Page 39 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

She flushes even as she smiles shyly at Bas. Normally, he won’t use his good looks in his favor, but when he’s comfortable around someone, he can be even more charming than I am.

“You got it, Mr. Reynolds. And for your friend?”

I never even bothered picking up the menu. “I’m not picky. Whatever Bas ordered, that’s fine with me.”

“Two Waldorf salads, dressing on the side. Sparkling water, twist of lime. I’ll put your order right in.”

I look over at Bas.

He gives me an impish grin.

“Sounds great.”

Polly’s flashes a smile my way, far less genuine than the one she gives Bas, and then she’s gone.

“Hey. I got us a table outside on purpose.” He nods at my ear. “You can smoke over here if you want.”

I rub my finger along the filter. “Can’t. I quit.”

“Really? You’ve been smoking for, like, fifteen years, bro.”

“I know, but Loni asked me, too.”

“She did?”

“Well, she told me she stopped thinking that kissing an ashtray was sexy was sixteen so… yeah. Maybe she didn’t ask me, but I sure as hell stopped cold turkey for her.”

Bas slaps the top of his helmet. “God, you’re whipped.”

I am, and I won’t apologize for it.

I change the subject. Because I know that a salad won’t take long to serve, I BS with my buddy, talking random shit so that we’re not in the middle of an important conversation when our waitress comes back.

I’m right. Barely five minutes after we placed our order, she’s back with a large tray.

“Here you go.” Polly places one of the serving plates in front of Bas, the next in front of me. She follows it with a glass of bubbly water each, then says, “Anything else I can get for you?”

“How about another pretty smile, Polly?”

She giggles. “I can do that,” she says, and then she smiles.

Bas nods lazily. “That’s all for now, sweetheart. Thanks.”

As she bobs away with her empty tray, much happier now than she was when she first approached the table, I give him a wry look.

“I tip fifty bucks every time I come here,” is his explanation.

Right. And his pretty face, biker helmet, and sexy way he’s lounging in the wicker chair doesn’t have anything to do about it, huh?

Bas digs in to his salad, spearing a hunk of walnut, chewing it in a way that no one would describe as attractive—which is on purpose, I bet. Me? I set mine to the side, ready to get down to the reason we’re meeting.

“So…”

He swallows. “Right. So, I spent a couple of days hanging out with Connor and Haven, like you asked.”

Guilt slithers down my spine. “How is she? Doing better? What about Loni? Is she ready to talk to her?”

Bas shakes his head. “Sorry, Adrian. I tried. Connor was actually really pissed that I mentioned Loni was back in town because he didn’t tell her. If you ask me, he coddles her too much.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you?”

He thinks about it for a second as he savors a bite of fresh apple. “Yeah. You’re right. It’s just… after what she went though, therapy might help, but Connor won’t let her out of her sight. It’s not healthy.” He nods at me. “At least you’re not up Loni’s ass every second of the day.”

With a small smirk, I tell him, “If you’d ever had her ass, you’d know that there’s no better place to be. Actually, no. Don’t think about Loni’s ass.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, bro. You’re so possessive of that woman, you’re trying to police the fantasies that you just put in my head?”

Huh. I guess I am.

“She’s not just ‘that woman’, Bas. She’s my wife.”

And the reason why I tried to get Sebastien to talk to Connor on my behalf.

I thought… I don’t know. I guess I thought that, if Haven knew Loni was in town, maybe they could reconcile.

I know that Loni would love to talk to her friend again, and I was hoping that seeing a familiar face that had nothing to do with Johnny Winters or the Owed would be good for her.

Obviously not.

It was a plan. A good one. Bas has a place of his own, but he’s always had a tendency to couchsurf; one of the rooms in my house is solely dedicated to him for when he wants to stay over.

Sending him to visit Connor and Haven when he’s the only one that Connor will let past the door, it was a good one.

Next time, I’ll have a better one.

