Page 30

Barbara

T he terror I felt when watching that video came back as a powerful echo when the fight began. Bile rose in my throat. I knew Scarab was strong, probably stronger than all three of them together, but what if they got lucky? Just once was enough, and he’d be dead. I couldn’t allow it.

Ignoring the way my head pounded, I crawled out of my hiding place. I couldn’t help breathing hard but bit back all sounds of pain so as not to attract their attention. Chains clung, Scarab mouthed off, weapons scraped and bodies thudded, and I ignored it all, focusing on one goal only.

Scarab’s bag.

As soon as I got to it, I knew I was in trouble. There were multiple types of guns, and I clenched my jaw, searching with my shaking hands for anything I could use. I hissed when I cut myself on a knife. Of course, Scarab was armored, so he didn’t need all his blades to be sheathed.

Breathing too fast and fearing what else was in there, I kept searching until I found the single thing I knew how to use. I grabbed the lever of the grenade in my teeth and crawled back to the table, glancing at the fighters. One of the hunters was down, unconscious or dead on the floor.

And… Scarab was down, too. I hiccupped in terror as one of the hunters straddled his back and raised his skull, a gun in his other hand.

It was now or never. I was almost to the table but didn’t know whether I’d make it. It was fine, though. Wasn’t I ready to die just this morning?

I gripped the lever in my shaking hand and pulled out the pin.

I threw the grenade clumsily. It rolled on the floor, stopping by Scarab’s arm with a metallic clink. I crawled behind the table with the last of my strength, praying for enough time. Just one more second. One more.

There was a panicked shout.

A gunshot.

And then—an explosion.

I screamed when the table moved, pushed back by the shock wave. It hit my side, and I fell over, curling in on myself with shaking sobs I couldn’t hear, my ears deafened by the blast.

I was too late.

The gun went off, which meant they killed him, just before the grenade exploded.

Time slithered by, maybe a few seconds, maybe a minute. I was too weak to get up. As debris fell around the room, I shook and sobbed, my heart torn open. He was gone. Nothing I had done mattered—none of it. I truly was one stupid, vapid doll, all my choices leading to catastrophes.

Now I wished I hadn’t made it behind the table, after all. I wished I’d been blown to bits, too, my body parts littering the bridal suite.

If I had had any strength left, I would have crawled over to Phantom’s bag and picked out a gun to put a bullet through the roof of my mouth. As it was, I could only lie there curled up in a fetal position and weep, grieving the man who was dead because of me.

Smoke spread like a black cloak in the room, and I coughed soundlessly, inhaling the oily air that coated my throat with grime. I couldn’t get up. My ears rang, louder and louder. I didn’t hear anything else. Would people come to check what happened? Would they see me curled up behind the table?

Maybe it was better if they didn’t. The smoke would finish me off. It was fitting.

Time stretched into a viscous cage of agony. After another minute or maybe fifteen, the floor seemed to shake under my cheek. Then again. I opened my teary eyes, just making out the blurry shape of a black boot. Then, the floor fell away as I was lifted up, a pair of strong arms carrying me as we moved through the smoke. When it shifted, I saw the blood splattering the walls, then the holes in the ceiling. Something wet and bloody hung off the chandelier like a gory ornament. I closed my eyes.

The air cleared and cooled. I gulped big breaths of it, even though I wanted to go back there and suffocate. It was over. My love was dead, and I wanted to be by his side.

We kept moving, my body weightless and torn with pain. The air shifted once more, the scent of flowers making it through the layers of smoke clogging up my nose. I coughed and coughed, shaking, and someone stroked my hair and held me close, a warm body cushioning mine.

And then, they left. I thought I made a sound, something pleading and helpless, and a hand came back to stroke my back as I lay on my side on a hard surface. Somebody touched my head, gloved, cold hands sliding over my ear and down my cheek, and I shut my eyes even more tightly.

I wanted to go back.

They turned me to the other side. Something wet and cold wiped the shell of my ear gently. That warm hand kept stroking my hair, and I clung to that touch, terrified it would stop.

Then, suddenly, I could hear again. It was as if the world had been muted, and now the sound came back on.

“…and the trauma is just temporary. She should be able to hear soon once the repair kit kicks in. There’s no bleeding that I can see. How long was she exposed to the smoke?”

I had a déjà vu. It had to be it, because this was the voice of the doctor who treated me after I fell from the balcony.

“A few minutes, tops. But are you sure, Elijah? If she dies on your watch, I fucking swear, I’ll cut off your balls and make you eat them.”

