Page 59 of Knot Yours

The styling staff has disappeared, leaving me alone with him and four meaty guards. “Good morning, Cariña. I have good news. Your father is recovering well in the hospital. Whether he remains that way is up to you. I expect you to get your ass up and be the blushing bride. You’ll cooperate, recite your vows, kiss me when ordered, and you’ll do it all with a smile on your face.”

“And if I don’t?”

Dario chuckles. “This is happening no matter how you behave. If you don’t do it my way, your father will be dead, and you’ll honeymoon with these four men.”

I risk a glance their way to see a collection of sneers, and one guy even grabs his crotch. Bile rises in my throat, threatening to choke me. I swallow it down and nod. Dario smiles. “Good. Then, we have an understanding. We’ll leave you to it. Just know these men will be waiting outside if you get any ideas. Try anything, and they’ll get to sample you before the ceremony.”

Another look at Crotch Grabber reveals a pleading look. Please try something, his eyes beg. An involuntary shudder rolls over me, and I only nod again.

The evil crew vacates the room, drawing all the air out with them. I fight for the shallowest breaths for a minute before the door opens again. “Time for a shower,” the cheery woman declares.

This battle isn’t one I’ll win, so I slide from the bed and accept the offered robe on my way to the bathroom. Four hours later, I’m scrubbed, manicured, pedicured, waxed, styled, and dressed.

The stylist fluffs my dress for the fiftieth time and adjusts my long, dark hair. “You’re a vision.”

I’ve yet to open my mouth, too afraid of what might come out. Thankfully, no one has insisted on hearing my opinion. I’m led to the full-length mirror in the bathroom, where the sight breaks what’s left of my resolve. The woman staring back at me is beautiful. Tasteful makeup accentuates my dark eyes and sharp cheekbones, and my lips have been painted the color of plums. My hair is artfully styled in waves that cascade down my back. A white, pearled comb on the side holds the dark strands off my face.

The white dress is one that I might have chosen for myself if the situation were one I desired. That’s what makes the reflection so painful to see. I would have wanted to look this way for someone else, but I’ll never get that chance. I lose the battle to remain strong, and anguished tears roll freely.

I make the mistake of picturing Austin’s face. My imagination takes over, and I see him standing behind me in a tuxedo. The river of tears becomes a torrent, and the makeup artist tuts over me. She assumes my tears are happy ones or at least does an excellent job of faking.

Though the notion is ridiculous, all morning, I’ve felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for an army sent by my father to free me from this nightmare. With each passing minute, that hope has waned. It dies completely when the door to my room opens, and one of the enforcers steps inside. “Let’s go.”

Time’s up.

Austin

Knot continues undressing on the tarmac, ignoring my disapproving glare. The expensive collar shirt comes off and is replaced with a black Knot tee. His tailored slacks go next, traded in for the tactical pants worn by his operatives.

The two of us grab the rest of our gear when Stan signals to us that the plane’s ready. Knot is still only partially dressed, carrying two bags and his boots in hand. While my boss approaches Stan and his co-pilot, I lead Piper to a patch of grass between the hangar buildings. “You know where we’re going, girl? We’re going to get Marisol back.”

Piper finishes quickly, and we run over to the plane to hear the last of the conversation between Knot and Stan. “…fueling. Three minutes.”

With a nod at the flight crew, Knot walks up the steps and immediately sits to pull on his boots. Next, he pulls weapons from his other bags and begins checking them. “Flight time is three and a half hours,” he says without looking up. “That gives us a little time to try and figure out what the fuck we’ll be doing when we get there.”

I’m getting Marisol back and killing anyone that laid a finger on her. That’s what I’ll be doing.

Ten minutes later, we’re in the air, and Knot activates the coms screen to connect with Birdie. As soon as her face appears, I’m making demands. “Tell me you found something.”

“I checked traffic cams between the Borrero house to where the ambush happened.”

She casts an image to the screen, which confirms Marisol was in that car. “Someone took her, but I don’t know who. There weren’t any cameras near the underpass.”

She hesitates, fidgeting with her pen. “Just spit it out, Birdie.”

“The car was shot up Bonnie and Clyde style. I don’t know if Marisol was injured.”

“That’s okay, Birdie,” Knot soothes. “Just tell us what else you’ve learned.”

“Given the damage to the Mustang, we’re looking for several shooters. Multiple cars. That’s all I’ve got. I’m sorry, Spatch.”

“What about Borrero? How is he?”

“Not dead. He was raced into surgery immediately. Last I checked, he was out and stable. He’ll live.”

“They didn’t want him dead,” Knot comments. “This was just a message to Marisol to secure her compliance.”

“For what?” Birdie asks.

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