Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Oh god. I hadn’t even thought about—
He whistles as he walks out.
I rush for the bathroom, and the attendants my mother arranged from church hurry to hold back my veil as I violently throw up.
I still feel woozy by the time my mother drags me to the back of the church where my father stands, shoulders back in his tux.
“You do something with her,” Carol snaps, shoving me toward him.
My father, stern as ever, looks me up and down. “Get yourself together, dear. Drew’s a good man from a good family. Don’t go embarrassing your mother and me. You’re finally doing something to make the family proud. Chin up.”
My father, the patriarch. Chin up is literally his version of a pep-talk. Would he care if I told him my husband-to-be almost broke my wrist backstage?
Because that’s what this all feels like—a production. And I’m about to go out there on stage as The Bride.
At this point, it’s sheer curiosity that has me turning to my father. He’s a deacon of the church and I am his daughter, after all. Maybe he’ll surprise me.
“Daddy,” I say, turning to grab his hands. “Drew hurt me.” I hold out my wrist, which hasn’t begun bruising yet but will soon. “He’s not a good man. He scares me.”
My father just shakes his head and waves a hand in dismissal. “Young people are just oversensitive these days. If it was so bad, why didn’t you say something before bringing everyone together like this?”
Before I can say anything else, he just waves another hand. “His father is a pillar of our community. This is just last-minute nerves. Come on, the music’s starting. That’s our cue.”
Pachelbel’s Canon starts playing. I always loved this song, but right now, it sounds like a dirge.
“Wait, Dad, no—”
Absolute panic chokes me as my father drags me through the open doors and down the aisle.
FIFTY-SIX
ISAAK
One hour earlier
A bored-looking guard shoves my bagged clothes and belongings at me through the opening on the other side of the bulletproof glass. “Hope you enjoyed your stay,” he says without even looking away from the TV in the corner.
Sarcastic guards. Great. Just what I needed to end the last sixty-four hours of hell. I grab my shit and limp to the changing room off to the side of the office. I already signed all the bail documents, notifying me of my next court date.
I’m still on the line for stalking and kidnapping. Fucking ridiculous. There’s no way they can make the charges stick without Kira as a witness, though. While she might’ve broken my heart with her decision to go back to fucknuts, I can’t see her testifying against me.
As soon as I’m out, I’ll talk to Domhn. I’m not too prideful to beg him for a lawyer, even if it means being indentured to the bastard for the rest of my life to pay him back.
I change out of the jail uniform as fast as I can and back into my civvies. It only manages to make me feel nominally human again. I gotta take a long, and I mean long, shower. Or maybe a bath. The kind with fucking bubbles. But first, a shower.
Or, fuck it, maybe I’ll just get completely drunk. I could always take the tequila in the shower with me. I’ve got some bottom shelf shit in my cupboard that should take me right to blackout, do not pass go.
I get the hell out of there as soon as I’ve shoved my feet in my boots. The door opens and I’m breathing free air again. I suck in a deep lungful even though my battered ribs have me wincing the next second.
“Took you long enough.”
I look up in surprise and see Domhn standing there with his fancy-ass car, with Quinn all but flying at me. She’s in all black, but it’s not her club gear. I barely have time to brace before she’s throwing her arms around me.
I grunt in pain, and she immediately lets go and leans back to look at me. “What the fuck did they do to you in there? Domhn, we’ve got to get him to a hospital.”
“We can’t get him to a hospital!” Moira cries, running up beside her brother and Quinn. “He’s got to stop the wedding!”
“I got fuck all to do with that wedding,” I growl back at Moira.
Moira looks shocked. “But she’s the love of your life.”
I snort, but cut off right before saying as if you’re one to talk. There’s no reason to take out my meanness on her. “She told me to my face she chose that peckerwood over me. That she never loved me.”
“She was bluffing,” Quinn says suddenly, eyes connecting with mine.
“She wasn’t,” I bite out. “I was watching for her tell.”
But Quinn’s dark eyes don’t waver. “She doesn’t have one. I checked her cards that were left on the table at Poker night. She would’ve beaten you if she’d showed her cards. Flush over straight.”