by Izzy Sweet
“I don’t want to. Believe me, I don’t want to resort to this, but you give me no choice, lass…”
No choice? I give him no choice? Oh that’s rich, coming from him.
One beefy hand still locked around my arm, Igor reaches into his pocket and pulls a syringe out.
“No!” I cry out as Igor lifts the syringe up to his mouth and bites the plastic tip off with his teeth.
I start to throw my weight forward, trying anything and everything to get the brute off my arm.
Igor spits the plastic tip out and orders me to, “Stay still.”
Ignoring him, I slam my heel down on his foot and watch with satisfaction as he lets out a yelp of pain.
My satisfaction is short-lived though when his grip tightens. No matter how hard I fight him, he has no trouble straightening my arm out against my will.
I slap at him and even make a grab for the syringe. As soon as I do, he lifts it high out of my reach and gives my trapped arm a twist.
The resulting pain causes my knees to buckle beneath me.
I drop to the floor.
Igor looms above me, and I watch in horror as he pushes the syringe toward my arm.
Reaching up, I try once more to slap the syringe away.
He gives my arm another twist and yanks the syringe out of my reach.
The pain is unbearable. My arm feels like it’s ripping away from my shoulder.
Looking to my father once more, I finally resort to pleading.
“Daddy, please,” I beg with tears swimming in front of my eyes. “What would mother think?”
My father reacts as if I punched him in the gut. The color drains from his face and he seems to shrink in on himself.
I wasn’t afraid of my father, wasn’t afraid to stand my ground on this, because he’s always been my safe place. With my mother gone, he was the one person I could always turn to. The one person I could always count on to at least take care of me…
But not anymore.
And it hurts. It fucking hurts beyond words. I’m powerless now, utterly helpless, with no one in this dark, fucked-up world.
“Igor, stop,” my father orders just as I feel the needle prick my skin.
Hope swells inside me. Perhaps I’ve finally gotten through to him…
Igor looks to my father with a frown of confusion. My father takes a deep breath, regaining his composure.
Then he looks at me, his eyes filled with both love and sadness.
“Your mother would want me to do anything in my power to protect you, Meghan. And that’s what I’m doing.”
I shake my head in denial, the word, “No,” spilling from my lips.
How can he possibly believe giving me to Alexei protects me?
“But she would also want me to give you another chance,” my father goes on. “So I’m going to give you one more chance, lass, to come with me calmly.”
So that’s it then? Once again, I’m being given the choice to do this clear-headed or drugged out of my mind.
Perhaps you should take the escape, a little voice whispers inside my head.
Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and this will all feel like a bad dream.
Or maybe I’ll wake up with Alexei grunting and thrusting on top of me.
Staring at my father through the blur of my tears, his betrayal boils inside me like hot acid, eating away at the love I once felt.
The choice he is giving me is really no choice at all.
“So Meghan, what will it be?” my father presses for my answer when I remain silent.
To be drugged or not to be drugged…
That is the fucking question of the day.
To stay in control or say fuck it…
“Fine. I’ll come calmly,” I mutter bitterly.
* * *
The double doors leading into the Cathedral are thrown open wide. The pews are sparsely filled with men in black suits and a couple of women dressed in pastels that wilt against all the dark. As soon as my father and I come into view, the first chords of ‘Here Comes The Bride’ blare from the organ. So loud, I can feel every note vibrating in my bones.
The entire left side of my body aches as I walk down the aisle, the pain radiating from my arm. Reminding me with each step that I chose to do this sober.
I chose not to take the out.
“Don’t forget to smile,” my father hisses through his own flashing teeth.
I attempt to stretch my lips into something resembling a smile and fail.
There is absolutely no joy left inside me, no hope. I can’t even muster up a happy memory or two to help me fake it.
‘Here Comes The Bride’ might as well be my funeral march. There’s no way, no way in hell I’m going to let Alexei violate me tonight, or any other night of my life.
My gaze falls upon Alexei standing at the end of the aisle. Tall, dark, and as handsome as a fucking prince. He watches me with black, glittering eyes as if he finds my misery amusing.
Tonight, one of us is going to die. I know it deep in my soul.
God, please don’t let it be, I pray.
Unable to look upon him for a second longer, I tear my gaze away, taking in those who’ve come to witness this farce.
My side of the church contains only a few high-ranking Irish. Men who helped raise me. Men who I looked upon as second fathers and uncles. Their wives and daughters however are suspiciously absent. I recognize a couple of mistresses, but no women of worth. No women I can trust to help me.
A small, tight group of big men in dark suits stand in the pews on Alexei’s side of the church. The men study me with sharp eyes that size me up. Every inch of me, from the top of my head down to the bottom of my toes, is being judged.
At this moment, I can’t help but feel like I’m the pretty young sacrifice being led to the edge of the volcano. My father willing to give me the push to appease the savage gods.
With that depressing thought, I return my gaze to the end of the aisle.
Only a couple of pews remain between me and the rest of my miserable life.
My father’s arm tightens around mine, sensing my desire before it even registers in my brain. The need to run, to flee, courses through my limbs.
Would they stop me? Would someone tackle me and drag me up to the altar?
“Don’t even think about it,” my father hisses. “You agreed to be calm.”
His steps quicken, and with my arm trapped in his, I have no choice but to speed up too.
Well, I guess that answers my earlier question. They will indeed drag me up to the aisle against my will.
I finally look to the priest, hoping to find an ally in a man of God, but the bastard is avoiding my eyes.
