Page 4 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

Because part of me knows that I’ve long been outrunning the Order, I always jumped at the chance to skip around so long as the moving expenses were covered by my company.

You know what the best thing about doing that is?

I don’t bother unpacking. Not completely.

I always have my essentials together, and with a little bit of time, I can gather everything I need and be out in hours.

It takes three for me to pack up my SUV, leaving the furniture and appliances that came with the apartment behind, but taking the key with me in case I decide it’s safe to return.

Where am I going? No clue. Just out of Bridgewater right now since the only thing on my mind is getting away from the apartment that the Order tracked me to.

Can they find me again before the wedding in two weeks? I really hope not, and I get to cling to that hope for a little over a half an hour before I pull into the parking lot of a small convenience store to grab an energy drink, a matte black coupe following in right behind me.

I’m not paying attention to the other driver. Grabbing my debit card and my keys, I lock my car, then hurry inside. Four bucks later, I tap my nails anxiously against the aluminum can as I return to my car.

“Looking good, Loni.”

Loni .

My head jerks up. I’m Marie now. I ditched my first name years ago, but I know that name.

I know that voice.

And there he is. Dallas Collins, a decade older than I last saw him.

His face is more rugged. His dark eyes harder.

His body broader, with muscles bulging against the tight black tee he has on.

His short-ish sandy brown hair—similar to his cousin’s—is tousled and falling forward in his face.

As a small smile tugs on his lips, he runs his fingers through his hair, leaving track marks in the wild curls.

A black spade is tattooed along the side of his throat. Leaning up against the driver’s side of my SUV, one arm is crossed over his middle. He salutes me with the other hand, making sure to flash the Order’s brand on his palm.

A lump lodges in my throat. The slippery condensation on the side of the ice-cold can combined with my suddenly shaky fingers means that my four dollars go down the sewer once it drops out of my hand.

The can pops open, the carbonated drink spraying everywhere, but while I gape at Dallas, he just raises his eyebrows at the mess I’ve made.

I shake my head, stepping away from the puddle and the spray. Forcing the lump down with a rough swallow, I find my voice: “What are you doing here?”

A small laugh. “Making sure you RSVP.”

Fuck.

“The invitation. You sent it.”

Of course he did. Dallas might be Jack Collins’s only son and the future head of the Order, but even when we were kids, Dallas was his father’s top enforcer. He knows everything about everything when it comes to the Owed, and makes sure it all goes according to his father’s plan.

He nods. “That I did. And when you left, I was waiting to make sure you started for home. The wedding is all set to go so you don’t have to worry about anything but showing up for your dress fitting, sweetheart.

But you… you headed north instead of west.” He clicks his tongue.

“If you can’t remember the way to Harmony Heights, you can follow me. ”

A gesture toward the black car I barely noticed before.

The same car that’s parked behind mine, blocking me in.

Apart from us and a truck that might belong to the bored clerk inside of the convenience store, no one else is in the lot. Cars whizzing past on the main road are too preoccupied with their own journeys to notice that Dallas has put a stop to mine.

What the hell am I supposed to do?

And that’s when, before my panicking brain can come up with any idea, Dallas’s voice turns uncharacteristically conversational as he asks, “How’s your dad been? Talk to him lately?”

Bastard.

“No,” is my hesitant answer. “I haven’t.”

Dallas reaches behind him, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Let’s call him.”

Dad didn’t answer his phone any of the times that I did, but when Dallas dials the number?

He picks up on the second ring.

“Mr. Dougherty. It’s Dallas. I have someone who wants to talk to you.” Pulling the phone away from his ear, he jerks his chin at me. “Come on. Daddy wants to say ‘hi’.”

My stomach twists. The invitation was bad enough. But this? I don’t like this.

Still, I know better than to refuse. As defiantly as I can at the moment, I stalk over to him, snatching the phone before holding it up to my head. “Dad? Is that you?”

“Loni.”

It’s just my name. The nickname I stubbornly clung to after Mom died because she thought Avalon was too prissy and I was her Loni. The only one who’s called me that in years… until Dallas Collins followed me to this rundown Quick Stop.

It’s just my name, but I can hear the resignation in it.

My eyes shutter closed. “You knew about this.”

There’s a long pause on Dad’s end before he sighs. “I didn’t have a choice.”

I squeeze the phone, a rush of anger flashing through me. “Bullshit.”

“Loni—”

“No, Dad. You knew. You knew that they were after me and you didn’t tell me.”

The father of the bride who gives her away to her groom… even if he isn’t there to walk me down the aisle, no member of the Order could Claim me without getting both my father’s approval, and the head of the society’s.

Yeah. He knew.

Fuck .

Another sigh. “The Order protects me. I owe everything to the Owed. You know that.”

I bite down on the corner of my mouth. “You mean they own you. That it?”

“They’ll protect you, too, if you let them. If you don’t fight them.” Dad pauses, then adds, “You had your fun. Now it’s time to come home and do what you were born to do.”

My eyes snap open. “I’m not marrying Desmond St. James.”

“You don’t have to. But, Loni… if you refuse to be an Offering, Jack has threatened to end the Dougherty’s affiliation with the Order. As the head of our family, I’ll be cut off. I need you to understand what that would mean.”

Damn it.

I do. God, I wish I didn’t, but I do . If Jack Collins has decided to let me be an Offering after all, if I don’t marry Desmond, I’m basically signing my father’s death warrant.

You don’t leave the Order of the Owed without repercussions. As an Offering, Jack could look the other way when I left. But Dad? He’s been a member since his induction forty years ago. He knows things that Jack wouldn’t allow a non-member to know so, when he says cut off, he means executed.

So that’s it. That’s why Dallas is here, and why Dad’s obviously been waiting for this call. I needed to know my options: either I give up my life, or I doom my dad to losing his.

Fuck !

Without saying goodbye, I end the call. Shoving his phone back into Dallas’s waiting hand, hoping like hell that his old scar twinges, I glare up at him.

He arches an eyebrow.

I just resist the urge to gouge him in the eye with the keys I’m still holding.

Instead, I shudder out a breath. “Don’t worry. I know my way back to Harmony Heights.”

His lips twitch. “I thought you might.”