Page 39 of Pure Vengeance

“Natasha, hi!” She carried a bouquet of white roses and nearly dropped them when she hugged me. “You look so beautiful! I hope you like the flowers. Lachlan is such a man and didn’t ask for your preferences, so I had to guess.”

I had no idea who she was, but nobody had greeted me like they were happy to see me in years. Giving her a tentative smile, I said, “Hi. I… um?—”

“I’m so sorry! Gosh, I swear, my brain sometimes. I forgot to introduce myself.” She held out the bouquet. “I’m Lachlan’s sister, Saoirse, and I’ll be your bridesmaid.”

“Wow, okay. Thank you. The flowers are perfect.”

“Yay!” She hooked her arm through mine. “We’re going to be great friends. I just know it.”

Maybe things were looking up. I’d been issued a groom and a stupid ugly dress, but once I was out of my father’s reach, I could make friends. My future husband’s sister seemed like a good place to start.

As if to remind me I didn’t get to hope for nice things, my father stormed toward us.

“Beat it, stupid bitch,” he rasped, pushing Saoirse out of the way.

She planted her feet and shook her head, her cheerful smile fading. “I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me, Stevie. Consider yourself lucky you’re being allowed to escort Natasha down the aisle as it is.”

I gasped and tried to find an escape route, knowing Saoirse would suffer for daring to call him anything but sir, but I was determined to get help before he hurt her too badly.

My father might have been handsome once upon a time, but the years of cruelty had left their mark on him. Deep lines scored his face, surrounding soulless brown eyes.

His cheeks reddened and he clenched his fists as he glared at her. “Someone needs to teach you some manners. Maybe it should be me.”

Sighing, Saoirse rolled her eyes and reached down toward her hip. To my shock, she pulled a slim steel dagger from a slit in her dress, then flipped it expertly. She caught the hilt and positioned the sharp tip under my father’s chin. “I recommend against it, but you’re welcome to try.”

“You little bitch.”

“So good of you to notice.” She gave him a delighted grin and curtsied before the smile and the dagger disappeared like they’d never been. “Now, move before you get blood on my dress.”

I kept my face clear of all emotion and didn’t even ask why Saoirse was carrying a knife to a wedding. Not a single giggle, chortle, guffaw, or the slightest hint of a smile would mar my features, even though I was dancing a fucking jig inside. When I heard organ music from the sanctuary, I said, “I think that’s our cue.”

After giving Saoirse one last poisonous glare, my father stomped off.

Unable to help myself, I snorted, then clapped a hand over my mouth before a giggle escaped. “Wow. I think I have a girl crush now. You’re my new best friend.”

“Oh, cool!” She grinned, revealing a dimple in her cheek. “I’ve never been anyone’s girl crush before. We’re definitely going to be besties, and I’m thrilled to have a new sister.”

“Me too.”

Arm in arm, we walked to the end of the yellow carpet stretching to the altar in the sanctuary. Ignoring my father, Saoirse gave me a tight hug and kissed my cheek. “I’ll go first, and you follow when the wedding march starts, okay?”

“Got it.”

I ignored my father’s tight grip on my arm, knowing he was taking one last shot at hurting me, but nearly stumbled when I saw my future husband.

Although I didn’t know Lachlan’s age, he definitely wasn’t old enough to be my grandfather. He was tall and fit, and while there was a definite family resemblance between him and Saoirse, his features were harder, with sharper edges. Blond scruff decorated his jaw as if he’d forgotten to shave. I liked it though. It made him look…

Maybe more approachable, like he wasn’t a hundred percent perfect.

He smiled and my heart fluttered as I walked toward him. After one look into his sparkling blue eyes, I was head over heels in lust for my new husband.

Lachlan

“I can’t believe you’re marrying that inane little bitch,” my sister whispered in Gaelic. To her credit, the sneer in her words didn’t appear on her perfect face.

I’d spent twelve years waiting for the right moment to strike back.

Four thousand, three hundred and eighty days of unclaimed vengeance eating me from the inside. Maybe it was old school to visit the sins of the father upon his child, but Natasha Ashland would pay for every single one of them.

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