Page 9

"Four months," I repeat, because somehow saying it out loud might make it make sense. "He was with her while still showing up at my apartment at 2 AM."

"Men are shit," Elfe says simply.

"He used to trace poems on my back. Said my skin was like paper and he was writing our story." I laugh, but it sounds broken. "Guess he was writing a different story with her."

"Or maybe he was just trying to fill a void."

"Stop defending him."

"I'm not." She steals my shot before I can take it. "I'm just saying—you both knew this was temporary. Maybe he was trying to practice letting go."

"By fucking Ingrid?"

"By fucking someone who wasn't you." She sets the glass down hard. "Look, I'm not saying it doesn't hurt. But you literally screwed him goodbye this morning and he’s been fucking her, so maybe let's not throw stones."

The truth of that stings. "That was different."

"Was it? Or are you just mad he started moving on first?"

I want to argue, but she's right.

We'd never defined what we were, never made promises.

Just existed in this liminal space between together and apart, both of us pretending the future wasn't breathing down our necks.

"You know what the really fucked up part is?" I say. "Doran knew. He's known for months probably. Watching me sneak around with Njal while Njal was already halfway out the door."

"That is fucked up."

"Everything about this is fucked up." I finally manage to snag another shot. "In two weeks, I'll be married to a man who's documented my entire life like I'm some rare species he's studying."

Elfe's quiet for a moment, then: "Remember when we were kids? That summer your dad taught us to ride?"

"You crashed into the fence."

"Three times." She smiles at the memory. "But you know what you told me? You said the bike only goes where you're looking. Stop staring at the fence and look at the road."

"This isn't a dirt bike, Elfe."

"No, but the principle's the same. You keep staring at the crash—Njal, the surveillance, the lack of choice. Maybe try looking at the road instead."

"What road? The one where I'm trapped in a marriage with a man who just might be a possessive psychopath?"

"The one where you're about to become one of the most powerful women in Florida." She leans forward. "You negotiated keeping your education. Your own space. That's not nothing, Rev. That's you already steering."

We talk for another hour, carefully avoiding the heavy topics.

She tells me about the new prospect who can't pour a beer without foam, about her mom's latest attempt at matchmaking, about the tattoo she's thinking of getting.

Normal things. Safe things.

But eventually, reality intrudes in the form of my buzzing phone.

Doran:

Your sister's looking for you.

Of course he knows where I am.

Me:

Be right out.

Doran:

Take your time. I'll be by your car.

"He knows I'm here," I tell Elfe.

"Of course he does." She walks me to the door. "Hey. I'm here, okay? Whatever you need. Even if it's to help bury a body."

"Don't joke about that."

"Who says I'm joking?" She hugs me tight. "You're stronger than you think, Rev. Don't let him make you forget that."

I step outside to find the parking lot mostly empty.

True to his word, Doran's standing by my Honda with Mikhail a few feet away.

But there's also a black Audi parked next to my car, gleaming like oil under the lights.

"Where’s my sister?" I look around the parking lot and don’t see her.

"Thought you'd run. Figured I’d use it to get you out of there," Doran says as I approach.

"I don't run."

He studies me, taking in the whiskey on my breath, the defiance in my stance. "Drowning your sorrows?"

"Processing my future."

"With Elfe?" When I don't answer, he steps closer. "She's a good friend. Smart. Loyal. Knows when to keep her mouth shut."

The implicit threat makes my spine stiffen. "Stay away from her."

"I have no interest in your friend." He pulls something from his pocket—car keys with a small wolf charm hanging from them. "These are yours."

"I have a car."

"You have a death trap held together by duct tape and prayer." He nods toward the Audi. "This is safer."

"Well, it’s what a college kid can afford. I’m not trying to get into more debt."

Doran chuckles. "You won’t be in any debt, little wolf. Go look at it."

I walk over to the Audi, run my hand along the window.

The glass is thicker than normal, the door heavier. "Bulletproof?"

"Among other modifications."

"How long have you had this waiting?"

"Long enough." He opens the driver's door. "Your Honda will be donated. The paperwork's already handled."

"You can't just?—"

"I can and I did." His voice carries that edge of authority that means I shouldn’t argue with him. "My wife doesn't drive a car that could kill her if someone taps the bumper."

"I'm not your wife yet."

"Two weeks, Revna. Start getting used to it."

I want to argue, want to throw the keys in his face and storm off.

But Elfe's right—this is bigger than my pride now.

So I take the keys, feel the weight of them in my palm.

"This doesn't mean I'm okay with the surveillance," I say.

"I know."

"Or the controlling behavior."

"Noted."

"Or—"

"Revna." He steps into my space, not touching but close enough that I smell his cologne. "The surveillance doesn't stop. Not until you're under my roof. Then it's just protection."

"What's the difference?"

"One keeps you safe from others. The other keeps you safe from yourself."

"I don't need?—"

"Thirteen men, little wolf. Thirteen men who thought they had a chance. How many more do you think are out there, waiting for a moment of weakness?"

"So you'll what? Monitor every breath I take?"

"If necessary." He brushes a strand of hair from my face, the touch ghosting over my skin. "You're mine now. That comes with privileges and restrictions. The sooner you accept both, the easier this will be."

"And if I don't?"

His smile is sharp, predatory. "Then we'll have an interesting marriage."

