Page 53 of Deadly Don's Savage Vows

Marcus is not here with us. It’s me and the security guys.

They start the engine and I think to myself - surely they haven’t been told to kill me? I’m in the dress. What’s going on?

Where is Marcus?

They drive me through the city towards a very dangerous area where there is nothing to be found but scum and gangsters. Perhaps they plan to murder me here, leave me on the streets and make it looks like one of gangs got hold of me.

But then why am I in this dress?

My hands are sticky with blood and sweat and my heart is beating too fast. The methodical thunder of my pulse in my ears is deafening. But at least it reminds me I’m still alive.

I watch out of the windows as the buildings turn from beautiful, elegant pieces of architecture to derelict crumbling abandoned frames with caved in walls, peeling paint and graffiti all over their windows and brick faces. Broken glass and litter line the streets. There are people passed out in the gutters, empty bottles of alcohol lying next to them.

I close my eyes, unable to look at the horror for another second.

I don’t understand why we are here.

I’m too scared to even guess.

The car comes to a stop, and the driver turns off the engine. I have to open my eyes. We are wherever they want me to be and I have to face whatever is about to happen.

We are parked in front of a set of old steps.

Outside what was once a beautiful building, they haul me out of the car and push me towards those broken steps. I stumble and glance around. My bare feet against the filthy floor. If I run - how far would I get before they took me down, or the streets absorbed me into their filth.

“Try to run, sweetheart.” The guard says, lifting his gun as a threat.

I step inside the building and realize that it is an old church. Crumbling wooden seats in rows. Old, soggy looking books that must have once been hymn books. A torn, shredded carpet, thread bare and filthy, leading up to the altar ahead of us.

This church has been unused for years, if not decades. The place smells of the lost souls of people who have been making it their home. But right now there is no one in here but the people that Marcus invited. The rest have been scared off.

Marcus is standing at the altar. He is wearing a black tuxedo and there is a single red rose tucked into the pocket of the jacket. He is smiling at me, like a man happy to see his bride. His hands are folded in front of him. His shoulders are back, and he looks pristine.

I glance down at myself. The wreck that is my body. The stained dress. The horror of what I’ve just been through.

Then I look back up at Marcus again with hate and anger.

There is a jittery-looking priest next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot with his eyes darting from gun to gunman - the security team have clearly forced him to be here. He is terrified and I don’t blame him. They would kill him if he didn’t follow their demands.

I walk down the aisle towards Marcus.

Pausing when I get dizzy again, grasping on to the fine edge of my consciousness.

There are no flowers. There is no music.

The only witnesses are his gunmen.

There is nothing beautiful or special about this wedding.

Someone shoves the barrel of a gun into my back, jabbing it against my spine and forcing me to keep moving - towards the man I went through hell with. The man I escaped from, but the man who found me again.

He is my worst nightmare.

I might be awake right now, but this is a nightmare.

When I stand in front of Marcus, he snarls with deadly threat. “Tonight will either be your wedding day - or your funeral. The choice is yours, poppet.” He stares at me waiting for my response. But I have nothing to say to him. I will keep my mouth shut and my hope silent. He doesn’t need to know what I am thinking ever again.

If I was the only one involved in this choice - to die or marry him - if my actions had no effect on anyone else - I would choose death over marrying this man and living the rest of what will be a very short life at his side.

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