Page 7 of Ruthless Moon

My mouth is dry.

Sweat slicks my palms.

I keep wiping them on the skirt of my dress.

I glance at my watch. I’m not late yet, but I need to go. It’s time.

I grab the duffel holding my other clothes and exit the bathroom. The maître d’ takes it with a quick bow and leaves me to walk to the private dining room in the back of the restaurant by myself.

My father takes all his meetings here. He owns it, after all. And tonight, he’s reserved the entire back room for what he’s calling an engagement party. But I know the truth.

The so-called party is just another one of my father’s schemes, and this time I’m the chip on the bargaining table. And I can’t help but hate them both.

I’ve never met Aiden, but I can only assume he’s as heartless as my father to agree to marry a woman he’s never met. A woman he doesn’t love. To make it worse, Aiden probably thinks he’s saving his pack. But he’s really the victim. He doesn’t understand that my father never agrees to a deal without holding the advantage.

I straighten my shoulders, hold my head high, and put on my tough-girl, kick-ass mask. I’m hard. Unbreakable. I have to be to survive. But underneath it all, my heart races.

I will play the perfect daughter, while bottling up the urge to scream and run away.

A few more steps. Each one takes me closer to my doom.

Finally, I reach the back room. A waiter opens the door for me. The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars and aged whiskey.

My father sits at the head of the table. An unfamiliar male to his right. One of my brothers sits to his left—Finn. My other brother, Lucas, makes a concerted effort to never be in town, so he’s a no-show. Uncle Dave and his wife sit surprisingly quiet. None of my cousins are in attendance.

I take another quick look at the only stranger.

This must be Aiden O’Connor. His features are rugged, chiseled. His broad shoulders stretch out the fabric of his light blue dress shirt. His eyes are a deep, smoldering brown, and the stubble on his chin only enhances his masculine appeal. I can’t deny he’s nice-looking, but I don’t feel anything for him...not like I felt for Liam outside only a few minutes ago.

“Ah, there she is, finally,” my father says, his voice oily and smooth. “We’ve been waiting.”

“I apologize.” Though I know I’m not late, it doesn’t make any difference. I could’ve been thirty minutes early and he still would’ve found a way to make it a problem.

I make my way to the only empty seat at the table—the one next to the man I assume is Aiden. He stands, pulls out my chair, and helps me sit. My father doesn’t budge. Neither does my brother Finn, who looks at me coldly with boredom in his eyes. My uncle and his wife, Aunt Kate, both sit and sip at glasses of wine, not even bothering to say hi.

All this pomp and circumstance and my husband-to-be is the only one with decent manners.

I don’t want to marry him.

And he doesn’t want to marry me. His eyes hold a hint of sadness when he looks at me, but the only man I’ll ever be able to think about as a true mate is the one outside.

The man with the beautiful smile and kind brown eyes. The man with an adorable mop of curly brown hair who smelled like sunshine and horses. The man Fate brought to me too late to help me escape the prison I call my life.

Walking away from him was a knife into my own heart. The hurt on his face. The confusion. I felt his pain the same as my own. But there was no point. Even if I wanted to choose him over Aiden, my father would kill Liam before he’d let me ruin this deal. And he’d likely chain me where he usually punishes me in the basement and make me watch my fated mate die slowly and painfully.

I shudder, pushing away the fear and nauseating terror. I can do this. I can do what needs to be done to protect everyone.

“Thank you for coming, Imogen.” Aiden’s voice is low and gravelly. The words come out stilted but genuine. “You look beautiful.”

I nod to Aiden, but don’t answer. I don’t trust myself not to burst into tears.

“She cleans up well when she tries.” My father’s jab barely registers. I’m so used to never being good enough. Never measuring up. If he ever actually paid me a true compliment, I wouldn’t hear it.

I fight to keep my face flat.

No reaction.

Show no reaction to my father.

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