Page 4 of Bad Little Bride

Don’t let this man take me.

The psycho only laughs harder.

“See you soon, sweetheart,” Hayze singsongs, then his eyes go wide as a low whistle whooshes past my ear.

“Oh shit.” Hayze drops to the ground with more grace than I would have given him credit for and will never, ever mention. He growls, rolling on the gravel and hopping up on one foot, his hand covered in blood when he removes it from his thigh.

Confused, I look over my shoulder, jarring back when I’m met with the cold, black steel of a silencer not three inches from my face. My eyes snap to Enzo’s, but the sharpness of his expression warns me not to question him. Hilarious, considering I don’t exactly have a choice in the matter, mouth stuffed with a bandana and all.

Enzo slips inside the car, his free hand wrapping around my finger, and when I hesitate, deep brown eyes slice to mine once more, his chin lowering the slightest bit.

I should run. Right now.

As if reading my thoughts, Enzo lifts a dark brow, daring me to try and promising without words to give chase. Fucker would probably get off on that.

I climb into the stupid fucking car.

The ride is silent, and I try not to shrink into myself or look around the space, but I use my peripheral to take in what I can.

There are two guards sitting across from me, both male and both with bandanas slung over their noses, and Enzo is pressed firmly at my side. I’m pretty sure he’s glaring at the guards, but I don’t want to look to confirm, far too humiliated to even consider such a move.

My hair is probably a ratted, soapy mess, drying in that frizzy, awkward curly way it always does, and my face is a mess of melted makeup, half washed away from the water, the other half smeared by sweat.

I’m exposed and I hate it.

Never in my life have I gone out of the house, much less looked into the eyes of another, without all my armor to paint me the prima ballerina.

The daughter of the Don.

The perfect princess.

Well, as perfect as the second-rate twin can be, of course.

This is humiliating, but maybe that’s the point, to knock me down a few more pegs so I know where I belong. Below the rest of them.

But why am I here?

Whereismy sister?

Did Bastian refuse to give her up?

Did Enzo settle for what was left, and agree to go back to the original deal my father agreed to?

Me on a silver platter?

I swear if he hurt her, I’ll kill him in his sleep.

Or maybe the only reason he came for me is on principle.

We had an agreement, and that agreement was broken. In our world, that’s betrayal and can’t go unpunished.

My thoughts loop with the same worries as we drive for what feels like hours, and who knows, maybe it has been. The sun is gone now, after all, and as we pull up in front of the Fikile estate, too many emotions to name fall over me…and then a sack does.

I scream around the gag, kicking and begging them to stop this. To let me go, to threaten them with my father’s wrath, but that thought has me steeling myself.

If Enzo is here, alive and unharmed, where is my dad?

Did he kill my family?

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