Page 9 of Drowning Her

Had he given me his name? Now? Minutes before our wedding? His steel-blue eyes focused on me. He licked his bottom lip. My breath hitched.

A bell rang in the distance. The back door opened.

“Miss Maisie, the ceremony—” the maid paused, then bowed her head at Wilder. “Mr. Feldman. The ceremony will begin soon.”

She let herself back inside, and the two of us glanced at each other. He ran a palm over his face, his fingernails still caked with red mud.

Was it blood?

“You don’t have to be a Feldman,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.

My stomach twisted. What was so bad about being a Feldman? Why did he keep trying to make me back out of our marriage?

“Your father promised to get me away from my boss,andoffered me a million dollars,” I said. “You know how much a girl like me could use that?”

“It’s not worth it. Not with what we’ll put you through.” His gaze enveloped me. “Nothing is worth it.”

My chest tightened, but I stayed there. Neither of us spoke, both of us waiting for the other person to move.

“We should go,” I finally whispered.

He turned toward the side of the house, walking through the dirt and grass.

“See you at the altar,” he said.

Wilder

I stood at the front, near the flowered archway. My father sat in the front row, next to a man who kept nodding at him, then me, as if he was scared to let his eyes off of me for a second. My father must have been discussing business. There were few requests that my father acknowledged. When it came to the kind of woman I wanted to marry, he listened and respected my interests. And he had done well.

I had been watching Maisie. Followed her down the train tunnel. Observed how she held herself around her boss. Even as much shit as I gave her, Maisie intrigued me in a way that no woman had in a long time. She was stupidly brave. Stubborn. Confident in what she thought she knew.

But when it came to the wedding, the fact that I would rather sign papers at a courthouse than be paraded around like a cow-calf pair up for auction didn’t matter. My father and brother had people to network with, and my wedding was the perfect occasion. Playing along like a family was mandatory.

Despite the show, my father kept everyone at arm’s length, even Sawyer and me. There was a lot to be admired in that. But it hadn’t always been that way. There had been a time when women made him weak too. Ironic, seeing as I was in his place now.

Maisie had both parents, but neither of them was here. I had to laugh. She thought her life was hard. At least her parents were both alive.

When the music started playing, my brother walked down with a friend of the family we had asked to stand in as Maisie’s bridesmaid. A flower girl—my father’s friend’s niece—threw rose petals on the ground after them.

The music changed, and like a herd of sheep, theaudience stood and twisted toward the aisle, waiting for the bride. The hem of her dress was streaked with dirt, and her nails were clean of polish—though I honestly would have preferred the chipped white. A light mauve painted her lips. The scent of honeysuckle lingered in the air, but I could still detect her body odor underneath.

The officiant went through the ceremony with ease. I observed each audience member. Each blank face. Each fake smile. The fake tears in the name of love. None of them made eye contact with me. I was big-boned and had a naturally intimidating inclination. It was an advantage that I enjoyed.

The officiant lectured about true love. Maisie smiled at him, playing her part well. The little actress. Her dress was stunning—layers of cloth cascading from her hips with enough tightness to make me salivate.

“Wilder Feldman, do you take Maisie Ross to be your wedded wife?—”

I had a gun and enough ammunition tucked in the storage room a few yards away that I could put five bullets in every person attending the wedding—even my father and brother. In a few seconds, everyone would be dead. And I had enough for myself too.

“—for better or worse?—”

And once the bullets came, there would be nothing we could do to stop that death. My eyes lingered over Maisie. She was young, early twenties, marryingme.Someone who would never give her a loving future. All for a fresh start and money that would never save her.

“—in sickness and health?—”

I was already sick. And Maisie? Saying these words, vowing to marry me, was part of her demise. Soon, she’d beunrecognizable too. A hopeless shell. Chunks of flesh in the incinerator.

“—for as long as you both shall live?”

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