Saving the Bride

by Kira Blakely

  Once he’s gone.

  I blink away tears.

  Why does this have to happen? Chase didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for this. Why do I finally get to experience love only to have it taken away from me by the cruelest means possible?

  “Oh, Chester, it’s been so much fun.” Terrence wipes his mouth. “Maybe this time, I’ll kill you myself. Then I’ll have more fun. Maybe I’ll…”

  He stops; Bert coughs beside him.

  “Maybe I’ll…”

  Bert coughs some more, his hand over his mouth. Then he keels over on the carpet and starts throwing up.

  “What the fuck?” Terrence stands up. “Not on my carpet, you moron. Go to the–”

  He stops talking again as his stomach gives a loud burble. He places a hand on it, wincing.

  It’s working. The poison is working!

  As if to confirm it, the man with the long hair stands up, and runs from the room, clutching his stomach.

  “Hey!” Terrence calls after him, sitting on the couch as he grips his own.

  Taking advantage of the confusion, Chase swings the chair he’s tied to at the goon behind him, knocking him off his feet. I make my move, jerk my head back into Steve’s face. His nose snaps and he yells.

  The gun drops from his hand, his arm falling away from me. I reach for the steak knife on the cart, driving it into his thigh as I slide the gun across to Chase.

  “Chase!”

  He catches it in time, shooting George.

  That makes four goons down.

  Pulling the knife out of Steve’s bleeding thigh, I run over to Chase, using the jagged blade to cut the ropes that are binding him to the chair.

  “You’ve got serious knife skills,” Chase praises, his tone laced with pride and surprise.

  I drive the blade mercilessly through each coil of rope. “I know.”

  One by one, they fall away and we run out of the room, leaving Terrence on the couch in shock, confused as to what’s going on, Bert on the carpet still throwing up, George unconscious, possibly dead, and Steve frantically trying to stop his nose and his thigh from bleeding.

  We jump over Jeff’s curled body in the corridor, unsure if he’s passed out or immobilized by the pain.

  “Are you all right?” Chase asks as we run down the stairs.

  I nod.

  “What did you do?”

  “Lily-of-the-valley,” I answer.

  “Whatever it is, I’m proud of you,” Chase says between gasps for air. “I told you that you could poison someone if you wanted to.”

  “I remembered.”

  We reach the bottom of the stairs. I head to the front door but Chase pulls my arm.

  “This way to the garage,” he says, pulling me in the opposite direction.

  Running down the hall, I bump into Maggie.

  “Sorry,” I mumble without stopping.

  “Cindy?”

  “Call the cops. No time to explain.”

  We run out a side door and Chase leads me down a path through the garden.

  “Now what?” I ask him as I catch a glimpse of the garage. “Just hop into a car and get out of here?”

  “That’s the plan,” Chase tells me. “And hopefully get to a police station so I can put my uncle and his thugs in jail.” He pats the papers in his pocket.

  We reach the garage, which looks more like a parking building, big enough to hold twenty cars. It’s empty, though, except for a patrol car.

  A patrol car? What’s a patrol car doing here?

  “Fuck! He got rid of all of dad’s cars,” Chase mumbles as he slips into the driver’s seat of the patrol car. “And mine, too.”

  He opens the dashboard compartment, finding a set of keys there.

  “That’s weird,” I remark out loud.

  There’s a badge in there, too. I pick it up and gasp at the picture of the police officer.

  “What?” Chase asks as he drives out of the building.

  “It’s Detective Allen,” I tell him, clasping a hand over my mouth. “He was the one who came to the ranch looking for you.”

  “Fuck,” Chase mutters, speeding up.

  I toss the badge into the dashboard compartment. “Do you think he’s…?” I shake my head. “No. He’s still alive, right? Your uncle didn’t boast about him being dead.”

  Chase shrugs. “Maybe he doesn’t know.”

  A fresh knot forms in the pit of my stomach.

  Chase steps on the gas, and the car grinds over hedges and around the fountain.