I sobbed once, my body convulsing. Now I knew it was a dream or something similar, because it was Scarab’s voice.

The world moved again, and suddenly, there was a warm breath on my lips, frantic hands stroking my arms and touching my face.

“Baby? Can you hear me? Open your eyes, pretty thing. Look at me.”

It took effort to obey. I was grateful for the instruction, though, and so did my best, my heavy eyelids finally lifting to show me the grinning skull of his face.

“But they shot you,” I said, my voice sounding small and scratchy.

Tears fell down my face, maybe because of the smoke, maybe because of grief. Warm, careful fingers wiped them away.

“The moron tried to shoot the grenade. I’m fine, baby. They almost had me, but you did it. You blew them up. My deadly doll.”

He smiled with pride, his eyes glowing silver. I was almost afraid to believe him, but then I noticed the other sounds. Excited and scared voices, someone barking orders, the police sirens coming from a distance. When Scarab moved aside, I saw we were in the church where I had almost got married. I lay on the altar.

“Come back,” I whispered hoarsely, terrified of losing him.

His face appeared again, his hand cupping my cheek. “Sorry, baby. How are you feeling? Where does it hurt?”

Everywhere, but at the same time, that pain almost didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was here. He was alive. I almost believed it now.

His skull was blackened with soot, his jacket dirty and torn up in places. A bloody scrap of meat was draped over his shoulder. I swallowed thickly, staring at it.

“You have something… There…”

He lifted it with his fingers, inspecting it carefully. “Will it make you laugh if I eat it? Just for fun?”

I shook my head weakly. He shrugged and threw the piece over his shoulder. The doctor’s face swung into view above me as he took the blood pressure cuff off my arm that I hadn’t even noticed I had on.

“Lots of rest, plenty of water, and she’ll be as good as new in a few days,” he told Scarab, his voice cool and professional. “Call me if you think something’s wrong.”

“You can bet I’ll call you,” Scarab growled, his voice so vicious, I flinched. “So make sure your will is in order just in case.”

“Let me go!”

I shivered, hearing my mother’s voice. Scarab looked up, his grin growing wide as red flashed in his eyes. I turned my head with difficulty, gasping when I saw her.

My mother, so perfectly put together when I saw her last, was a mess. Her dress was torn up, her hair full of twigs. A gorgeous woman with brown skin that shimmered gold around her cheekbones held my mother’s arms behind her back, looking almost bored while my mom struggled to break free.

“Fatima, you’re my favorite boss ever,” Scarab said with glee. “Can I torture her first? Off the record?”

I gasped, then coughed, my throat still tender. Fatima rolled her dark eyes, which briefly flashed gold under her blue and silver turban that was artistically wound around her head. From the neck down, she wore black clothes and a tactical vest.

“No, you may not. Clarissa Ashford will be tried for orchestrating an assassination attempt and whatever else we can find. I’ll make sure she gets at least twenty years with no parole. You can have your fun after she gets out of jail.”

Scarab sighed in mock disappointment. “But she will be my mother-in-law then. I don’t think I can torture my mother-in-law.”

“That’s your problem,” Fatima said. “You wanted to say something to your daughter, Clarissa. Now’s the time.”

“No.”

I turned away, covering my ears. Scarab laid his hand on top of mine and told Fatima to go away, his voice muffled through both our palms. Maybe it was childish, but I didn’t want to hear whatever my mother had to say. If I never talked to her again for the rest of my life, I’d be perfectly happy.

“She’s gone, baby,” he said, gently pulling my hand away from my ear. “It’s all over. Fatima will clean this up. We can go if you’re ready.”

I looked at his face, my chest squeezing with happiness and guilt. He still wanted to protect me after what I did to him. He was here. He wanted me, even joked about getting married. I didn’t deserve him.

As I stared, Scarab’s grin slowly shrank, his eyes losing their glow.

“I mean, assuming you want to come with me,” he said after a short pause, his voice quiet. “I thought you might, but…”

“I do!” I interrupted, coughing again. “I want to be with you. I love you, and I’m so sorry for everything I said! I was so terrified you wouldn’t believe me and they’d kill you, and…”

“Shh, baby doll. It’s okay.” He leaned in, his eyes flashing pink. “You did your best, and you did great. I’m just gonna need a lot of reassurance until you marry me, I guess.”

I smiled, reaching up to touch his face. Whatever the doctor gave me worked, because I already felt stronger and my limbs stopped shaking. I would probably be able to walk.

“I’d marry you right now,” I murmured jokingly. “I missed you so much.”

