Page 53 of Cautious

“Someone just blew up my office building. I had a man and Callie’s mom inside. Tate had two of his men with them. The building is gone. No news yet on casualties,” I answer, feeling numb.

“Shit,” she whispers just as Tate hangs up his phone, his eyes on me.

“That was Mathews. Kellen and Callie’s mother are en route to the hospital. I don’t know anything more than that.”

“O’Neil?” I ask, remembering the other man’s name.

He shakes his head, his eyes turning haunted for a moment before he pulls it back.

“He didn’t make it.”

Callie

Christian holds my cold, clammy hand tightly in his as a reminder to behave, but he doesn’t need to remind me. I won’t jeopardize the guys’ safety. He chooses The Little Blue Chapel. I don’t know if it’s random or pre-selected, but he seems to know where he’s going.

Tugging me through the main door, we move down a short corridor before I’m shoved through a nondescript door on the left. I stumble for a moment and right myself, finding my footing before I face plant on the floor. The room I’m in now looks like it hasn’t been decorated since the fifties. Peeling floral wallpaper lines each of the walls, and the once-white ceiling is yellowing from years of cigarette smoke. A thick, red velvet carpet runs the length of the room and row upon row of white wooden folding chairs sit in front of a makeshift altar.

Each chair is empty like the rest of the room. If I try hard enough, I can almost picture drunken couples stumbling in here in the early hours of the morning, declaring their love to each other before waking up the morning after in a state of abject horror.

No morning after, though, will compare to mine if I go through with this.

“Remember what I said,” he whispers to me, sensing my need to flee.

A door opens at the opposite end of the room to reveal a man with a thinning gray comb-over and wearing a sky-blue polyester suit. Beside him stands a tiny, thin, bird-like woman who must be in her late sixties, early seventies, dressed in a pink button-up dress that is the exact garish shade of pink as her lipstick. Her silver-gray hair is styled up into a beehive. Standing next to each other, they look like they’ve stepped off the set of an old movie.

“Stay here. I have men stationed outside that door, so attempting to escape will be futile.” He turns from me as my emotions swing like a pendulum between wanting to cry and wanting to punch him in his throat.

I feel like I’ve woken up in someone else’s life.I review sex toys, for fuck’s sake.

I watch Christian shake hands with the couple, smiling his creepy fake smile at them. The man talks animatedly with him as the woman smiles brightly. How can they not see the darkness that lurks beneath the fake persona and expensive suit?

Eventually, he waves me over, so I do as he asks, forcing myself to take small, slow steps even though I know it will anger him. When I’m beside him, he grasps my elbow, pinching the skin, which makes me hiss.

“No time for the wedding march, honey. We have a honeymoon to get to. Glenda, Pete, can we start? I’m terribly excited to get to the baby-making part of the wedding night,” he jokes, making Pete laugh heartily.

His words have the opposite effect on me, smashing into my body with such force that I’m not prepared for the breath that catches in my throat or the vomit that rushes up and out of my mouth. Marriage is one thing, but I will never bring a baby intoit. I refuse to let history repeat itself and raise a kid in a violent home.

I try to pull away, but Christian’s grip tightens even further, leaving me nowhere to turn. I do the only thing I can as vomit burns up the back of my throat—I move my head to the side and empty my stomach contents all over the carpet and the sleeve of Christian’s jacket, somehow narrowly missing getting any on myself.

“Oh, you poor sweet girl. It’s normal to be nervous. Here, let me help. I’ll get something to settle your stomach. I also have spare toothbrushes and toothpaste in the back. This happens far more often than you realize,” Glenda coos before she’s gone in a flash, her dress spinning out behind her as she disappears out the door.

“I’ll arrange for a cleanup. It will take but a moment. Excuse me,” Pete answers, following after Glenda and leaving me to face the devil alone.

“You stupid fucking bitch.” He backhands me across the face the second they’re gone, making me fall, only just missing the puke as my eyebrow makes contact with one of the chairs.

Immediately, I feel hot, wet liquid dripping down my face, letting me know it’s bleeding, and quite profusely at that.

“Now look what you’ve done. Fuck!” he curses, grabbing his hair and looking down at me in disgust. “I fucking warned you,” he snaps before pulling back his foot and kicking me in the face.

I feel a snap, followed by blinding pain. I know instantly my jaw is broken. I pray to God Glenda and Pete hurry back or, at the very least, call the police. When I hear a gasp, I understand why Christian chose this place over the others.

I manage to lift my head and through my tears, see Glenda look at me with an apology in her eyes, but she doesn’t rush to help me. Instead, she looks away as her husband pulls her back out the door. They either know him here or know of him. Hepicked this place so he doesn’t have to pretend to be anything other than the monster he is, knowing nobody is going to do or say anything to stop him.

He looms over me. His presence is as menacing as the cruel sneer on his face. I try to crawl away from him, but he kicks me again. This time, his pointed Italian loafers connect with my temple, making the room spin. Blackness begins to edge around my vision as the pain in my face becomes all-consuming.

“You thought you could embarrass me, huh? You thought to defy me?” he roars, making the pain in my head reach a fever pitch.

I try to shake my head no. It’snot like I puked on purpose,but the pain is too much. My arms crumple beneath me, leaving me lying on the dust-laden carpet with no fight left. My vision swims out of focus, his words fading in and out as he rants about me being an ungrateful whore. The room pitches and spins out of control as I fight back another wave of nausea. I’m so afraid of what will happen if I’m sick again that a whimper slips from my lips before I can stop it.

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