Tied Down

by Vanessa Waltz

  Oh my God. “Bastien, it’s okay. He was drunk.”

  Was it okay?

  A cry tears from my throat as he shoves Adrián’s head through the wall. White dust covers Adrián’s brown curls, which tinge with red. Blood cakes my fiancé’s fists, but he keeps pounding Adrián like he’s a punching bag.

  “Bastien, don’t!” I scream my voice hoarse, but he’s possessed by a madness that won’t let him stop.

  The younger man yells as Bastien shoves him to the ground. He grinds Adrián’s face into dust. He batters Adrián hard, and blood sprays over the hardwood.

  My stomach turns. I glance at the others. My dad watches in silent approval, and then he nods to two other men. They pull Bastien away. He shrugs them off, launching at the battered man with a vicious kick.

  “That’s enough!” my dad shouts.

  Bastien holds up bloodstained hands.

  Shock runs through me, obliterating every other feeling as Bastien wipes the blood on his slacks and ignores Adrián’s pitiful moans.

  He’s not different.

  He’s a beast hiding his fangs, and I’m marrying him in a week.

  Chapter Eight

  Sébastien

  Grease wafts from the kitchen, and I inhale greedily. The smell takes me home, to my mom frying pancakes in bacon fat. The word beats inside like a mantra: home, home, home. I close my eyes and pretend I never left that studio, which was small but had everything I needed. I was dumb to believe it wasn’t enough.

  My eyes fly open as the door chimes, admitting a father and his daughter. They’re not here yet. Good. I triple-check the phone in my jacket. One click of a button and it’ll record every word of our conversation. Gathering evidence is the next step toward fixing this mess.

  The wedding is in a few days. On Saturday I’m signing away my life. If there ever was a match made in hell, we’re it. This role I’ll have to play—husband—is huge. It’s harder to take in than two cops fucking me over. I’ll marry a woman I don’t know, try for a baby, and then what? When the investigation is done, and she hates me for deceiving her—what then?

  If I marry her, I’ll ruin her damn life. If I don’t, she’s an easy target for Adrián. Even if they marry and by some miracle, he doesn’t turn out to be a wife beater, he’ll get locked up.

  My hands still ache. Adrián needed surgery to fix his jaw. Vito made me visit the piece of shit in the hospital. Shake hands with him. He accepted my apology and smiled as though I’d get my dues, the promise of murder burning in his eyes.

  The door chimes again. My soul darkens when I see two familiar shapes edging inside. Their gaze sweeps the diner, zeroing in on me. Nothing’s changed, except Detective Carter wears his hair like an extra on Jersey Shore. I guess he’s taking the Douchebag look to heart.

  The booth squeaks as Ritter and Carter squeeze in. They chose a coffee shop in the suburbs for this meeting. I don’t like it. All these windows. Too exposed. If the wrong person glances inside, they’ll see me having a powwow with two fucking cops.

  “Good, you’re here,” Captain Ritter says. “Are you ready for this weekend, son?”

  The way he talks, we’re going on a fucking fishing trip. I meet his red stare, my blood venomous with hatred. I could kill him for the position he’s forced me into. “I guess. You?”

  He glances at Carter. “We’ve got agents filling in for the priest. The marriage certificate won’t be real. Everything will happen just like a real wedding, but it won’t be official.”

  He says that as though it’s a comfort. “They find out it’s not—I’m dead.”

  “We’re taking every precaution to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Ritter isn’t even bothering to keep his voice down. “Why the fuck should I believe that? You chose a place where anyone could see me. Every time I meet up with you, I’m risking my life.”

  “What about Vito?” Carter interrupts. “Has he chosen a successor?”

  I sneer at him. “Why should I tell you anything?”

  Malevolence flashes over his face. “Because you’re our undercover, you dumb shit.”

  “I’m not giving you information.”

  Carter swells like a bullfrog. “The moment your cooperation ends, we pull the fucking plug. You get stuck on the streets forever with that ten thousand in your bank account and nothing else. Good luck with your lawyer fees.”

