Captive Bride: A Dark Obsession Romance

by Dark Angel

  “Not happening, brother. You can’t leave us out of the action. I know what she meant to you. We loved her like a sister. We have your back.” Benny pulls out his own weapon and checks the clip. “Besides, this sounds like fun,” he says with a grimace.

  “Fifteen guys will meet us a block from the mansion. We go in the second wave, let the guys take out the first line of defense, then we come in. Gives you a better shot of getting to the master suite,” Merc says, putting his phone back in his jacket pocket before pulling out his own gun.

  He nods to me. My heart is ice, but I know I should be grateful to my friends.

  They’ll get me in. They’ll give me my shot.

  This is the last thing we’ll ever do together. I hope they live—but right now, I couldn’t care less about myself.

  We take the Jag, the red curves reminding me of Rosaline. The nights I spent with her pale in comparison to a moment with Isobel. If I could, I would trade every fuck with Rosaline and every other woman I’ve ever known for one more night with Isobel.

  Fifteen guys wearing black balaclava, armed with guns and the best training in the city meet us a block from the Governor’s mansion. We can see the white columns from here.

  I leave the keys in the Jag. There isn’t a fucker dumb enough to steal a Montague car, not that I care anymore.

  Three tall guys take point. I don’t ask their names. I pull on my own balaclava and take my position in the center behind the first row of guys.

  My heart is pounding; I steady my breath. Adrenaline is a great thing, but I can’t be too amped.

  I have to keep my goal in mind. The Governor.

  “Go,” I shout.

  The three in front take off at a run. A beat behind them are Merc and Benny. The others scatter around us, coming at the mansion from a wide arc.

  The door is open, and the guy in front of me stumbles, a gunshot to the shoulder.

  But he doesn’t stop. None of us will.

  I won’t stop until the Governor’s dead, and my men won’t stop until our mission is accomplished. It’s about loyalty. These are my best and brightest, men who I know would never betray me.

  Taking the house by storm is confusing and chaotic but I continue forward, goal in mind. I fire at guards, counting my shots.

  The air smells like blood and gunpowder.

  Guys are going down everywhere, some women too.

  Bang!

  I only have two shots left. I holster my gun. I need those last two shots.

  Someone grabs me and has a knife to my throat.

  Bang!

  Merc shoots the guy behind me, dead between the eyes. He nods to me, and I run up the stairs.

  My feet fall in time with my pounding heart.

  “Upstairs!” calls a guard.

  Three men appear at the top of the stairs. Three guns point at me.

  I have to get past them. I have to get to him; it doesn’t matter how.

  I bend my head and charge towards them. A bullet grazes my shoulder, then it connects with the heavy body of a man.

  My vision is all red with pain. I swear and throw the guy I charged over the railing. I can’t hear the thud of his fall; I’m too busy hitting the other two.

  They hit me again and again with fists and the butt of their guns. But my breathing is even now.

  I’m almost there. I will find the Governor, and I will kill him.

  Then I will kill myself.

  Only then can I rest.

  Because only in death can I see Isobel again in heaven or on the Other Side or whatever the fuck you want to call it. She will be mine eternally, someway, somehow.

  The pain in my shoulder fades to the back of my mind. I evade the blows coming my way. I toss guards over the rail and out of my way. The fighting continues downstairs.

  “Tristan! Go!” Benny shouts from the bottom the stairs.

  He runs halfway up and turns his back to give me cover. This leaves me free to find the Governor.

  Those double doors at the end of the hall—that must be the master suite. Now is my moment. I kick down the door.

  The Governor stands in front of a tall mirror, tying a white bow under his neck as the finishing touch for his tux.

  “You can’t even mourn her, can you, you bastard?” I spit at him.

  He turns to me cooly.

  “Montague. What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I see you got past my guards.” Even his voice is cold. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you and your family because of this?”

  “You won’t do anything. Ever again,” I answer, pulling my gun and aiming it between his beady little eyes.

  His eyes widen. The fat fuck hasn’t been challenged in a long time. He had not expected this.

  Then, he closes the distance between us in two quick steps before I have a chance to pull the trigger. He bats the gun out of my hand and goes in for a punch.

  My gun falls to the floor as I block the blow. He takes another swing at me.

  I duck and slug him in the face. His nose breaks under my hand, blood spraying his arrogant face.

  We trade blows. I lose track of how many I gain and the throbbing pain of the few he lands. My shoulder is tired, and my adrenaline is fading.

  I need to end this. I need to finish him, so I can join my Isobel.

  I grab him, and we fall into the mirror. Glass shatters, falling like stars around us.

  His breathing is ragged. I think I broke one of his ribs. I grab my gun and jump to my feet.

  “You killed her! You fucking killed her, you greedy motherfucker!” My voice quakes with rage as I stare down the man who stole my life.

  This is the end. Time slows.

  One shot to end his existence...and another to end my pain.

  36

  Isobel

  Bang!

  I hear my own shallow breath.

  Bang!

  Gunshots ring in my ears, the fuzzy world coming into focus with each blast.

