Page 13 of These Deadly Vows

I blink, trying to memorize their faces, but I can’t focus. I’m minutes away from being forced to marry a monster.

A man who lives up to his name.

Ghost.

He crept into my room undetected like one.

Maybe they should call him Stealth or Demon.

My mind flashes to his face and that scar that runs the length below his right and eye and jaw and I wonder how he earned the ugly mark.

I’m betting it was well deserved.

I’m being used to declare war on my father.

What his crime was remains to be revealed.

All I do know is if I want to live and for my father to live, I have to say two words.

I do.

At a midnight wedding.

The women then shove me into the shower, where I’m not allowed the privilege of modesty as they scrub me clean, erasing all remnants of the last few hours. As though Roberto wasn’t murdered while attempting to rape me.

Not that I’m sad about his demise.

I’m too freaked out about the next half hour of my life to process all that has happened.

What happens if I refuse this man who rescued me from one hell to toss me into the flames of a much scarier inferno.

“There’s not enough time to wash her hair,” one of the women fusses.

“An updo,” the other counters.

I’m pushed and pulled in several directions as they dry my body and redress me in dainty white lace. I move on autopilot. Raising a foot or arm when prompted. The slinky, white satin wedding gown is pulled down over my head and shoulders, fitting me like a glove. I step into the matching heels.

Is this really happening or am I having a bizarre dream? Maybe I blacked out during my fight with Roberto. I pinch myself as the women secure my hair on top of my head. A few loose, blood-stained tendrils of my golden hair frames my face.

I’m not wearing an ounce of makeup, but it isn’t as though it matters what I look like as long as I say those two words. Two words that cement this new future. Married to a man I don’t know.

A biker, of all people.

Downstairs he waits for me in the living room of the penthouse, having traded his leather for a suit. I must confess, the sight of him in a suit with his dark hair slicked back makes for a sexy portrait, but the style doesn’t quite fit him. I wouldn’t think a man like him would own something I won’t say expensive, because motorcycles aren’t cheap. Classy, I guess, is the correct choice.

His icy gaze rests on my lips and I lick them on instinct, wetting them in anticipation of this kiss of death. Either way, my life was already over from the moment it began. What a great inheritance my father and mother passed onto me. Generation after generation, this tradition of the mafia has played on a loop, until me. The legacy my family built will die with me.

It ends here with these deadly vows.

I glance around the room and my gaze catches something on the balcony.

A person. A man strapped to a chair.

An audible gasp rips from my throat and I choke on my own spit as an outdoor light flickers on, shining a spotlight on my bloody and beaten to a pulp father.

I step forward, intent on going to him when those rough fingers dig into my arm in a painful grip. “Not yet, princess. He’s here to witness our union. That is, as long as you play your part. If not. Your old man will end up like your pal, Roberto.” Ghost loosens his grip on my arm, exchanging it for my chin to direct my attention to a covered platter on a nearby table.

A chubby biker with a name patch that reads Butcher winks at me and lifts the lid.

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