I haven’t told you.”

  I simply glare at him, though he’s not even looking in my direction.

  “I killed your father.”

  Lauren lets out a gasp. I grit my teeth.

  I already know this. Even so, hearing it straight from his mouth and without an ounce of remorse makes me want to destroy him. Break him.

  “I didn’t mean to, though.” He sits back, dabbing the corner of his mouth with a table napkin. “I never wanted to kill him. I only wanted him to be sensible, to understand that we corporate giants have the opportunity to mold the world, to change history, to dictate the future. It is a duty even and so we must rise up to it, even if it means sacrificing some things.”

  “Like your convictions?” I ask. “Your honor?”

  Terrence snorts. “Honor? What value does that have?”

  “Of course, you wouldn’t know. You have none.”

  His icy blue eyes narrow. “You are just like your father. Pity.” He shakes his head. “And I thought you were more like me.”

  I scoff.

  He reaches for a glass of wine and takes a sip. “Your father scoffed at me, too. He wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t understand.”

  “Of course, not. He was always smart enough to know that the line had to be drawn between business and politics. He was strong enough to do the right thing even when everyone around him did the wrong thing. That’s why his company succeeded.”

  “His company succeeded because of me!” Terrence throws the wine glass on the floor, shattering on the carpet and creating a dark puddle, one of the fragments landing not far from me.

  “I was the one who worked hard! I was always the one protecting him, supporting him. But did he ever listen to me? Did he ever appreciate my efforts? No. Just like my parents, all he saw were my mistakes.” He sits down on the couch. “All I ever wanted was for him to see me as an equal, not as the younger, lesser brother.”

  “Dad was right.” I nod. “You are miserable.”

  “He made my life miserable!”

  “So, you killed him. You pushed him off the balcony upstairs.”

  Terrence laughs. “It was so easy, you know. One moment he was there in front of me and the next, he was on the ground, lying in his own blood.”

  “Of course, I couldn’t let anyone know I did it so I said it was suicide.” He rubs his forehead. “I would have even left a note but Walter always did have such terrible handwriting. No one could imitate that chicken scratch.”

  I open my mouth to say something but a whimper stalls me.

  I turn my head.

  Steve licks the lobe of Lauren’s ear, his free hand rubbing against the curve of one of her breasts.

  She squeezes her eyes shut, trembling, and bites her lower lip so hard she draws blood.

  Fresh rage boils within me and I make a silent promise.

  You’re gonna die for this, shithead. You’re gonna burn.

  He grins, and I taste bile – it burns the back of my throat.

  “I thought after your father’s death, I could finally be able to do whatever I wanted with the company,” my uncle goes on as he continues eating, the two other men nearly done with their chops. “And for a time, I could but then I learned about his will. Even after his death, he was still against me.”

  “Because he knew what a sleazebag you were,” I growl.

  He laughs. “At least I’m not a fuck-up like you. What have you ever accomplished in your life, Chester? Hmm? You were going to fuck up the company like you have every girl you’ve met, and your father was going to let you do it. He was practically begging you to. But I wasn’t going to let it happen.”

  “So, you sent your thugs after me?”

  “They’re friends,” Terrence corrects, chewing. “A gift from one of my new friends. I couldn’t very well resist.”

  Yeah, right.

  “What? You didn’t have the balls to kill me yourself?”

  He pauses with his steak knife in the air, eyes narrowing dangerously once more in warning.

  For a moment, I expect him to tell one of his goons to kick me but he goes on eating.

  “You should have stayed dead, Chester. This time, it’s going to be even more… painful.”

  The thug with the sunglasses grins, a tiny leaf stuck between his teeth.

  “Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, I had you killed. One murder had already been committed. What was one more? I even thought of killing your mother, you know. She always hated me. Ah, but I couldn’t. I love her too much.”

  “Love her?” My eyebrows furrow.

  “And she knew it. That’s why she hated me. She knew I wanted her even though she was my brother’s wife.”

  “You sick piece of shit,” I hiss under my breath.

  Terrence chuckles. “She said that to me, too. I wanted to place my hands on her pretty little neck and snap it in two. You should thank me, you know, that I decided to painlessly neutralize her instead.”

  “Painlessly?”

  From what Lauren told me, it isn’t painless at all.

  Terrence gives another sadistic laugh, a piece of pork falling from his mouth. “You know, everything was set for her transfer to that asylum. She was so heavily dosed she didn’t put up a fight.”

  My fists clench.

  “It was supposed to be easy but then your friend, James, stopped by. Why did he have to stop by on that day of all days?” Terrence grins. “After two murders, I didn’t feel the third.”

  Chapter 23

  Lauren

  “You son of a bitch!” Chase snaps at his uncle, lifts his head off the carpet, his lips peeled back in a rictus.

  Terrence gives another rumble of laughter, which, by now, I can say with certainty is the most sickening sound I’ve ever heard. “Easy, Chester,” he says. “That’s Granny to you.”

  How can he laugh after confessing to killing his own brother, to deliberately making his sister-in-law go insane, to trying to kill his own nephew, to killing an
innocent man?

  Oh, Chase. I can only imagine how he feels right now.

  How I wish I could go to him, wrap my arms around him and make him forget all this cruelty and nonsense with my kisses.

  He’s there, right across me, suffering. Yet here I am, held at gunpoint, trapped in the clutches of a maniac.

  He’s moved to kissing my neck now, the feel of his tongue against my cold, sweaty skin revolting. His hand has moved higher, cupping my breast through my uniform and my bra and I can’t stop shaking. My teeth chatter. My lips quiver.

  Everything this… monster does makes me sick to my core but there’s nothing I can do.

  Chase isn’t the only one helpless. So am I.

  I thought I could help him. I thought I could be of use to him. But looking at him now, I’m a burden and I’m a fool.

  A fool to think I could ever help him beat these monsters. A fool to think that I could save him, that I could poison all these bastards and rescue him.

  The plates are empty, the thugs who have finished eating the chops pick their teeth. As for Terrence, he’s still eating, only half his portion done because of all his narcissistic monologue.

  “Do you want to know how he died?” he goes on without the smallest flicker of remorse. “He begged for his life, you know, but Bert here…”

  He points to the man with the sunglasses.

  “He cut his neck open.” Terrence imitates the gesture with his steak knife. “And then they stuffed him inside your dad’s sarcophagus and burned it.”

  Chase’s face falls.

  I push the image of James’ face out of my mind, staring at the pork chops that are still on the plates.

  I thought I placed enough leaves but maybe I didn’t. Or maybe the other herbs neutralized its effects. Or maybe it wasn’t even the lily-of-the-valley, after all.

  All those doubts go through my head, which I hang low. Hope drains out of me.

  Terrence isn’t doing anything because he’s busy eating but once he’s done, he may very well kill Chase as painfully as he can while I watch and that thought makes me cringe more than the hand on my breast.

  And when Chase is done? Who knows? They’ll kill me, too. Or I might kill myself. I won’t care anymore once he’s gone.