  Tristan! Is he coming for me?

  I barely open my eyes, but I can see the shadowy room I’m being held in, my coffin close around me, holding my drugged body before the wedding, the consummation.

  My heart beats faster; I can hear Father Lawrence humming the wedding march.

  Through my lashes, I catch a glimpse of the traitorous priest; he is fussing with his robes and admiring himself in a mirror.

  Reflected, I can see myself—perfect corpse bride, a sleep-like death clinging to me as far as he and the Governor are concerned.

  I hear more shots. Tristan.

  My heart picks up. He will come for me.

  With my eyes still nearly closed, I search for a sign of where my love is and where our enemies might be. A half-open door to the side of the vain priest reveals the architect of my capture.

  So sure his mercenary guards will protect him, the Governor fiddles with an expensive white bow tie around his fleshy throat. My fingers itch to wrap the silk tighter around his piggy neck, but I’m not in a position to do that.

  I feign sleep.

  Tristan is coming. I know he is, and I will wait for him.

  Through my half-closed eyes, I see the men unfazed by the sounds of fighting coming closer and closer to the rooms we’re in.

  They underestimate my love. Hope burns in my heart.

  I can hear him coming closer. I imagine him fighting his way to me. I must be prepared to run when he gets here.

  Carefully watching Father Lawrence for any sign he has noticed I have woken, I twitch my leaden muscles. I rehearse in my head leaping from my satin prison and into Tristan’s arms.

  I can feel something heavy on my thigh. The priest steps away from the mirror for a moment, rummaging in a drawer for hair gel. I shift my hand to the weight on my thigh, my fingers grazing the hilt of Tristan’s dagger.

  I stop myself from smiling as the priest shifts back to the mirror. I know Tristan’s close, but having his dagger makes it seem like he’s right next to me
.

  I know he’ll save me. I am his forever after all.

  I hear wood breaking, and my eyes fly open. I catch sight of Tristan before Father Lawrence slams the door shut.

  “So, the slut is awake, huh?” Father Lawrence turns and leers at me.

  I struggle to sit up. I’m not ready for him to know I’m fully awake. My heart is pounding in my chest.

  He is here; he will rescue me. I need to get to him.

  “Tristan?” I call blurrily, getting my feet settled on the ground, a strong stance just like Tristan taught me.

  “As good as dead. He won’t leave this building alive,” Father Lawrence says as he stalks towards me.

  He closes the distance between us in a moment. I’m frozen in place; his hands close around my arms.

  I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. He presses his body against mine and pushes me back against the coffin.

  “You should be grateful the Governor still wants you, you little skank, after what you let that mobster do to you,” he says, running his hands up my arms, grazing the side of my breast.

  His fingers are cold through the silk gown, making me shudder. “Letting him fuck you, sucking his cock, and acting like a fucking slut. You should thank me for saving you and bringing you to the Governor, saving you from being Montague’s whore,” he whispers, his stinking breath hot on my face.

  My stomach roils, I press against the coffin attempting to escape his grasp.

  “Fuck you,” I spit in his face, my hands clawing and scratching his robes.

  He grips my arms tighter. I pull and kick at him.

  “You fucking treacherous asshole! Let me go!”

  I slam into him, trying to knock him away, but he’s too heavy for me. He leans against me and, with one hand on my throat, pins me down.

  “You’re more trouble than you’re worth, princess.” His words slither into my ear like the snake he is.

  I struggle, trying to throw off his bulk. Stars cross my vision, and my hand drops to my thigh; the hilt of Tristan’s dagger matches the curve of my fingers.

  My love is on the other side of the door. I can’t stay trapped here in this small stinking room with this fucking prick.

  Tristan has already saved me. We’ll be together again.

  I’ll make sure of it.

  The world slows. I can hear my heart beating and the sound of a fight on the other side of the door. My fingers close around the hilt of the dagger.

  “I am not a whore,” I snarl at the deceitful priest.

  I bury the dagger in the side of his fat neck. The sharp blade sinks into him, red blood pooling around base of the hilt thrust into his throat.

  His fingers on my neck loosen. I pull the dagger from his body, and a crimson river sprays from the wound.

  I feel his hot blood soak through my white dress. I finally push him off me. His eyes are wide as he crumples to the floor.

  I watch the red blood spill from his neck, and his skin goes grey and pale.

  Standing over him, I finally feel free. I’ve saved myself.

  Still holding the dagger, I step over the bleeding body of my betrayer. Pushing open the door, I see the strong back of my love.

  He points his gun at the Governor.

  “You killed her! You fucking killed her, you greedy mother fucker!” Tristan’s voice is razor sharp.

  He shakes with anger. The Governor is sprawled on the ground in front of him; a broken mirror sparkles in the wavering light.

  A man I once thought had power over my whole life lays broken on the ground, his white bow tie splattered with flecks of blood from his broken nose.

  Time slows again. I can hear Tristan’s rough breathing. I can almost feel his anger and his pain.

  Oh, my love. I’m not dead. You have saved me.

