Page 37

I nod, then there’s a click and the collar falls away from my neck.

The chains slip between us, loudly clanging as it slams against the floor, sending little bits of stone dust flying up.

Kane lifts his foot, catching the heavy metal to prevent it falling on my toes.

He must be hurt from the impact of it, but he kicks it off to the side, then gently lifts my hair to reveal the marks left on my nape.

My eyes close at the soothing touch of his thumb tracing between each hole.

He slowly lowers his head and presses his lips to my neck; his tongue comes out, lightly lapping at the cuts.

Pressing my hands to his chest, I hold on to him and allow my eyes to close. The murmurs get further away with my own mumbling covering them. “This isn’t real.”

He smiles against my neck and trails gentle kisses in a path up to my ear. “It is very real, wife.”

“Get dressed,” someone says behind me, and I press deeper into Kane’s chest.

I expect him to push me away or find another way to punish me, instead he wraps his arm around my hips and keeps me tucked into his side.

There’s no harsh cologne on his skin or overpowering scent.

He smells like comfort and familiarity with a faint scent of nicotine.

His dick is still hard, digging into my thigh.

It hits me then—he’s not comforting me or being caring.

He’s keeping me close to hide that he’s hard, as a shield.

I’m truly alone despite the cathedral being full of people.

Ruby stands beside a man who looks like he’s restraining himself from committing murder and my parents stare back at him with the same expression.

The doctor is beside the large doors with a strange woman at his side.

A fur coat covers the length of her body, stopping an inch above the ground.

Her eyes are lighter than his and the animal’s head sits above her own like a creepy costume.

But they stand together, shaking hands with people and engaging in conversation.

Everyone here has someone other than me.

No one leaves as the doors open for new masked guards to enter like a team of robotic soldiers and the pews don’t even scrape against the floor as they rearrange the room. Kane doesn’t seem fazed by the change either as he calmly puts on a new black shirt.

An idiotic part of me that every child has when it comes to their parents looks at them with hope.

Hope that they’ll help me, hope that they’ll be better.

It’s diminished over the years, and I thought it had successfully withered away, but no, it’s still there.

It forces me to look at them, to want them to do something, anything that could replace the years of their cruelty and neglect.

Yet they ignore me. I should be used to it, but I’m a fool for expecting any different.

It still hurts that they’re in the same room as me and refuse to even give me a modicum of their attention.

Once he’s dressed, Kane places his hand on the small of my back and forces me to walk.

He keeps his hips behind mine as he smooths his hand around my waist, walking me to a long table that is set up in the middle of the cathedral.

It’s covered in a pristine runner as though this is a real wedding and a barefoot bride in this setting is normal.

I vaguely recognize a man beside my father.

His profile only allows me to see half of his face and his eyebrows are huge, covering the color of his eyes.

Gold cursive cufflinks adorn his shirt sleeves but he’s close to my father’s age.

He turns his head and I gasp without meaning to.

A large slash runs down the length of his face.

It begins at his hairline, and it must be old due to it being fully healed.

I can’t tear my eyes off the jagged line or how it splits through his eye, and the white ball that doesn’t have an iris.

It’s like a cue ball, fully white without any veining or coloring instead of a purpose-made prosthetic.

My staring gets my father’s attention and Kane tightens his hold on my waist. His chest presses against my back as we both watch my father look from us to the scar on the man’s face.

There are many things I’ve witnessed my father do that have changed my opinion on him.

None of them have ever confused me as much as watching him caress the jagged line with his thumb.

The other man doesn’t move, save for tilting his chin as he bends his knees, so his head is lower than my father’s.

I grimace as I watch my sadistic prick of a father press the pad of his thumb against the man’s prosthetic eye.

The lace of my dress bunches beneath Kane’s rough fingers as he roughly turns me. “Sit the fuck down.” He gestures to a chair at the head of the table that would have my back to my parents.

I lower into the seat and he takes the one beside me as soon as the masked helpers have finished placing the other guests around the table. Leaning into me, he discreetly gestures to the doctor who has been silent. “That’s Lennox. Don’t trust anyone else.”

“Who’s the other one?” I whisper back.