Bas reaches out, giving me an apologetic clap on the shoulder. “I tried, but you know Connor… he’s as protective as you are, and with him freaking out about the auctions… he can’t let Haven out of his sight because he’s terrified Jack will order his wife to the basement.”

I blink. “What was that? The basement? Offerings don’t go in the basement.”

Bas sits back in his seat. “I know. And that’s why Connor’s freaked. After what happened to her?—”

“It wasn’t her fault.”

“Tell the King that. She would be send to the auctions if he can figure out how to get her way from Connor.”

Hang on?—

“The auctions?”

“I used to think they were bullshit myself… like a myth or something… but it looks like the King brought them back. I saw Luke and Kev at the Court a couple of months ago. The confirmed it. Said that Jack started up monthly auctions about…” Bas’s forehead scrunches.

“You know what? It was shortly after his wife’s accident. ”

Accident .

We both know it wasn’t an accident, but in Harmony Heights, you never know who’s listening, either.

Still, I don’t understand. Or maybe I do. When Aunt Reese died… that was around the time that I stopped paying attention to any other woman in town: Order or not. I get why Jack didn’t tell me about the auctions, either. Dallas and I were against them, and as kids, we let Jack know.

According to my uncle, some women are too damaged to be Offerings, too valuable to be Used—and, during the auctions, they become Bought. He sells women to the highest bidder, usually men who come from out of town and leave Harmony Heights with their new ‘wife’ in tow.

But that doesn’t make sense. If Jack brought back the auctions, there’d be a huge influx of cash. I’m in charge of the Order’s books, the legit ledges and the cooked ones. If we had sex trafficking money, it would come through me.

Unless it wasn’t for the Order.

Unless Jack is embezzling from the society he rules…

This is something I should know. I can’t blame Bas for not mentioning it before. He avoids everything Order-related in town, and if he accidentally gets information, he makes himself forget it as though it’s meaningless to him.

But now that I do know, this leverage I can definitely use.

It’s probably the worst possible time, but I smile.

Yes. Fuck Jack Collins. If he’s embezzling from the Order, I can use that against him. He wants to come between me and Loni? Good luck when the old guard votes to get rid of him because he betrayed the society.

I smile—and it lasts just as long as it takes my phone to buzz four times, so quickly, it rattles against the glass tabletop.

I pick it up, and my heart stops.

DALLAS

Emergency!!

Get your ass back to the Fortress

Jack has Loni in your office

NOW!!

No.

No .

I have two weeks. Two whole fucking weeks until the Claiming ceremony. There’s no reason Jack would send someone to get Loni, or for her to go without telling me…

Because he did it. He figured it out. He knew that I refused to tell Loni that she has to Claim me at the end of August or else he’ll have our marriage annulled.

I never did. I couldn’t. If she knew she had an out, the Loni I first married would’ve taken it in a heartbeat.

Is she taking it now?

No.

“Adrian? Adrian… what’s wrong? What did Dal say?”

I shake my head, trembling fingers pulling up Loni’s number.

I’ve had it in my phone for the last two years, ever since I convinced Todd Dimmity that I needed it for my records.

If he thought that it was weird that someone in Harmony Heights requested she be hired only to then ask for her number, he’s paid enough to not ask questions.

Sometimes, when I couldn’t help myself, I would use a burner number to call Loni for the two seconds she would say ‘hello… hello?’ before she’d inevitably hang up.

I made a display of getting her to give it to me—relief flooding through me when the numbers she spat out were the same as the ones I already had—but the truth is that I’ve had it long memorized.

I can’t dial. I’m too busy losing my shit to punch in nine numbers. I select her contact instead, stomach dropping when I see the candid photo I snapped of my wife sleeping in our bed, and wait for her to answer.

When she doesn’t, I call again.

And again.

“She’s not answering.” My mind goes blank, my voice icy cold. “Loni… she’s not answering.”

And my fucking uncle has her.