His eyes brightened, and he leaned in to nuzzle my cheek with a happy sigh. “Do you mean that, though?” he asked, pulling back.

I nodded. If it was even possible, which it wasn’t, I’d absolutely marry him. I was done waiting for good things to happen to me, done hoping that I’d be good enough one day. He was here, he wanted me, and I was ready to have him, once and for all.

Scarab laughed darkly and looked up, raising his hand.

“You there! Pastor! Come over here and marry us or I’ll blow up your church!”

I huffed softly. “I think we need a marriage license first.”

“My hacker friend will get it done,” he said, waving his hand in dismissal. “Hey, pastor. That was a joke, by the way. I won’t blow up your church. But if you don’t want the joke to turn into reality, you’ll have to marry us right now.”

The minister, who was a slender man in his late forties, regarded Scarab through his rectangular glasses, clutching a Bible to his chest. He looked spooked and uncertain, and when Scarab took a step closer, he flinched.

“Come on, don’t be scared. We’re all friends here,” Scarab said with a low laugh. “You just need to marry me and my girl and we’ll be on our way. My foot will never step in your church again. Pinkie promise.”

“You can’t get everything you want with threats, you know,” a low voice rumbled from the side.

I sat up to see. A large shehru man stood nearby, his muscular, scaly arms folded on his massive chest. He looked amused.

“Watch me,” Scarab growled, turning back to the minister, who was now seemingly trapped between him and the shehru. “So, what will it be, pastor? You gonna marry us or should I get my grenades?”

The pastor glanced at the church door, where a couple of police officers were interviewing the wedding guests. Scarab snapped his fingers in front of his face.

“Eyes up here, man. They won’t help you.”

I put my hand on his forearm, clearing my throat. “Pastor Michaels, please. I promise we’ll be out of your hair as soon as you officiate, and as a token of our gratitude, I’ll make sure the repair costs for the bridal suite are fully covered.”

The shehru laughed under his breath, and the minister shook his head, capitulating. “Fine, Barbara. If you insist.”

When Scarab gave me a pouty look, picking me up to help me off the altar, I smiled and brushed his cheek in a small kiss.

“Your friend is right. Sometimes a check works better than threats.”

He huffed, carrying me to where the pastor stood next to the altar, waiting for us. “Good thing that I’m about to marry a rich girl, then. Nat, come here. You’re gonna be my best man.”

The shehru slithered over, giving me a toothy grin. “Do you have rings?”

Scarab reached into the breast pocket of his jacket, producing two thin, metal bands that looked faintly familiar.

“Yeah, I do. I made them from grenade pins in a bout of depression. You don’t mind, doll, do you? I can get you diamonds later. I have ideas.”

“No, I don’t mind. I don’t need diamonds. Just need you.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, earning a disapproving look from pastor Michaels. “You really are too sweet for me. Well, get on with the vows. I can’t wait to be a married man.”

The pastor shuffled in place, clearing his throat. “Normally, we require interspecies couples like yours to sign a document confirming you’re aware it’s highly unlikely you will have offspring. In these circumstances, I’ll accept a verbal confirmation.”

“If I want to get her pregnant, I will get her pregnant,” Scarab said belligerently, giving me a very pink look. “But fine. I’m aware.”

“Yes, I’m aware,” I said.

I didn’t want to be a mother, and if I changed my mind in the future, there were plenty of options, I knew.

The pastor nodded and read the marriage rite. I looked at my abomination bodyguard, my heart bursting with joy. Earlier today, I stood in front of the same minister, my heart broken and full of sorrow. Now, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

“I do,” Scarab said, taking my hands. “I so fucking do.”

Pastor Michaels cleared his throat, reading my part of the vow, which I barely paid attention to. I stared at my beautiful man, who was so determined to marry me, he threatened to blow up a church, and I couldn’t help but shake with silent laughter.

“I do,” I said without hesitation when it was time.

“Fuck yes,” my groom murmured, leaning in to kiss me.

My lips met his mouth, our tongues touching briefly. Somewhere in the distance, a camera clicked. I pulled back to look, just in time to see Scarab give whoever took the photo the middle finger as he pulled my face closer for one more kiss. His free hand settled on my waist then slid lower to my ass as he groaned, tugging my hips against his.

“You might want to take it somewhere private,” his shehru friend said. “And take care of your lady. She’s been through a lot.”

Scarab pulled back, touching his forehead to mine, his hot breath fanning my face.

“I love you, doll. Will you come home with me? I need to fuck you real good since it’s our wedding night tonight.”

I smiled. “Yes to everything.”

My answer was always going to be yes.