Page 5 of Bad Little Bride

Take them like he took me?

Angry tears prick at my eyes, but I force them away. I can’t look weaker than I already do.

Once again, I’m lifted into what I’m assuming are Enzo’s arms; only this time, I’m carried bridal style. A knot forms and twists in my stomach at the irony of this, but I ignore it.

He walks for several minutes before the distinct ding of an elevator sounds, and silence fills the space. With each ticking second, Enzo’s hold on me seems to tighten.

It’s not long until we’re moving again, and then a door is thrown open with a harsh bang, the sack on my head clearly intended to keep me from figuring out where his massive fucking mansion he’s taking me is.

I’m set on my feet, the bag lifted off my head, and ties removed from my wrists. Before I know what I’m doing, before I can think better of it, my hand rises.

I slap the man clear across his handsome face.

Alarm slams into me and I jolt backward, hitting a small table as I wait for his wrath.

Enzo’s jaw tics and he reaches up, dabbing his thumb to the corner of his lips, pulling it back to reveal the small drop of blood there.

His eyes flash and I choke around the gag, holding my hands out to plead.

If I had a weapon I would use it, but I’m defenseless in this moment and his gun gleams from the holster near his hip.

He keeps coming until his chest is flush with mine, and my arms fall to my sides, palms flattening on the furniture behind me as a way to brace myself.

He leans in, and my body starts to shake with indecision, my eyes clenching closed as the heat of his cheek meets mine, sliding along my skin until his lips find my ear.

“Such a bad little bride,” he whispers.

And then he’s gone.

Chapter

Two

Boston

My heart pumps wildlyin my chest, beads of sweat rolling down my skin, and every muscle in my body screams in resentment, but I ignore its rebellion against me, having every intention of running through every routine in my mind at least one more time in attempt to drown out my endless thoughts.

Thirty more seconds and then get back up, girl.

“If you’re done sighing to yourself, you may stand.”

I fly up from where I’m laid out on the floor, head snapping toward the voice.

A woman is poised in the doorway, her gray hair pulled back into a sleek bun at the top of her head, reminding me of my very first ballet teacher. Her facial expressions are as stern as that vile woman’s was, too. Annoyance flickers across her elegant face and she clasps her hands before her. “Stand.Please.”

I’m so thrown off by this little visit, I don’t even argue.

I stand, stretching my neck and laying my hands gently at my sides. Chin high, shoulders straight, face soft so as not to draw a single smile or laugh line to it.

The woman—who clearly has no intention of introducing herself—walks closer, her ivory gown dragging slightly as she does. Hers is the first face I’ve seen since Enzo dropped me in this room with no phone, no television, and worst of all…no music. I’ve been left to nothing but my thoughts for seven long days. Even when the staff would bring meals to my room throughout the day, they would simply push open the entry door and roll a cart inside. I didn’t see so much as a hand.

So yes, this is unexpected, but I guess he couldn’t leave me to rot in here alone forever.

Or he could, I guess.

There are no laws that apply to men like Enzo Fikile.

The woman continues closer as she makes small sounds of appraisal—a “hm” here and “ah” there—but even when she places herself directly before me, I don’t bring my eyes to hers. I know this game.

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