Page 64 of Debt of My Soul

“… what the hell are you doing pounding on my door this early?” Liam’s voice quietly yells.

“Blitz wanted to make sure you still had the girl and were ready for this morning?” The second man’s voice is muffled through the door, as if he’s farther away. Liam most likely chased him off the porch.

“She’s tired. You’d be too if you slept on a concrete floor worried for your life, then made to dig your own grave. Get the hell outta here before I bury you in the clearing myself.”

“But—”

“Get.”

I can almost see the sneer on Liam’s face as he barks out the last command as he would to a feral dog.

My mouth suddenly dry, I fling the covers off myself and move to grab the same glass I used for water in the middle of the night from the kitchen counter. Every time I woke, I went to get a glass. My body did it unconsciously as if it was preparing for another several days with so little. The groan of pipes sputtersout some water, and I gulp it down, then rinse out the glass and set it back where it lived all night.

The door plows back open and Liam steps back in. I freeze, staring at him across the counter through the living room and straight to where he stands at the front door. Shirtless.

Black jeans hug his lower half, while the work of art on his bare chest is displayed on his muscular top half. Ink drips down his chest on the right side, rolling into a full right arm sleeve. The left side of his chest and arm are blank, with the exception of what looks like a scar, and I can’t help but wonder if he has plans to cover those too. His hair is tousled and snarled from his night’s sleep, which makes it look like he didn’t sleep much better than I did. Dull gray and blue underline each of his eyes, and when I finally meet his stare, he’s looking at me, confused.

“Sorry if that woke you.”

“It’s fine. I’m not sure what time it is anyway,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and removing my gaze from him in favor of the door he came through.

“Clock is right …” He points behind me and I turn to see the round manual thing ticking furiously. It’s 7:00 a.m. “Blitz most likely has already blackmailed a priest to come to the clubhouse, so we should get ready.”

I snort, looking down at my clothes. Well,hisclothes. I have these sweatpants and an oversized shirt. Can’t get ready—not that I want to.

“Trust me. It’s going to be five minutes and not pleasant. Shower if you want or freshen up. I’m going to get dressed and we’ll walk over.”

Trust him. I shake my head at those same words spoken to me last night. His calm demeanor is eerily and utterly terrifying. “How can you be so cavalier about this? I’m sure getting married to a random stranger isn’t something you planned for either.”

“I always do what needs to be done.” He marches back to this room and shuts the door while I stand there wondering how far I’d make it if I ran through the trees to find a road out of here.

Blitz’s threatening words for my parents quickly dispose of that idea. Plus, the thought that maybe this would keep them from going after Adam crosses my mind. I’m sure it’s all Liam is worried about at this point. No matter how angry he is at his brother, they’re still family.

Padding to the bathroom, I decide against a shower. There’s no one I’d rather impress less than this bunch. Instead, I finger-brush my teeth with some toothpaste I find in the medicine cabinet and swish out my mouth with some water cupped in my hand. I have zero makeup, and I’m grateful my hair seems to be fairly tangle-free.

When I exit the bathroom, Liam is already waiting by the door. Seems he isn’t too concerned about what he looks like either. He opted to keep his black pants on and threw on a T-shirt, layering it under his leather jacket, his hair pulled back into a loose bun.

Fiddling with sunglasses in his hands, his mouth drops when he sees me but closes it quickly. Without saying anything, he opens the door and we both make our way down the pathways to the clubhouse.

I squint in the bright rays. It’s been several days since I’ve seen the sun, or any daylight, for that matter. Everything is vibrant and humming with color. A grouping of cabins sits behind us as we leave the area and walk to another building. The pit in my stomach grows with each step I take toward the clubhouse, as they call it. With the large firepit out back, I know I’ve been held somewhere in that building.

Thank goodness it’s too early in the morning for all the men to be up and around, considering I heard them partying until three or four this morning.

I wipe my palms on my baggy sweatpants as we near the building, my anxiety at its peak. Both rubber bands still on my wrist are stretched out, rendering them ineffective for chasing away the restlessness. I’ll need to replace them—soon.

The front has a wide overhang made from round wooden beams. This whole place mimics a high-end campground and my brain is having trouble separating the lawlessness of the men and their actions to the beauty and serenity of the place right now.

With one hand on the door, Liam grabs my hand, bringing my eyes instantly to his. His pupils are blown wide—is that fear fighting its way through?

“It’s going to be quick, cold, and callous. Don’t react,” he says.

Confused but unwilling to admit otherwise, I nod, and he squeezes my hand before opening the door. It’s not tender or loving, but there’s a comfort in it and at that, my brow furrows even more.

We pass through a large dining area and approach a door with the words BREAK ROOM over it. Inside, Blitz stands with several other men in leathers and another man sweating bullets. His Roman collar does very little to hide the damp beads above his lip and the drops seeping from his temples.

As soon as we enter, I’m ushered in front of the priest, with a gun pointed at my head.

I never imagined my wedding would be held at gunpoint. Considering how long I waited to marry my high school sweetheart, this wedding puts a whole new meaning to the term shotgun wedding.

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