  Ritter yanks him into the seat. “Calm. Down.”

  “He hasn’t told us shit in weeks! We need something bigger. Tell us about his drug shipments and illegal gambling operations.”

  “The fucking boss does not discuss business with or around me. He’s smart. He avoids anywhere he could be wired.”

  Carter slams his fist on the table, rattling the ceramic plates. “So wear one!”

  Heads in the café turn to stare at the noise.

  I feel their stares like a burn on my face. Fucking moron. “Scream louder and maybe they’ll throw us out.”

  He mutters something under his breath. After a few awkward seconds, the café returns to its regular commotion, and Carter fumes.

  “No wires, ever,” I say. “I told you that weeks ago. It was part of our condition.”

  Ritter sighs. “You don’t do as we say, we erase your file. We’ve been through this.”

  They’ll do it anyway.

  Air freezes in my lungs. “They still search me. I’ll die in five minutes of wearing one, and you won’t get whatever the hell you want from this.”

  “Which is what?” Carter taunts.

  The waitress stops at our table, beaming as she refills my coffee. “Can I get you boys something?”

  Ritter waves her off without looking, and I clench my teeth as she storms toward the kitchen. “Finish your thought, son.”

  “Don’t fucking call me that.” It’s obvious at this point both of them are in the shit, and they’re using me. I need to get them to admit it. The phone will pick up every detail, and I’ll go to the department—or maybe a lawyer.

  “Drug shipments,” Carter interrupts. “Have the Romanos moved any meth?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Why are you interested?”

  Admit it.

  The asshole sneers. “That’s for us to know.”

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Guess that might be hard to come by while you’re extorting a police officer.”

  The captain stares at me, ill at ease. “It’s not a black and white world, Ethan.”

  It’s too late.

  Guests will fill the church soon. Bouquets of sweet-smelling roses line the pews. I’m wearing the tux. My best man, Henri, cracks jokes as we kill time in the rectory.

  It feels real. Is that insane?

  I picture Eva leaning over a vanity, dusting her cheeks with makeup. Won’t be long until we’re married, in our hotel room, and making a baby. Jesus Christ.

  There’s a list a mile long of things I want to do to Eva. None of the filthy things I dreamed up come close to taking her raw. It’s not something I can make sense of, only that my skin burns for her and I think of my life with her more than getting myself out.

  The audio files are stashed in the burner phone. Copies were emailed, uploaded to Dropbox, and transferred to several flash drives. They’re hidden in the house. If Carter and Ritter fuck me over, I’ll send a mass email to the department.

  When I’m ready, I’ll rip their throats out.

  Then what? What’s the plan after Eva finds the truth about you?

  I haven’t thought of it. She’ll be furious, but what choice did I have? I could’ve abandoned her to the dogs sniffing around Vito’s legs for scraps of power. One of them, possibly Adrián, would’ve had her. I couldn’t live with myself.

  And I don’t want them to have her.

  Henri pours a glass of whiskey and drains it. He pours a second glass and hands it to me. “Here. You need it.”

  I close my eyes and raise the drink to my lips. I toss it back. The burn sears my th
roat. “Jesus.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Henri slaps my shoulder, taking my silence for nerves. “You’ll learn to like it, Bastien. We all do.”

  I need to see Eva. Now.

  Maybe it’s nerves, but I want to make sure she wants this. I can’t stand the idea of her regretting this. Henri stares as I stand and head for the front door.

  I need to hear it from her one last time to be sure. “I need air. Be back in a few.”

  “The ceremony is about to start,” he glowers. “If you’re not here in five minutes, I’ll kick your ass.”

  Ethan has to die. You’re not that man anymore.

  Cold seeps through my body. “Fuck off.”

  “I mean it. Eva’s been through too much shit.”

  “I’m not abandoning her, you moron.” My fists clench at my sides as I sweep across the room, heading for the office across the church.

  People stare. Guests pack into the pews like sardines. My head swims with the image. I shake it off and head for her room, crashing through a door. A bridesmaid in a champagne-colored dress gasps at the sight of me.