"The windows are bulletproof," I say, running my fingers along the glass. "The doors are reinforced. This thing probably costs more than most people's houses."

"Safety is expensive," Doran says simply.

"This isn't safety. This is paranoia wrapped in luxury."

"Is there a difference in our world?" He moves closer, and I catch that scent again—expensive cologne mixed with something darker. "How many attempts have been made on your father's life? Three? Four?"

"That's different. He's the president."

"And you'll be my wife. That makes you a target." His fingers ghost over my wrist, just above my pulse point. "Every enemy I have becomes yours. Every weakness they can't find in me, they'll look for in you."

"So I'm a liability."

"You're an asset. But only if you're breathing." He pulls out his phone, shows me something on the screen. "Facial recognition tied to the ignition. It won't start for anyone but you, me, or Mikhail in an emergency."

"You gave yourself access to my car?"

"I gave myself the ability to find you if someone takes you." His voice drops. "And before you argue about privacy, remember—two prospects are dead. The cartel doesn't play by rules."

I want to be angry, but there's something in his eyes—not just possession, but like he’s actually concerned.

Like maybe all this insanity comes from a place of fear, not just control.

"What are you so afraid of?" I ask quietly.

He goes still. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"Bullshit. You've wrapped me in so much security I can barely breathe. That's not confidence, that's terror."

For a moment, his mask slips. "My uncle had a wife once. Before he took over. Beautiful woman, fierce like you. Someone took her to get to him."

"What happened?"

"They sent her back in pieces." His jaw tightens. "He killed everyone involved. Their families, their friends, their dogs. Painted the streets with blood. But she was still gone."

The story sits heavy between us.

I think about the surveillance, the bulletproof glass, the way he always knows where I am.

Not just possession—prevention.

"I'm not her," I say.

"No. You're not." He steps back, the mask sliding back into place. "Because I won't let you be."

Mikhail clears his throat. "The families are waiting."

"Let them wait." But Doran steps back, gives me space. "Drive your new car home. Get used to how it handles. Tomorrow, we start wedding preparations."

"I have to study tomorrow."

"Then we'll work around your study time. Your education continues—that was the deal." He heads for his own car, pauses. "Revna? If you’re staying at Everly’s again tonight, make sure to double check your windows are locked. I want you safe."

They're gone before I can respond, leaving me standing in an empty parking lot with keys to a car I didn't ask for and a future I can't escape.

I get in the Audi, adjust the seat and mirrors.

Everything's already set to my preferences, because of course it is.

The engine purrs to life, all controlled power and luxury.

It's nothing like my Honda—no rattles, no struggling, no personality.

Just smooth, expensive efficiency.

Like the life I'm about to enter.

The car handles like a dream, all that power purring under my control.

I take the long way to Everly’s, needing time to think.

The wolf charm swings from the rearview mirror, catching streetlights.

My phone buzzes at a red light.

Njal:

Heard about the car. He's already erasing you.

I shouldn't respond.

Doran was clear about no contact, but my fingers move anyway.

Me:

Stop texting me.

Njal:

T wo weeks Rev. Just give me two weeks to convince you.

Me:

Convince me of what? That you weren't fucking Ingrid for four months? You told me you were talking.

The typing dots appear and disappear several times.

Njal:

It wasn't like that.

She meant nothing.

Y ou know you're the only one who matters.

I throw the phone into the passenger seat, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to hurt.

The car responds to my anger, engine growling as I accelerate.

So much power at my fingertips, but I'm still trapped.

At the next light, I pick up the phone again.

Me:

Lose my number. If you ever cared about me at all, stay the fuck away from me.

I block him before he can respond.

I get back to Regnor and Everly’s house and park the Audi next to Everly’s SUV.

Movement in the rearview mirror catches my eye—a figure approaching.

My hand goes to the door lock, but then I recognize the walk.

It’s Dalla.

She must’ve gotten a ride back home since she took Njal back home on his bike.

She slides into the passenger seat without asking. "Nice ride."

"It's a bit excessive, if you ask me."

"It's nice, and probably necessary, " She runs her hands over the leather. "Doran wasn't playing about the protection."

"How was it when you dropped off Njal?"

"Eh, a mess. Oskar's watching him now." She turns to face me. "He's in bad shape, Rev. Talking about what to do to win you back, but he’s about half a bottle into whiskey now."

"Ingrid warned me."

"Ingrid? When did you—never mind." She shakes her head. "We have bigger problems. Mom called. She wants us at the house tomorrow. Something about having girl time and then putting some ideas for the wedding together."

"Funny, Doran wants me to hop on the wedding planning too. I have to study tomorrow. But I’ll work around it."

"She knows. Just tomorrow evening. Just us, her, and a bunch of dresses that Doran’s mother designed. I… I think Mom invited Greer to be part of this, and if he has sisters I’m sure they’ll be included as well."

I groan. "It's really happening."

"Yeah, it is." Dalla takes my hand. "But hey, at least the car's nice. And you'll have the best dressed wedding in criminal history."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny." She squeezes my fingers. "We're going to get through this, Rev. Together. Just like always."

I look at our joined hands—hers with chipped nail polish, mine with the obscene sapphire.

"What if I lose myself in this?" I whisper.

"Then I'll remind you who you are." She pulls me into a hug. "Every damn day if I have to."