Page 4 of Wiley A.F.

“Z, there are three things I don’t joke about, and one is spiders. The other two are the queens.” He impatiently tapped his foot, his eyes darting between Malcom and me.

I rolled my eyes and huffed, “Fine. I swear to Dolly and Madonna that this is going to be the best day of our lives. Now, give me a moment with my husband.” With Malcom’s and my eyes already closing, we leaned toward one another with our lips puckered.

“Not yet,” Dave blurted out quickly, and my eyelids popped open just as my mouth smushed against the hard plastic back of a hairbrush.

“David, it isn’t like we’re virgins. Shocker, man, I’ve already fucked the bride.”

“Well, then the two of you fornicators can keep it in your pants for a couple more hours.”

“Dave.” My fingers wrapped around the brush handle, and I plucked it from his fingers, holding my hand out for his. “I’m the one supposed to be a ball of nerves.”

“She has a point.”

“Fuck. I know. I’m blaming it on your grandmama. She cornered me earlier.”

“Is that what she wanted to talk to you about?” Malcom asked, his cupped hand squeezed Dave’s shoulder, and the other landed on mine as a small chuckle passed his lips. “I told her where you were.”

“Hiss. Then this is your fault.” Dave shrugged free from his grasp. “I’m getting a drink. If these eyes don’t see it, then she can’t make me tell her if something happened.” He nodded, slinking out the door, securing it behind him.

“I just wanted to tell you that I love you, Ezilynn.” Malcom pulled me to him, folding his arms around my body. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

“You knew?”

“Knew what?”

“That I was afraid to commit?”

“Oh, that, yes, I did, but I’m a persistent fuck.”

“That you are.” His soft lips lightly caressed mine.

“Malcom, I was going to say this in our vows. It can’t wait any longer, though. I have to say it. I’m—” His lips locked with mine, and I was certain it was the purest kiss we had ever shared. There weren’t any lingering thoughts of doom waiting around the corner to force me to succumb. It was as if the only emotion I had the ability to feel right now was happiness, and I wanted to live like this forever—in the arms of the man I loved and at peace. My entire universe was in this room with me, and he’d been there, patiently waiting for me to realize it.

The sound of glass shattering was the first noise to register in my brain. My eyes shot open as Malcom’s head jerked sideways, his mouth ripping from mine.

“Ezilynn,” he coughed out, and spit splattered across my mouth. Bitter rust soaked the tip of my tongue as my mind registered it was the blood of my lover. The second noise I recognized was the instant violent sobs leaving me when I was able to catch a breath and saw his eyes focused on my face.

“Your head, Malcom,” I shrieked, flattening my palm over the gaping hole where his temple used to be, blood instantly flowing around my fingers and down my arm. “My hands are too small,” I cried, piling my other hand on top of the other. “There’s so much blood.”

“Don’t look, Z. Ru…” faintly passed Malcom’s lips as his pupils dilated.

“Malcom, please, don’t do this! Stay with me! Don’t do this, please,” I begged him repeatedly as if he had the power to change the situation.

My hands instinctively reached for his body, as he slumped to the floor, and a sea of red showered his body. My eyes darted around the small room, searching for anything or anyone to help. Nothing seemed out of place, there was absolutely no proof that Malcom should be bleeding out in my arms.

“Malcom, no! Someone, help me! Please help!” I screamed, dropping to my knees. My dress, which used to be the most beautiful champagne color, soaked up the crimson blood pouring from his body.

He needed help, and I was probably the least qualified person here to give it, but I was all he had. I had barely passed my CPR certification when I was a teenager, and I only did it to earn extra credit. I hated myself for not ever getting a refresher or recertified.

4

WILEY

LATE 2006

“Dammit,” I coughed under my breath, and my eyelids blinked a couple of times.

“What is it, brother?” Ghoul’s icy eyes glanced at me as he spoke, running his hand over his beard absentmindedly. He and I had been riding together long enough for us to read one another as if the other were a book with large print. He was playing it cool but was on point as soon as the cuss word had left my mouth—not that it was a rare occurrence, but the discomfort in my voice was unmistakable. Although the way my spine straightened and I choked on my own spit, it would be pretty easy for anyone to sense my anxiety right now.

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