Page 125 of Captive Bride

I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. He presses his body against mine and pushes me back against the coffin.

“You should be grateful the Governor still wants you, you little skank, after what you let that mobster do to you,” he says, running his hands up my arms, grazing the side of my breast.

His fingers are cold through the silk gown, making me shudder. “Letting him fuck you, sucking his cock, and acting like a fucking slut. You should thank me for saving you and bringing you to the Governor, saving you from being Montague’s whore,” he whispers, his stinking breath hot on my face.

My stomach roils, I press against the coffin attempting to escape his grasp.

“Fuck you,” I spit in his face, my hands clawing and scratching his robes.

He grips my arms tighter. I pull and kick at him.

“You fucking treacherous asshole! Let me go!”

I slam into him, trying to knock him away, but he’s too heavy for me. He leans against me and, with one hand on my throat, pins me down.

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, princess.” His words slither into my ear like the snake he is.

I struggle, trying to throw off his bulk. Stars cross my vision, and my hand drops to my thigh; the hilt of Tristan’s dagger matches the curve of my fingers.

My love is on the other side of the door. I can’t stay trapped here in this small stinking room with this fucking prick.

Tristan has already saved me. We’ll be together again.

I’ll make sure of it.

The world slows. I can hear my heart beating and the sound of a fight on the other side of the door. My fingers close around the hilt of the dagger.

“I am not a whore,” I snarl at the deceitful priest.

I bury the dagger in the side of his fat neck. The sharp blade sinks into him, red blood pooling around base of the hilt thrust into his throat.

His fingers on my neck loosen. I pull the dagger from his body, and a crimson river sprays from the wound.

I feel his hot blood soak through my white dress. I finally push him off me. His eyes are wide as he crumples to the floor.

I watch the red blood spill from his neck, and his skin goes grey and pale.

Standing over him, I finally feel free. I’ve saved myself.

Still holding the dagger, I step over the bleeding body of my betrayer. Pushing open the door, I see the strong back of my love.

He points his gun at the Governor.

“You killed her! You fucking killed her, you greedy mother fucker!” Tristan’s voice is razor sharp.

He shakes with anger. The Governor is sprawled on the ground in front of him; a broken mirror sparkles in the wavering light.

A man I once thought had power over my whole life lays broken on the ground, his white bow tie splattered with flecks of blood from his broken nose.

Time slows again. I can hear Tristan’s rough breathing. I can almost feel his anger and his pain.

Oh, my love. I’m not dead. You have saved me.

I step up behind him and press my body against his heaving back. I fit like a glove. Our bodies were made to be together.

“These violent delights have violent ends,” I whisper in his ear, closing my hand around his.

A memory of learning to shoot this same gun plays across the front of my mind.

I feel the same jolt of fire in my gut. This is power. Power I share with my Tristan, my dream.

“Which, as they kiss, consume,” Tristan recites.

I reach up and kiss him on the cheek.

Together, we pull the trigger.

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