Page 25 of The Enforcer's Redemption

"Rebecca?" I ask, fearing how Isla may react to hearing this news.

"All of them. They're safe. There was a fire fight, but they're sleeping peacefully. They've already told Rebecca everything." Finn's comment stings. Going into this without Isla understanding the fullness of what's at stake isn't right. I should tell her, but I'm bound by an oath, the way Mick wanted it. His own bloody shame over his life and the choices he made sickens me. But I know he believes women are soft, that they should be sheltered. Men are different, and had he any sons, this would play out very differently.

"Go to her," Ro says. "Make sure she's in good spirits. Let's make this day profitable for us all, and after that, we'll deal with the fallout."

He slaps me on the back and nudges me toward the door, and I'm the one left feeling gutted. With something so momentous, you'd think they'd want everyone involved to understand, but not this time. Not this secret. The precious cargo, my princess, she's the key to it all, and if I can't hold my shit together and keep her from running, it all falls apart.

Which means no one—absolutely no one—can tell her the truth. Not until that ring is on her finger.

18

ISLA

My palms are sweaty as I pull the overly garish dress up. Maeve stands behind me, working fastidiously to lash me into the thing. My eyes lock on to my reflection in the full-length mirror. I look tired, but the makeup covers the bruises well. And even though I'd have preferred a much simpler dress if this were my dream wedding, I can't say I hate the white satin cloaking me.

"Oh, gosh, it fits perfectly!" Maeve is more excited for this than is natural, but maybe she has no sister or something. I fully expect that if Rebecca were in this room, she'd be bubbling around this room all giddy and gushing over the romance of it all too.

"Yes," I say stiffly, smoothing my hands down my sides. The form-fitting bodice accentuates my full chest, which seems even larger with the cut of the fabric. I press the tops of my breasts, wishing they would stay in the fucking dress better. I'm not the most modest woman in the world and at times I wear a skimpy dress, but this thing puts my cleavage on display like no other.

"Oh, Declan is such a lucky man, Isla." Maeve primps my hair, fussing with it as she determines how best to pin the veil over myface. It's crusted in gems—diamonds and crystals—heavy, not something I'd have chosen for myself either.

My family isn't so well off, though we never lacked. Da provides the best for us, and even after I moved out on my own, he still managed to bring me gifts and spoil me. But they still live a modest lifestyle at the farm, unlike Declan's family, who like to flaunt their wealth. My wedding day should be simplicity and modesty, not thousand-dollar hair clips and a dress that cost more than my car.

"Is he?" I ask numbly, knowing what my plan is for the day, anyway. He's a tomb—sealed up emotions, brick walls behind which he hides. If he has any concern for me, he can't express it outside of demanding that I let him protect me.

Last night was incredible, the sex, anyway. But I am not allowing myself to naively follow the prodding of duty just because the sex is good. He's a good man. I can see that. But even that wouldn’t keep me here. I deserve a chance to find a man who loves me deeply and passionately, someone who has all the best traits Declan possesses and at the same time allows me the freedom to make my own choices.

"Oh, every bride feels like this on her wedding day. I'm sure you'll be coaching me through it come August when Ronan and I take the walk down the aisle." Her smile in the reflection as she places my veil on my head is soft and warm. Whoever schooled her on this event left out huge details. I'm about to turn and explain how I'm being forced to wed in an arranged marriage I highly disdain when the door swings open.

Finn stands in the entrance wearing a striking black tuxedo, gesturing into the room. I see the gun on his hip and shudder. I want to scream and rant about how a wedding is no place forguns and violence, but it would do no good. I'm a trophy being awarded to a family of killers because my father owes a debt he can't pay. My head hangs briefly before I hear my mother's sigh.

I raise my head and see the tears in her eyes as she steps into the room, palms pressed together under her chin in a gesture of prayer. She's smiling, dressed in a beautiful purple dress suit with her hair twirled up in a French twist. And it's surprising to see her dripping in diamonds too—as if they're part of an unwritten dress code for a million-dollar wedding.

"I'll give you two privacy and see what the guys are up to." Maeve squeezes my arm before dashing out the door. Finn flicks a glance at me, and I notice his eyes ogle me for a second before he walks out and shuts the door and Mum rushes over to take my hands.

"Oh, Isla, you're so beautiful. This gown is so lovely." I can't tell whether she's happy or sad. I turn away, staring at myself in the mirror and willing my eyes not to leak the emotion I'm feeling.

"It's overdone, pretentious, gaudy." I don't hate it, but it will make running harder. At least the train is removable.

Mum sighs again, letting go of my hand to dab at her eyes with her fingers. She can't stop the tears from coming, and seeing her break down pulls my heartstrings. I'm normally put-together. I don’t cry. I don't show weakness. It's the way Da taught both me and Rebecca, maybe because Mum cries enough for the rest of us. Life is hard, and it will kick you in the teeth and you have to be tough. I have to be tough.

"It's not as bad as you think it will be, Isla." She stands behind me where I can see her reflection in the mirror over my shoulder. She's not even trying to stop the tears now, but she does maskher true emotion behind a very plastic smile. She wants me to be brave, but seeing how she really feels makes the tears spring to my eyes, threatening to ruin the masterpiece Maeve made of my face.

"That's not true and you know it. I'm only doing this because I have no other choice." I turn, taking her hands now, letting my eyes flood my cheeks and drip to my chest below. The rivulets form a stream between my breasts and I shudder. "Help me. Find a way to get me out of this place. I'll disappear for a while and then send you instructions on how to meet me. I know we can get away, Mum?—"

"Isla," she coos, patting my hand, "it's okay. Arranged marriages aren't as bad as you think they are. Declan is a good man." Her face is taut and drawn. This close to her, I can see the worry and sleep lines on her face. She's exhausted and she's not making sense.

I shake my head and start to protest, but what can I even say? My own mother is siding with them, pushing me into this life. "I don't understand. Why? Why me? Why can't you help me?"

The door swings open before a million other questions are able to come out. What did she mean by that? How does she know arranged marriages aren't awful? Was she pushed on my father the way I’m being pushed toward Declan? Can't anyone save me from this?

"They're ready," Maeve says gently, and I swipe at my eyes, shrinking back. I'm frigid suddenly, ready to vomit and shivering. The room seems to spin as Mum takes my hand and leads me to the door.

Da is there, elbow poised to usher me to my doom. The dress drags along behind me, and Maeve holds a massive pillowing bouquet of roses and vining white flowers that dangle down the front of my dress. I take it with shaking hands and grit my teeth, willing myself not to cry anymore.

"You look radiant, darling," Da says, but I can't even look at him. I can't blame him. Men make mistakes. Whatever his was, it's costing me, but I can see the pain in his eyes. It's costing him too.

Maeve takes the train of my dress and helps me out of the room toward the back door where we descend the patio stairs and walk toward the tent. I'm numb and hollow, a zombie walking through the grass, my pointy heels sinking into the moist earth.

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