GRACE
POP! Pop! Pop!
The pop of gunfire is not a sound that should be at my wedding, and the sharp noises make me
freeze in shock for a half-second. It isn’t until I begin to register the sounds of screaming around me
that I grasp the reality of the situation with awful clarity.
Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.
A hum of adrenaline crawls over my skin as another round of shots ring out. The world seems to
move in slow motion, and I can see and hear and feel everything more intensely than I should be able
to.
Bullets zip across the room like angry bees. Wood splinters and cracks as gunfire hits the pews,
sending people scrambling for cover.
My father grasps my arm so tight it hurts, and it’s that bite of pain that shocks me out of my stasis.
He seems rooted to the spot just like I was, color draining from his face as he watches the scene,
registering the group of men we were never supposed to see again. After six years of running, the
demons of our past seem to have finally caught up to us—a day that was never supposed to come.
We’re standing in the middle of the room, halfway up the aisle, and I throw myself to the floor,
yanking him down with me as another volley of bullets flies through the air.
There are so many intruders in the church, and I can’t tell if they’re firing at us, the wedding
guests, or each other. But it doesn’t matter.
It’s no coincidence they’re here in this church on my wedding day. They came for Dad. For us.
You told me we would be safe now.
I look over at my father, tugging his arm to try to pull him behind the cover of a wooden pew. It
was foolish to believe the Novak Syndicate would never find us, but I still feel a stab of betrayal, like
my father lied to me.
“Dad—”
The words die on a scream as my father’s body jerks, collapsing to the side as one of the
intruders fires around the end of the pew in a burst of noise.
“Dad!” I scream, blood rushing to my ears.
My mind spins. The world goes red.
My father goes still.
No. My heart gives a single, solid thud in my chest. No.
“Please...”
The sounds around me continue to rage, the danger still looming over me like a guillotine, but I
can’t focus on any of that. All I can focus on is my only remaining parent, my lifeline, my father
bleeding out on the floor. My fingers scrabble at his neck, slick with blood as I try to find a pulse. I
can’t find one, but maybe that’s just because my fingers are too slippery, my own heart hammering so
hard it seems to drown out everything else.
“Dad, please...”
My white dress tangles around our limbs and knots at my ankles as I try to drag his body with me
to an exit, to get him to safety. He’s too heavy for me to move fast enough, and I know it’s too late—
his body is limp and lifeless, his head falling to the side, eyes open wide in horror. The splatter of his
blood stains my dress, turning the white fabric crimson.
“Please...” I cry, silently, ducking behind a pew.
My body is so frozen in fear as I lift my shaking hands to my vision, watching the blood drip
down my hands and wrists to my elbows. There’s a tingling cold in my fingertips as they start to go
numb, a sensation that goes from my hands to my arms to my chest, washing over my entire body.
Pop!
A scream catches in my throat as another bullet embeds itself in the pew inches away from my
face, wood splintering. I know I should leave my father’s body behind, that there’s nothing left to
save, but my gaze is pulled back to where his tall form is sprawled on the floor.
Unconsciously, my hand floats to my head where my veil should be when I see that he still holds it
tightly in his hand. It must have torn from my head as we dropped to the church floor; the fresh white
roses that made up the crown of the veil are smeared with blood, the petals crushed and broken.
I have to fight... I need to get away.
Fresh tears stream down my face as I turn away, dragging my body across the floor.
Where are you, Brian? I try to keep my focus in front of me, wondering where my knight in
shining armor is. Is he even still alive? Or did they kill him too?
“Not so fast, sweetheart,” a voice says behind me.
Pop!
My body absorbs the impact of the bullet, pain following seconds later. Fire rips through the side
of my body as I grasp my hip, trying to stop the blood, but it spills through my fingers, hot and thick. A
pair of boots come down on my dress as I try to pull away, stopping me in my tracks. I’ve taken self-
defense classes. I’m no stranger to violence. I should be able to fight him.
But with every breath I take, pain pulses and radiates throughout my entire body.
“No...” I gasp, turning around and looking at a face I don’t recognize. “Please...”
He smirks, lifting his gun and pointing it at my head.
My ears ring as my assailant jerks and stumbles forward, three shots penetrating his stomach in
quick succession, blood splattering my face and chest. His smirk turns to a grimace and his eyes
widen in pain as he looks down at his wounds, catching the blood with his hands.
