Page 43 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

“And that’s Order biz. This? This is all the King’s doing. You ask Jack Collins, okay?” Another hate-filled look sent Dallas’s way. “Talk to your old man. It ain’t worth my head to get mix the two. If that bitch got sent to the basement, too bad. Nothing’s saving her from that.”

Wanna bet.

I glance at Dallas. He nods.

Good.

I reach into my front pocket. As a boy, I carried my pocket knife with me everywhere I went.

When I traded it for the Tomcat, I put it in my dresser drawer and left it there.

And then I showed Loni my box of treasures last night and…

maybe I was feeling nostalgic, because I dug out that knife this morning and shoved it in the front pocket of my suit pants this morning.

I have my Tomcat, too; if it’s not on my waistband, it’s in my car, and I grabbed it before heading for the Fortress. I can’t risk damaging the pad of his finger by accidentally blowing the whole fucking thing off, but my pocket knife should do pretty nicely.

I flip it open.

“Hold him.”

Dallas kicks Luke in the knee. He puts all of his strength into the strike, and I don’t know what’s louder: the crunch or the howl of agony that tears out of Luke’s throat when Dallas’s boot breaks something.

I could give a shit. Luke goes down, Dallas putting all of his weight against him, keeping him in place.

He uses one hand to pin down Luke’s shoulder, the other to drag him back to the table and slam his cheek down on it.

Once he’s immobilized, I grab Luke’s hand. As though he knows exactly what’s going to happen, he struggles, but another slam of his head against the wood dazes him enough that I have his arm outstretched, right hand flat in front of me.

Eenie-meenie-miney-

That one.

The knife slices through his finger a lot easier than I expected. The bone gives a little resistance, but I’m determined enough to hack that fucker right off.

He howls. Dallas slaps his hand over his mouth, muffling the scream.

I bend down so that Luke’s wide eyes can’t miss me. Then, showing him his severed pointer finger, I ask, “What’s the code?”

He mumbles.

“Dallas? If you would?”

Dallas removes his hand.

Luke lifts his head up enough to glare at me with pain-filled, unfocused eyes. “Fuck you.”

Thud .

“Motherfucker!”

“My mom’s in a grave,” Dallas retorts darkly, prepared to slam Luke’s head down again if the prick gives him a reason to, “and I ain’t into banging dead chicks.

Keep giving us shit, though, and we’ll see if there’s some sick fuck who won’t mind shoving their cock up your ass after we leave you rotting somewhere. ”

I smile. “One more time, Luke. What is the code?”

He thrashes against Dallas.

Come on. “Okay. Look. I only need one finger. However, what if I drop it? What if it doesn’t work? What if it’s the wrong one? Maybe I need another ? — ”

“No! No . Shit. Three-six-oh-four. It’s three-six-oh-four. Leave my fucking fingers alone!”

“See? Wasn’t that easy?” I poke him in the ear with his own fingertip. “Keep ‘em here, Dal. Let’s see if he’s telling the truth.”

Dallas nods, increasing the force of his push against Luke’s head.

I race over to the door, too panicked to care if it shows. I see the keypad. Above it, there’s a sensor that’s gotta be for the fingerprint. I maneuver the bloody finger into place, muttering ‘yes’ when the light turns green. Using my finger now, I enter 3-6-0-4 into the keypad.

Something clicks. I grab the door handle and yank on it. It opens.

Yes!

I throw Luke’s finger at him. “If you hurry, you might be able to save that. Dallas? Get your gun out.”

With another kick, Dallas sends Luke falling to the floor. Just as I said, he pulls out his gun—and then, without any remorse at all, he shoots Luke between the eyes.

I watch the dead body crumple on the floor. “Oh. I guess there’s no point in saving the finger after all.”

“He shouldn’t have made that crack about my mom,” Dallas says as I fold my pocket knife, shoving it in my pocket before grabbing my gun from its place at my waist.

I don’t point out that I use the term ‘motherfucker’ all the time. Luke was a piece of shit. If Dallas took the curse a little too personally, that’s fine. A trash enforcer on the take is dead, Dallas feels a little better, and there’s no one to warn Jack that we’re heading downstairs.

Huh. That’s even better than if I planned it myself.

After that, it’s almost too easy. We race down the stairs, guns leading the way.

Another enforcer—Jeremy—is down there, with one of the old guard, Trevor, serving as an auctioneer for the crowd of about fifteen men hanging back in the shadows of the musty basement.

Dallas handles them easily with his gun since, like us, they’ll be armed.

Me? I’m looking for my wife.

I see at least four women lines up on a makeshift stage, each stripped down to their bras and panties.

Our arrival, followed by Dallas killing two men in front of them has the women screaming, huddling together, but when I lift my gun up, firing a third shot—a warning shot into the ceiling—every single fucking person down here goes silent.

“I. Want. My. Wife.”

That’s all I have to say. From behind a curtain I didn’t notice at first, Loni comes stumbling out. She’s also been stripped down, and if my magazine had enough bullets in it to kill every other man in this cramped room (save Dallas, of course), I would have.

Instead, I throw open my arms. The sob she lets out as she runs right toward me despite the weapon in my hand will stay with me the rest of my damn life. Same as the way she squeezes me tight before gasping out, “Adrian, it’s you. It’s you. You came for me. Oh… you came .”

I close my arms around her, still keeping my gun in my grasp.

Anyone who makes a move toward my wife will get shot, I swear to fucking God—and they know it.

If not me, Dallas has at least three more rounds in his gun, and these rich fuckers down here…

I don’t think there’s a single weapon between them.

With my free hand, I rub Loni’s back. My hand shakes as I do. “Of course I did, princess. I made that mistake once. I will never fucking do it again. You hear me? I will always come for you.”

She dissolves into tears that scald me through my dress shirt. She’s only been down here for an hour at most—nothing like the two months where Haven was missing—but even one second was too long. I suddenly have a moment of clarity when it comes to Connor and the way he guards his Haven so fiercely.

I’ll do the same for Loni.

No. I’ll do worse .

As Dallas uses the threat of his gun to get the men to gather on one side, the terrified women on the other, I can’t bring myself to release Loni. So I don’t. However, I do slip my hand inside of my suit jacket, pulling out my cigarette case.

She shivers. I make a soothing sound in the back of my throat. “It’s okay. I still got you.”

She nods. “I know. Baby… I know .”

I kiss the top of her hair. Then, palming the cigarette case, I remove my jacket as efficiently as I can until I have no choice but to release her for a few seconds. She gasps, and I hurriedly help her climb into my suit jacket to help her cover up.

I’ll find her clothes. Her shoes. That’s at the top of my to-do list so that Loni isn’t half-naked and vulnerable a moment longer.

But first…

Pulling her back into my embrace, I pop open the cigarette case. Nicholas Reed’s card is right on top.

I smile.

As soon as I take care of my wife, I’m making a phone call.