  I reach for the door handle, and she moves in my way. “Bastien, you can’t.”

  “I want to talk to her. Now.”

  “No,” she protests. “It’s bad luck—no!”

  I seize her wrist, applying enough pressure to make her cry. “I’m going inside. Move the fuck away.”

  She stumbles away in a half sob as I release her. A day or two ago, her pain would’ve made me drink. Now I don’t care.

  I yank the door open, upsetting the huddle of bridesmaids around a woman in a white dress with a plunging back. Her chestnut hair twists in an elegant braid pinned with white florals.

  Lips painted in a vivid red snarl at me. “What are you doing?”

  Eva—that’s Eva. She was stunning without the makeup, but now she’s the image of perfection.

  Holy shit, she’s beautiful. And mine. “Everyone get out,” I say to the room.

  Eva grabs her dress as she stands, eyes widening with panic. Her bridesmaids bow their heads and leave the room. The door closes softly.

  “You changed your mind,” she says hollowly.

  “No.” I cross the room, hating the devastation on her face. “Jesus, Eva. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Her eyes swim with tears. “Then why are you here?”

  “Because I need to be sure you want this.”

  “I do.”

  Not good enough. I take the hand balled at her side. “I know I scared you the other day. Sorry.”

  She parts her lips. “You didn’t have to hurt him that badly.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Her nostrils flare. “You put him in the hospital.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”

  Eva doesn’t back down. “He was drunk. What’s your excuse?”

  “It wasn’t harmless. He took a flying leap over the line.”

  “I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me!”

  “I know.” My finger grazes her cheek. “But I’m not the one with a soft heart. He had no right to touch you, and Madison told me the filth he was saying. If I heard what he said, he’d be in a hole in the ground.”

  She flinches horribly.

  “The others will learn from Adrián not to fuck with you. That said, if you want to stop this, I’ll understand.”

  Eva opens and closes her mouth, looking terrified but determined. “No.”

  “Good.”

  “We’re going through with this, damn it. I know you’re not perfect, but I’ve been waiting for years to start a family. I want this.”

  “Then why are you shaking?”

  “I’m nervous,” she admits. “We might not get along. I can’t believe this day is finally here. Thought I’d never find someone. Hell, there’s still time to wake up and find out I’m dreaming.”

  I give her forearm a light pinch. “Did it hurt?”

  “Not really.”

  “Guess it’s real, then.”

  She smiles. “You should get going.”

  As though on cue, someone knocks.

  I ignore the sound. “You make a beautiful bride, Eva. I’m lucky to have you.” Her fingers curl over my arms. I slide down the chiffon wedding dress. The fabric moves on her skin like water. I trace the thin fabric gently. She’s not wearing panties or a bra.

  “You need to go.”

  I let go of her hand and hesitate. “You’re sure—”

  “Yes!”

  I scoop her face in my hands. “Then I hope you blacked out the next month, because once you’re mine, I’m never letting you leave my bed.”

  A violent flush fills her cheeks.

  Chapter Nine

  Eva

  I’m getting married. Right now.

  It’s like tasting soda for the first time. I’ll never forget that sensation—the gleeful surprise as syrupy bubbles popped on my tongue. I grin ear to ear. For once, the guest list doesn’t have my name.

  If this wedding were for love, it would be perfect. My fiancé stands at the altar, looking like a dream. The floral arrangements I chose—pink and white roses—surround me. The guests I invited spill onto the groom’s side because Bastien didn’t have many invitations. An organ plays the march. My dad stood from his wheelchair to wrap his arm around mine, just how I dreamed he would.

  Smiling, Bastien takes my hand, and I join him at the altar. He stills my shaking.

  I look at him because that’s easier than gazing into the crowd. I study his face. There’s always a trace of wicked humor in Bastien’s eyes, but not today. A crack runs through my happiness.

  Does he want this?

  Am I a rung on a ladder?

  Doesn’t matter. You’re not marrying for love.

