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And then three other doors open, a dozen armed men marching out of them.
Marcus blocks my stab, twisting my wrist until I’m forced to drop the knife. It falls to the carpet with a muffled thud, yet he doesn’t stop twisting. “No pound of flesh tonight.”
“I’ll find my moment,” I mutter.
He smirks, like he’s looking forward to it. “I’ll be waiting.”
“What’s the plan, then?” I snap.
Marcus rubs his thumb over my wrist in a soft caress, as if he’s not bending it so viciously that it’s on the verge of snapping. “We have a priest waiting at Saint Christopher’s. Your parents will meet us there.”
Understanding floods over me. Mother did more than leave me alone with Marcus to talk despite my attempts to escape with her. She dragged mehere, into this hallway without foot traffic, without restrooms, only doors leading to empty rooms. Except for the one with a glaring, red exit sign above it.
The betrayal shouldn’t hurt. This is expected, truly. They’ve done nothing to show me they have a singular concern for my well-being or happiness since they ambushed me with news of the deal they brokered with the Accardis. The one that sold me off like a medieval princess meant to bring peace to her kingdom.
Still. It hurts. A deep and aching pain that won’t soften anytime soon.
I bury it deep enough that Marcus won’t see, deep enough that the gnashing teeth grab hold of it and swallow it downwhole. Like all the other betrayals, it will remember. “The Council won’t stand for this.”
Marcus kicks my knife down the hall behind me. “They won’t have a choice, not with the full power of the South and West against them.”
I shake my head. “My parents are idiots.”
“Yes.” He yanks on my wrist, shooting pain up to my elbow.
I follow after him, unwilling to be dragged like a wayward child. “The Gallos will cease to exist altogether after this.”
“Most likely,” he agrees.
We walk toward his men, who rush forward to meet us. I wish I was a hurricane. I wish I could toss them against the wall, rip their guns out of their hands, drown them in a tempest.
Marcus keeps my wrist in his harsh grip. “They negotiated your survival, at least.”
“How kind.” If I were a hurricane, the tears threatening to fall would be rain lashing against their skin. Not a sign of helpless rage. Not aweakness.
Marcus snorts. “You mean foolish.”
I do. Nothing will go according to whatever contract they signed. And they should know that. “I assume you’ve already made plans to remove them from the equation.”
“After our first child.”
The thought of Marcus touching me in any way that would result in pregnancy causes nausea to churn in my gut. “I will abort every cursed cell that takes root.”
“Hard to achieve when you can’t leave the house, hm?” He jerks my hand up to his mouth by his hold on my wrist and brushes a kiss over the meat of my palm.
I gag. “I hate you.”
“Save the passion for our wedding night, dear.”
The exit door opens ahead of us, Marcus’s horde of men lining the hall and cutting off any hope of an escape route. Guns ahead, guns behind, guns beside. The only way out is throughthat door. Each barrel counted dwindles the small possibility I have that, maybe, I can find a way out of this.
As the distance closes between us and kidnapping, the hopeless reality of that likelihood sinks in. I am alone and unarmed and weak. I want to be a hurricane of force, but I am not. And Marcus’s painful grip on my wrist, the barrel of each gun pointed at me as we march down the hall, reinforces that fact.
I am a sheep. And I am being led to slaughter.
to be continued…