Page 58 of A Twisted Arrangement

I press my lips against the mark left by the handcuffs. “I’m sorry.”

Instead of pulling away like I expect, she searches my features. “Are you really worried?”

“I know it’s hard to believe me now, but I’ve never wanted to hurt you.”

Red rims her eyes, and she sniffs. “Well, you have.”

There’s so much more pain in her voice than a simple bruise. Knowing that I’m responsible for that hurt is nearly my undoing.

I entwine our fingers. “It’s over now.”

“What’s over?”

“The wait.”

“May the witnesses please step forward.” The officiant’s entire body visibly trembles.

We need to hurry this up before he faints.

Damon steps to my right. “I’m the witness.”

The officiant goes white as a ghost. “I…I’m sorry, but two witnesses are required.”

“Fine.” I open the front door and call out, “Oliver, get your ass in here.”

He’s quick to come but stumbles back when he sees what’s happening. His brows pull down, and his eyes narrow as he takes in the scene in front of him.

“You’re going to be our second witness,” I state.

He looks at Scarlet, and there’s a softness in his gaze that I want to tear out.

“What are you doing here?” Scarlet’s mouth drops open, her eyes wide on her longtime guard. The gears turning in her mind are practically visible on her face. “Why are you here, Oliver?”

He glances away, then back to her. “I can’t say.”

“Tell me!” she screams, her voice cracking.

“He works for me,” I answer flatly. It’s too late to take back all the things I’ve done, not that I would if I could.

Her head snaps to me, shaking from side to side in denial.

“He always has.” I should have known better than to let her find out this way.

She rears back. “He can’t. He couldn’t have–”

I sigh, getting ready for what comes next. “He does. Now, let’s get started.”

“I can’t do this. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Oliver meets my eyes head-on, knowing there’s a good chance I’ll kill him. The only thing saving his ass is the knowledge that Scarlet wouldn’t forgive me if I do.

“You.” I point past Oliver at one of the guards stationed at the front of the house. “Get in here.”

He looks to his left and right, clearly hoping I’m speaking to anyone else before giving up and entering the house.

Unlike Oliver, he doesn’t resist. Our men have been trained to do what they’re told, and ever since what happened with Misty, they’ve been on extra alert.

“Anything else?” I ask the officiant, my voice low, challenging him to request anything else.

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