  I look ahead, seized with worry at the sight of the tall gate.

  “Um, Chase, tell me you know how to open that gate.”

  “Put your seatbelt on,” he grunts.

  As I struggle to comply, my hands shaking more than the rest of my body, a bullet hits the windshield, and it cracks.

  I lift my head, eyes wide with horror.

  Steve is at the gate, shooting at us.

  Chase keeps driving, laser focused.

  Steve shoots again.

  The second bullet pierces the windshield, grazing Chase’s shoulder.

  I scream.

  I’m still screaming as the cruiser rams into Steve and the gate. The force propels me forward and I smack my head on the dashboard.

  Blackness.

  Chapter 24

  Chase

  “Lauren!”

  I turn to Lauren in the passenger seat, brushing strands of hair away from her face that’s pressed against the dashboard.

  No blood. Thank god.

  I press my fingers against her neck – her pulse is weak, but it’s there.

  She’s unconscious. Probably, she’s suffered a concussion.

  That’s good.

  But this whole thing isn’t.

  The gate still stands tall and proud in front of me. The cruiser barely made a dent. Instead, it’s the front of the cruiser that’s wrecked, Steve’s body over what’s left of the hood and the rest of him trapped in between the wreckage and the gate.

  “Fuck!”

  I hit the steering wheel with both hands only to wince as pain spreads through my left shoulder.

  I examine it. Blood leaks from the cut where Steve’s bullet grazed my skin.

  I’ve been through worse.

  I get out of the car, placing a hand over my eyes as I look at the top of the gate. If I was alone or if Lauren wasn’t unconscious, we could have scaled it. But there’s no hope for that now.

  I have to get Lauren, go out the back gate and run on foot – a grim prospect but it’s all I can think of.

  I circle the car to get to the door of the passenger seat, pausing by the trunk. The force of the collision has caused it to pop open and inside, I glimpse a body, a red stain on the front of his black uniform.

  Fuck.

  I knew it. I knew something bad happened to the owner of this car.

  Another innocent life caught up in this twisted game.

  These murders, this madness has to stop. And only I can stop it.

  I get Lauren out of the car, hold her body in my arms, run to the house, but stop.

  My uncle steps out onto the porch.

  He’s alone. He’s still clutching his stomach, limping slightly. He’s sweaty and shaking. Even so, the hard gleam in his eyes tells me he’s not willing to give up.

  It isn’t over yet.

  I place Lauren on the grass by some bushes, planting a kiss on her hair. Then I go to face my uncle, hand on my bleeding shoulder.

  “You don’t give up, do you?” I walk toward him.

  He chuckles. “Of course. You and I are alike after all.”

  “We’re not. And you’ve lost.”

  His thick eyebrows go up. “Have I?”

  I gesture toward him. “Look at you. You’ve been poisoned.”

  He gives another chuckle. “Your girlfriend is clever. I’ll give her that. But she hasn’t defeated me.”

  Unbelievable.

  “You’re sick,” I point ou
t.

  “And you’re wounded,” he points out, in turn, grinning.

  As much as I hate to admit it, he’s right. My shoulder is bleeding and I still have the cut above my eye and on my lip, not to mention the fact that my broken rib hasn’t healed completely yet.

  “What do you propose?” I ask him.

  He raises his hands, rolling them into fists. “Let’s finish this the old-fashioned way.”

  “Old-fashioned, huh?” I clench my hands into fists as well. “Suits you.”

  Terrence lunges at me first, going for my jaw. I duck and punch him in the stomach.

  He coughs, clutching it again as his features twist.

  “Sure you want to do this?” I ask him.

  He lunges again and while I evade his first punch, the second hits my rib, and pain shoots across my side. The third hits my jaw.

  I step back as I wipe off the fresh blood from the reopened wound on my lip.

  Terrence snickers. “Have you forgotten, boy? I was the one who taught you how to fight.”

  I remember. He even took me to a boxing gym once and bought me my first pair of gloves.

  “I taught you everything you know.”