But it’s too late for him.
His body crumples to the floor right in front of me. As he collapses, his weapon skims across the
floor, just within my reach.
Get the gun.
I lurch forward, desperation and adrenaline overriding the pain in my side as I grasp for the
handgun. The barrel of the gun barely brushes my fingers before a heavy boot comes down on my
wrist, making my arm scream in agony. The new man kicks the weapon out of my reach, sending it
flying across the room.
Hope fades with it.
No...
“Don’t be afraid, Grace,” a male voice mutters, but there’s an edge of something dangerous in the
words.
Before I can turn around and see who he is, the man heaves me up and throws me over his
shoulder like I weigh nothing. He moves quickly, holding my body in place with one hand and firing
with the other, moving quickly through the chaos of the church. I barely register his suit and
bloodstained shoes, or the muscled shoulder that digs into my wound, before we’re out of the church
and plunged into the pink-tinged twilight.
I’m tossed into the back of a black van, my body thudding painfully against the seat. Stars explode
in my vision. I know this is the only chance I’ll have to get out of here, to try to escape, but the
precious seconds before he gets into the passenger seat and slams the door shut are wasted trying to
cope with the pain.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
My breath is shallow as the van roars to life. Hands crawl over my body, binding my wrists and
legs, and I jerk and twist in his grasp, even though it sends new bolts of pain shooting through me.
“No need to panic,” that same dark voice says.
My gaze snaps to his, my vision clearing for a moment as I register the owner of the voice.
My heart goes dead in my chest. I catch sight of dark blue eyes and a twisted smirk as the man
hovering over me tugs at the tie around his throat, yanking it off before wrapping it around my mouth
and gagging me.
Hale.
And if Hale is here...
I painfully turn my head to the front of the van, catching sight of an impassive face in the front
passenger seat. It’s painfully blank, almost unrecognizable from the boy I knew so long ago.
Ciro.
The van spins out of the parking lot as the sound of sirens wail in our wake, seconds too late. The
police are on the way. Help is on the way. But they can’t help me now.
That realization makes a wave of nausea churn my stomach, sending bile rushing up my throat. I
retch.
“Don’t fucking puke on my seats,” Hale murmurs, glaring at me.
Something white-hot and angry flares in my chest. I try to kick him, but he catches my feet without
flinching, holding my ankles tightly. His skin on my bare legs sends a flash of sparks shooting through
my body, but no matter how hard I buck, he won’t let me shake off his burning touch.
“Slow down, Zaid,” Hale instructs, still watching me. “If she pukes, you’re cleaning it up.”
No. Zaid can’t be here too.
But he is. A flash of green eyes catch mine in the rearview mirror, and I can tell without seeing his
face that he’s smirking. As if this is all a hilarious prank they’re playing, instead of a fucking
bloodbath.
But where is Lucas?
Wherever one of the twins goes, the other follows. They’re inseparable, closer than anyone,
perhaps too close. What one of them has, the other one gets... including women.
Including me.
A vivid barrage of memories floods my mind, making my heart pound painfully against my ribs, as
if it can’t stand being locked in my chest anymore. I’ve thought about the night I shared with the two of
them more than I care to admit, but right now, the memories of heated kisses and soft groans only
make me feel more sick.
I struggle against Hale’s hold with everything I have, lashing out with my elbows and knees and
bound feet, trying to wriggle away from his hold on me. I scream around the gag, but I can’t seem to
get enough oxygen. My eyelids droop even as my pulse races, oblivion chasing me.
“Stop fucking fighting me, Grace,” he grunts, his expression darkening. “I need to patch you up.
Unless you want to bleed out in my fucking car?”
Go to hell.
I can’t say the words around the gag, but I lift my chin in defiance, staring at him with pure wrath.
If he’s giving me the choice between living through my current situation and dying right now, I’m not
so sure I shouldn’t take the latter option.
Death.
Simple. Peaceful. Final.
I may have spent the last six years going soft, but I was raised in the mafia. I was raised not to
bow to anyone. Not to give up without a fight. So even though I can feel sticky liquid soaking through
the fabric of my dress, I continue to struggle against Hale’s painfully tight grip.
“Stupid girl,” he mutters.
Seconds later, darkness consumes me.