  At my father’s house, a monster peeked through cracks in Bastien’s pretty suit. Give up on a nice man—that’s what he told me. I might never love him, but I’ll love our children.

  The church lulls to a hush as the priest begins a prayer. My dad hunches over in his wheelchair. Tears flow down his cheeks.

  “Hey. Look at me.” Bastien barely moves his lips, but I hear his voice.

  I can’t see anything through the mist. He squeezes my hands as Father Andrew recites a passage from scripture. My mouth forms an “Amen,” but I don’t make a sound.

  The priest turns toward us. “Will you love and honor each other as husband and wife the rest of your lives?”

  Probably not. “Yes.”

  Bastien answers without hesitation, the lie hidden from his eyes.

  The guilt builds with every yes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I gave up hope for a normal life years ago, but the grief hits me. There’s no more pretending. No more fantasizing about what ifs.

  This is it.

  Bastien slides the ring on my finger. “Eva, take this as a sign of my love and fidelity.”

  It glides through, the white gold band matching my engagement ring. The blue sapphire so bright it flares against my skin. I hold his hand and repeat the ritual, and suddenly we’re pronounced man and wife.

  No matter how many people are in the room, the butterflies soar when he kisses me. Earsplitting cheers burst throughout the church. We break apart, my heart beating fast. I lean onto my husband as he leads me down the aisle. Happy faces beam at us as we walk arm in arm across the marble floor decorated with rose petals. We stroll into blinding sunshine. I’m grateful for the crisp air nipping at my cheeks.

  Guests spill outside as the photographers come to take dozens of pictures of the newlywed couple. Bastien embraces me, plants a kiss on my cheek. The shutters close. Repeat. Hundreds of iterations of photographs later, my heart still pounds in my chest like a steel drum. This is what I wanted. I’m happy, aren’t I?

  Overwhelmed.

  God, the reception. How am I going to hold it together all the way through this?

  Bastien takes my hand, stroking the band wrapped around my finger. A feline smi
rk staggers across his mouth, and I remember the promise I made on our wedding night.

  We’ll try for a baby. Tonight.

  Dozens of tables glow with yellow candles in small bowls. Ceramic vases of my pink and white roses stand on every surface. A shimmering tablecloth covers our sweetheart table, where Bastien and I sit. As soon as we take our seats, he grasps my knee. He squeezes once and smiles.

  A waiter serves us Italian wedding soup. Bastien digs in ravenously, as though he hasn’t eaten all day.

  I dip my spoon in the bowl and fill it with pasta. “Are you happy with this?”

  “To be honest, you should’ve asked me what flowers I liked.” His lips carve deep dimples. “I’m joking, Eva. It’s very nice. Everything’s beautiful.”

  “I was talking about us.”

  “Of course I’m happy.”

  But his voice falls flat. It sounds like a perfunctory phrase he was expected to recite. I watch him survey the room. A smile beams on his face whenever there’s a camera nearby or a family member congratulates us, but when they go away the light fades from his eyes, and the levity disappears.

  I barely know this man.

  The rest of the evening’s food tastes like ash in my mouth, the only silver lining waiting for me at the hotel suite. As the night wears on, Bastien reminds me of how much I want this. His hands warm my waist. His sighs tickle my cheek. We dance and he takes my chin, sealing his lips against mine. Every time he pulls away, it’s too soon. I want more. I need my husband all to myself, but I can’t get wrapped up in romantic feelings.

  Remember who he is.

  He’s a soldier in the famiglia, and he’ll be lucky to live a few more years.

  I force those thoughts aside as Bastien and I say our goodbyes to the guests. My wedding day was a whirlwind of well-wishers, used tissues, cake, and endless flutes of champagne. Now it’s over.

  My stomach ties in knots as Bastien gives my dad a firm handshake. I hold Dad’s frail shoulders and bite my lip to keep from crying, but his eyes are already wet.

  Then we give the guests one last wave as Bastien links his hand with mine and leads me away. When we’re out of sight, he wraps his arm more possessively around me.