Page 31 of Tricked By Jack

Eve looks unsure of herself. “Is it too much?”

“Nah, he deserves it for the shit he said to you.” Despite the reassurance, Shelby smirks in a way that makes her words seem insincere.

Doesn’t Dr. Death notice the way her friend looks at her? Like she’s calculating ways to use her? The fuck is her problem? She was told to make friends with Eve, but this isn’t friendly at all.

“Suit yourself,” the courier says at last, tucking the rose back into its insulated bag.

I have no fucking idea why the guy would send flowers after what happened. But I don’t like it. After all, Eve’s about to be my wife, so I can’t have other suitors sniffing around.

Chapter 11

The Bride

The ferry hums beneath my boots, steady and slow as it cuts across the water. Wind snatches at loose strands of hair and tugs at the hem of my coat, but I barely feel it. Not when I’m surrounded by laughter and perfume and the kind of nervous energy that bubbles over in the absence of logic.

Shelby’s pressed against my side, practically vibrating with excitement. When I glance at her, she isn’t watching the island lights—she’s watching me, as if contemplating what to say, before pasting on a grin.

“Can you believe this?” she whispers for the fifth time.

One of the other women hears her and leans in, eyes glittering. “I know, right? I heard they make us walk down an aisle blindfolded.”

“I heard they make you bleed to seal the vow,” another chimes in, voice giddy.

Shelby snorts and rolls her eyes as though this is tedious to her.

“Are you okay?” I whisper, catching her eyeing me nervously. I can’t really put my finger on what it is that’s making it seem insincere to me, but her relaxed attitude almost feels forced.

“Hmm? Yep, I’m good.” Her smile twitches. “It’s a big night, you know?”

Sighing, I move so I’m in front of her. “Come on, Shel. I know something’s up. Talk to me.”

We might not have been friends forever, or survived childhood and adolescence together. But we’ve been in each other’s lives for a few years. We used to occasionally cross paths professionally, and we were always on good terms.

Then in February she contacted me out of the blue, wanting to go for drinks, and we did. That quickly became a weekly tradition, one we both treasured.

Shel’s my first real friend, and I want to be there for her as much as she’s been for me. She might not have realized it, but until her, I felt awkward as hell in any social situation that didn’t involve work. But now, thanks to her, I feel better in my own skin, so to speak.

“It’s nothing,” she murmurs, looking away. “Hey, Eve, you know I’m your friend for real, right?”

I tilt my head. “Where’s this coming from, Shel?”

“Nowhere,” she says too fast. “Just… I’m just reminding you. You know, in case tonight gets weird.”

Frowning, I laugh nervously. “Of course I know,” I reassure her.

She nods. “Good. Keep that in mind.”

The island comes into view—Governors Island, but it doesn’t look the way it did last summer when Caleb dragged me here for that Fourth of July disaster. Now it’s transformed.

Cloaked in fog, lit only by the warm flicker of jack-o’-lanterns nestled between twisted trees and iron fence posts. They glow like embers from a dying fire, their carved faces leering through the mist.

When we dock, a woman waits at the pier. She’s tall, mid-forties maybe, with severe cheekbones and sleek black trousers that fit like a second skin. A tablet dangles from one manicured hand. Her hair’s twisted into a glossy bun. Not a single strand out of place.

“Good evening, Brides,” she says, with all the warmth of a judge reading out a sentence. “I’m Lorna. Follow me.”

As we fall in behind her, a man wearing a skull bandana around the lower half of his face turns toward us. His piercing blue eyes punch the air from my lungs. Is that… no, it can’t be. Justas I manage to convince myself it isn’t him, I see the arm wrapped in a cast.

“Caleb?” I call out. Instead of looking up again, he turns and disappears into the heavy fog.