  “Fuck off, old man.” I go for his jaw, but miss.

  He kicks me in the stomach, pushes me back.

  I cough.

  “What’s the matter, boy?” Terrence taunts. “Has life on the farm made you weak?”

  “What about you? Has having goons made you weak?” I try to provoke him into throwing the first punch. “Do you need them to do everything for you now? Maybe soon, they’ll be changing your diapers, too.”

  It works. He throws the first punch and this time, I grab his arm, twisting it and then hooking it around my neck so I can throw his body on the ground. His bones crack, his scream pierces the air.

  I’ve won. I kneel by his side. “You didn’t teach me everything.”

  He opens his eyes. A glimmer of remorse, of affection, flashes across his expression, but disappears, eclipsed by wicked amusement.

  His lips curl into a sick smile.

  He slips a steak knife from his sleeve and thrusts it at me. I jump back at the last second but the tip of the blade slices my chest.

  I take the weapon from him, and he lets out another rumble of twisted laughter.

  I’m tempted to push the blade through his heart.

  He deserves to die.

  I grip the handle and lift the knife, anger clouding my vision and my thoughts.

  A voice pierces that dark cloud.

  “Chase!”

  At the sound of Lauren’s voice, my mind clears. I throw away the knife, punching my uncle instead to knock him unconscious.

  Lauren stumbles toward me, wrapping her arms around me.

  I hug her in turn then pull away so I can get a good look at her.

  “Are you all right?”

  She nods. “Still a little dizzy but I’m fine. How about…?”

  She pauses, gasping as she sees the fresh wound on my chest.

  “You’re…”

  “It’s a flesh wound,” I assure her. “Just like the one on my shoulder.”

  “Your shoulder?” She lifts my sleeve to look at my wound, frowning. “Wait. You were shot, weren’t you?”

  “Like I said, it’s a flesh wound.” I cup her face. “Lauren, I’ll live.”

  She stares at me, her amber eyes boring into my blue ones as they fill with tears. Then she smiles and hugs me again, tighter this time.

  “Oh, Chase!”

  The relief in her voice fills my chest. The whoop of police sirens drives it home.

  “We made it,” she says.

  “Yes,” I tell her, my own lips curving into a smile. “We did.”

  She squeezes me tighter.

  “Ouch,” I complain.

  She pulls away. “Sorry.”

  I shake my head. “It’s okay. Just take it easy. You can do whatever you want with me when I’m fully healed.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “Really?”

  “I’m all yours, Lauren Calver.”

  She blushes, her face lighting up. “And I’m yours, Chester Donahue.”

  She kisses my forehead then throws me a puzzled look. “Wait. Does this mean I should call you Chester now?”

  I brush a strand of hair out of her face. “You can call me whatever you want.”

  “In that case, I’ll call you Chase. My Chase.”

  I smile. “I like the sound of that.”

  Chapter 25

  Lauren

  One month later

  Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my newly renovated room at the mansion, I can barely recognize myself.

  There I am in an intricately embroidered, sleeveless, nude golden gown, a slim, golden belt at my waist. I take a step back, and its hem rustles on the carpet, concealing my sling-back stilettos.

  My coal black hair is swept back into a low but elegant chignon, fastened with countless pins, with a few curled strands left free to cascade down my cheeks.

  My eyelashes are darker than ever, my hazel eyes popping out from beneath them. My lips are bright red like a fresh bloom of rose. Strings of diamonds and pearls weigh my ears down – presents from Chase given a few days ago.

  I touch one of them then run my fingers down the front of my gown, between my breasts, taking a deep breath.

  Is this really me?

  I look different. I look like a doll on a shelf that’s never played with. I look like one of those actresses I see on TV or one of those women in a beauty pageant.

  One thing’s for sure. I definitely don’t look like a farm girl anymore.

  “You look beautiful,” Maggie says, beaming with pride behind me.

  Ever since I moved into the mansion, she’s been my personal maid and tonight, she helped me prepare for the party.