“Rowan,” he says, straightening up in his seat.

The man my sister warned me about is the doctor.

The man my sister warned me about is the doctor, who is Kane’s uncle.

I couldn’t have made him up if Ruby knew he existed long before I was ever trapped in that hospital.

As though he’s aware of me thinking about him, Rowan turns his head.

Those pale blue eyes spread unease through my body and a bone-deep chill works up my spine.

His lips slowly curve, but there’s no semblance to a smile on his features.

The other man, Lennox, whispers something into his ear and that sinister curve gets wider.

Rowan turns to the room like he’s a king with his arms out, hands flat, gesturing to the seats as he announces, “It’s time to feast and celebrate.”

A mix of dress shoes and heels scurry across the stone floor as the remaining guests take their seats.

I don’t think they’re really guests, because you can’t be invited to a wedding that no one wanted to take place.

They must be here with force like I am, although they don’t have wounds on their necks or any indication of how they’ve been forced.

They look happy, talking to each other and forming their own conversations between themselves.

My parents don’t sit beside me, so I search the table for Ruby.

The man she was with is still here but the seats either side of him are empty, yet he’s unperturbed by the isolation as he calmly holds a crystal wine glass up.

The masked helpers must also be waiters because they fill his glass with red wine from an equally sparkling decanter.

The wine is thicker than anything I’ve ever seen before, clinging to the crystal glass.

The cold floor hurts my feet and I tuck them up on the rung of the chair to try to warm them. Kane widens his thighs and awkwardly juts his foot out.

“So you don’t have to touch the floor,” he whispers without looking at me.

I gently place my feet on top of his boot as crockery and utensils are put in front of everyone around the table.

There’s no food and I can’t smell anything, but everyone else looks to the other end of the table where Rowan, Lennox, and the strangely dressed woman sit.

All three of them watch us and the woman rests her cane on the edge of the table.

Leaning into my favored tormentor, I ask, “Who’s she?”

He checks the seal of a bottle of water before lifting it to his lips as he answers, “My grandmother.”

What the fuck? He doesn’t have any grandparents.

His mom always told him that she didn’t have any family other than Lennox.

Then again, that’s not true because there’s Lennox and Rowan.

Their mother sits between her two sons with her arms straight out in front of her.

Both men move like a mirror image of the other, carefully pulling her arms free of the sleeves.

She looks ridiculous with an animal’s head on top of her own, which no one else seems to point out.

Whoever styled her needs to be shot for thinking a panther is something that would ever be fashionable rather than allowed to roam free.

Cold air blows across the floor as the large cathedral doors creak open with more masked helpers entering.

I fluff out the lace of the dress to offer my bare feet some protection as I watch them pull a large metallic structure behind them and place it beside the table.

Warmth radiates from it and a soft orange glow flickers off the stone.

When they step back, I stare at the huge spit roasting equipment.

My father would always get a hog for his work functions, but the animal rotating with the bar isn’t one I can make out.

The limbs are too long to be a pig and the torso is too narrow to be bovine.

Bile rises in my throat as the charred skin slowly turns to reveal a face. A human fucking face that has already crackled. The embers spit up, licking against their skin.

I look to the side and Kane is already staring at me as he drops his hand between our seats to thread his fingers through mine.

My parents, who would fire chefs for serving soup with a drop on the rim of the bowl, look on in approval at the human being slowly rotating over the flames that get bigger as a guard adjusts a knob at the side.

I’m going to fucking scream.

My mind is a fucked up place, but this is too much for me to comprehend.

I wouldn’t think of something like this.

I shouldn’t think of something like this in so much detail that I can bring the illusion to life.

I can smell it. The putrid sweet scent of human flesh.

I hear the crackling as their fat melts under the charred skin.

Kane gently squeezes my hand and I do it back.

Each incremental squeeze gets tighter until I can’t feel my fingers.

I’m sure I’m cutting off his blood circulation too.

He’s the only person who’s normal and actually reacting to the circus around us.

The rest are in their own private conversations, drinking, laughing—the very same shit we grew up witnessing.

My parents acting like they would while they’d throw their lavish parties like there isn’t a person being slowly roasted over an open fucking flame.