  I step up behind him and press my body against his heaving back. I fit like a glove. Our bodies were made to be together.

  “These violent delights have violent ends,” I whisper in his ear, closing my hand around his.

  A memory of learning to shoot this same gun plays across the front of my mind.

  I feel the same jolt of fire in my gut. This is power. Power I share with my Tristan, my dream.

  “Which, as they kiss, consume,” Tristan recites.

  I reach up and kiss him on the cheek.

  Together, we pull the trigger.

  37

  Tristan

  The Governor’s lying in a pool of his own blood.

  Is it wrong to say that I’m happy he’s gone?

  The asshole deserved it.

  He tried to hurt her, and that’s just something that’s not done on my watch.

  In an instant, I know this part of our lives is over, and I feel reprieve. The politician is gone, and he can never threaten her again.

  But my satisfaction is short-lived, because the bullets are blazing outside. These may be our last few moments on earth—and yet, all I see is her.

  She’s wearing a hideous, bloodstained white wedding dress, which I immediately start to tear off her body.

  She’s mine. Not his.

  She’s all mine.

  “Isobel,” I say, kissing her hard. “I thought I fucking lost you. I thought it was all over for us. That I’d never see you again.”

  I cradle her tenderly in my hands, knowing that she had almost vanished from existence.

  “Oh, Tristan. I knew you’d come. I was drugged and couldn’t move, and I was so scared.”

  “Shhh, baby. I’m here now. Don’t think about it. It’s in the past.”

  She looks at the door, then at me.

  “We’re gonna die in here, aren’t we?” she asks.

  I can’t bear to say it. I can’t look at this beautiful angel and reveal the truth.

  Yes, Isobel. We might die in here. It’s even likely.

  But thanks to you, I knew how it felt like to truly live.

  That’s what I feel like saying to her. But I don’t.

  I can’t be the one to break this gorgeous girl’s heart. I can’t tell her that death is imminent. I can do only one thing.

  Make her focus on me, for us to have one last moment together on earth.

  I will be with her when the end approaches.

  Guns are shooting outside the door. I have no idea who will win this fight, Capulet or Montague.

  It’s an equal match.

  All I care about is having one more fuck with the woman I love before we go out with a fight.

  I look at her and think how she’s discovered a new kind of strength. Even in this moment, minutes before death, she’s being brave.

  I kiss her tenderly, completely tearing off her dress now.

  This is not her fucking wedding.

  This is her funeral.

  “Tristan,” she breathes into my mouth. “I want you.”

  Her words strike me as courageous. Instead of cowering in the corner waiting for death to arrive, to break down the door, she wants to focus on love instead.

  I wish I could tell her it’ll all be all right. I wish I could say that I can save her from this mess. But none of that is the truth.

  I don’t know what will happen.

  But how could I’ve known that my angel was alive? If I didn’t think Isobel was already dead and that I was going to die, too, I might’ve set this thing up a little more carefully.

  It had been a suicide mission—and now it just might end that way, too.

  Benny and Merc are out there somewhere with my guys. But I have no idea if they’re even alive.

  All I care about, during what may be my last moments on earth, is savoring the woman I love.

  “Isobel,” I say to her. “I thought you had died. I thought you, my life, my one love had vanished. And I was going to die with you.”

  She kisses me harder now, knowing how close I had been to death.

  She kisses me hard, as if she can’t get enough.

  “Tristan,” she says solemnly. “I almost died, too. I
almost drove a dagger into my own heart, thinking that I’d never see you again.”

  Silently, I thank the gods of fate for intervening. She and I had both wanted to die when we thought we’d never see each other again.

  That’s how deep our love is.

  I hold her face in my hands before saying, “Baby, don’t you ever say that. Things will always work themselves out. You have to trust that.”

  “I just can’t believe I’m really seeing you. I was so afraid.”

  I look down and take in her beautiful body.

  I hope I go out with this last vision in my mind, because she looks fucking perfect.

  Life takes on a whole new meaning to us, knowing how close we came to losing each other.

  And now, this might be it.

  If I wasn’t so in love with her, I might be more okay with dying and going out with a bang. As it is, my baby needs me, and I intend to stay breathing in this world.

  I’ll fight to the death to protect her.

  But the odds are against us. I know that.

  It’s a cold, hard world to show me such happiness and then to snatch it away so quickly.

  “Just focus on me, Isobel.”

  She looks into my eyes, and even though the war is culminating just beyond the door, a heat is raging between us.

  My love.

  My angel.

  I want her till the end.

  38

  Tristan

  My heart beats frantically in my chest.

  My hands move of their own volition.

  I touch her everywhere.

  I taste every inch of her.

  Isobel is alive. She’s here with me now.

  The thought still amazes me.

  When I thought her lost, the entire world had ceased to exist. The world had stopped spinning; the sun had imploded in a rain of flames.

  There was nothing, nothing left for me at all.

  Now, touching her, my tongue greedily tasting her mouth, it’s like creation’s sprung up anew.

  I see fucking universes in her eyes.

  “Tristan,” she moans into my mouth.

  “Isobel,” I return.