  “Thanks, Maggie.” I walk to the bed and sit on its edge with my shoulders slumped. “I’m nervous, though.”

  Maggie sits beside me. “Well, of course, you’d feel nervous. There are plenty of powerful people out there tonight, after all. And all their eyes are going to be on Mr. Donahue and you.”

  I sigh. “Gee, Maggie. Thanks for the words of encouragement.”

  “But you’ll be fine.” She kneels in front of me. “No one will dare insult you in this mansion.”

  “I’m not sure that’s comforting.”

  “And no one will have a reason to,” she adds, standing up and pulling me to my feet. “Because you look amazing. That gown is to die for. I’m so envious.”

  Ah. So it’s the gown.

  “It feels strange, though.” I run my fingers over the gown once more. “Nude gold is supposed to be a color, but that’s also how it feels. I feel… naked.”

  I rub my arms.

  Indeed, the fabric clings to me like a second skin, so perfectly I can barely feel it’s there.

  “That’s because it’s well made.” Maggie kneels down to touch the hem. “How much is it again?”

  I shrug. “I didn’t look at the price tag.”

  “Ah.” She rises to her feet, waving a finger at me. “You’re thinking like a billionaire’s wife, already.”

  “Shut up,” I scold her.

  “Who would have thought, though, that you’re Chester Donahue’s girlfriend?” She places her hands on my arms. “I mean everyone thought he was dead and that you were a maid. And to think you’re not even a maid.”

  I chuckle.

  “You said you had a boyfriend and you said he was hot, which is right because he is so hot…”

  I raise a finger. “You promised you wouldn’t daydream about him.”

  “I’m not,” she protests. “I’m paying him a compliment. And you. You are so, so lucky that you have a hot billionaire for a boyfriend. Or wait. Is it fiancé now?”

  “No,” I answer, showing her my hand. “Just boyfriend.”

  “Still a hot, rich boyfriend,” Maggie says.

  “Still the
man I love,” I correct.

  She lets out a deep sigh and reaches for my hand. “See. You’ll be with the man you love and who clearly loves you. So, what’s there to be nervous about?”

  I squeeze her hand, smiling. “You know. You make sense every once in a while.”

  Her eyebrows furrow. “Was that a compliment?”

  I chuckle.

  A knock rat-tats at the door.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  “Elsa,” a voice answers from behind the door.

  Maggie lets go of my hand, steps back.

  I face the door and straighten. “Please come in.”

  A nurse pushes Elsa’s wheelchair in.

  She was taken out of the mental institution as soon as Terrence was arrested but she had to be hospitalized for a while because of the side effects of the drugs that were given her, some of which made her muscles weak. She’s better now but she’s still on her way to full recovery, which is why she decided not to attend tonight’s party.

  Chase thought of postponing the party for her sake but she insisted that it continue, saying that she’d had enough of parties and life in the spotlight and now, it is Chase’s turn.

  “How are you feeling, Mrs. Donahue?” I ask as I approach her.

  “Please.” She holds my hand. “Call me Elsa. You saved my son’s life.”

  I shake my head. “He saved mine.”

  “I came to give you something.” She hands me what’s in her other hand – a large, satin box. “Open it,” she urges.

  I obey, gasping when I find a gold Cartier watch inside. I close the box, handing it back to her. “Elsa, I can’t accept this.”

  “Please.” She opens the box and gets the watch, putting it on my wrist. “I’ve had it for years but it’s still good as new and…”

  I place my hand over hers. “That’s not why I didn’t want to accept it.”

  She closes the box, sighing. “It’s just that I wore this watch to the very first corporate party I attended with Walter so I thought it would be fitting for you to wear on this occasion.”

  Those words flood me with warmth, and I place my hand over my heart. “Oh, Elsa, thank you so much.”

  “Mind you, that night was perfect for me.” She touches my chin. “It will be perfect for you. In fact, you look perfect already.”

  I squeeze her hand. “Thank you.”

  “Now, all eyes will be on you but enjoy yourself. And then everyone else will enjoy it, too.”