I stare long and hard, willing him to look at me. To fucking see me. To step up and call this off.
Color begins to creep up his neck, staining his droopy jowls.
He knows I’m looking to him for salvation, he has to know…
The priest clears his throat nervously and asks, “Who gives this bride in marriage?”
Coward.
Impatient, or simply aware that I’m about to make a scene, Alexei takes a step forward as my father answers, “I do.”
Silence falls across the church as my father’s arm slips from mine and Alexei grabs my hands.
With a little tug, he forces me to turn, facing him.
Fingers squeezing around mine, he holds me tight as the priest tries to lead everyone into prayer.
“Remember, I already own you, zaika,” Alexei whispers softly as the priest’s wheezy, old voice drones on and on. “This is merely a formality.”
My gaze jerks up to peer at his smirking face.
“Nothing you do or say during this ceremony will change the outcome. It’s already been predetermined.”
I know he’s trying to scare me into not embarrassing him, but it’s actually having the opposite effect. If everything is already predetermined, if nothing I say or do will change the outcome, then there’s real
ly no reason to hope for the best and bite my tongue.
My lips curving to mirror his own smirk, I ask softly, “What kind of loser forces a woman to marry him against her will?”
Alexei’s hands suddenly squeeze painfully around mine and I let out a little yelp just as the priest finishes his prayer.
The priest glances at me in alarm and a few angry murmurs and grumbles from my side of the church reach my ears.
“Carry on,” Alexei growls.
Glancing down at our hands, for a moment the priest looks like he’s going to protest. Then Alexei shoots him a dark look.
“Yes… yes… where was I?” the priest nervously stammers and looks away.
He begins to start up the same prayer again only to stop abruptly.
With a look of frustration, Alexei snaps, “Just get to the vows.”
“Of course,” the priest grumbles and begins to flip through his book.
Returning his attention to me, Alexei stares into my tear-filled eyes.
Thumbs stroking against my hands, he says, “My patience is limited. The next time you insult me, I won’t be so gentle. Do you understand?”
Fearing he might hurt me again, I have no choice but to nod my head.
Pleased by my answer, Alexei smiles and gives my hands another squeeze. “Good.”
Pain suddenly shoots straight up my bad arm, and I can’t tell if he did it intentionally or unintentionally.
“This marriage can be quite pleasant for you, if you allow it. Or you can be completely miserable. The choice is yours…”
Before I can even think of how to respond to that, the priest begins to recite our vows.
“Alexei Rastov,” the priest stammers. “Do you take Meghan Fiona Callahan for your lawful wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?
Grinning like he’s the cat that ate the canary, Alexei stares into my eyes as he says, “I do.”
The priest nods and looks back down at his book. I know he’s purposely avoiding looking at me.
“Meghan Fiona Callahan, do you take Alexei Rastov for your lawful husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?”
Alexei squeezes my hands, his grip becoming tighter and tighter until I cry out, “I do.”
The priest smiles, a look of relief settling over his wizened face. “What God joins together, let no man—”
A gun shot rings out, echoing off the rafters in the nearly empty church.
At first, I think my ears must be playing tricks on me. But then another one rings out, and another. Chaos erupts around me, so sudden, so unexpected, I can’t help but wonder if this is real.
Seriously, is this shit really happening?
“Meghan!” my father cries out, and I spin to face him. Clutching at his arm, he orders me to, “Get down!”
Before I can act on his order, Alexei gives me a shove toward the nearest pews. “Igor, protect her!”
Igor appears out of nowhere and grabs me roughly by my bad arm, dragging me and shoving me down behind the pews.
More gun shots ring out and shouts go up, a mixture of Russian and English.
I try to pop my head up to see what the hell is going on only to have Igor shove me back down.
“Stay,” he grunts as he aims a pistol and fires at the front of the church.
Knowing it’s probably in my best interest to follow his command and make myself as small of a target as possible, I twist around and drag my legs in as far as my big fluffy white skirt will allow me.
“Dear Lord, protect me from the evil forces that desecrate this most holy sanctuary,” the old priest prays frantically, crawling his way over to me from the altar.
He struggles, partly because of his age, and partly because of his robes getting in the way, and I find myself unable to muster up one ounce of sympathy for him.
“There’s too many of them!” one of my father’s men cries out.
“Fall back!” my father roars and then grunts as if he’s in pain.
My heart immediately lurches inside my chest, my hate for him is momentarily forgotten.
Is he hurt?
Logic fleeing, I try to pop up again to check on my father, only to have Igor shove me back down.
He curses and then shouts something in Russian.
Alexei shouts back.
The priest finally reaches me just as two of my father’s men stumble down the aisle. Shooting wildly at the front of the church, they don’t even spare me a glance as they run for the doors flanking the altar.
Only one of them makes it. I watch in horror as the smaller of the two, a man I don’t know by name, takes a shot to the head and drops to the floor.
“God have mercy,” the priest whimpers, and then the smell of something acidic hits the air.
It takes me a second to place the smell, but once I do I scoot away from him in disgust.
He pissed himself in fear.
“Meghan! Meghan!” my father cries out and then he appears, being dragged down the aisle by Alexei.
I note at once that his right arm is hanging limply at his side and a blossom of blood the size of my fist stains his white shirt.
He’s wounded, and the little girl inside me cries out, “Daddy!”
Three Russians shield my father and Alexei, using their huge bodies as a wall as they shoot at the front of the church.
“Bring her, Igor,” Alexei orders as he drags my father past me.
Igor glances at him before firing off a few more rounds. Then he reaches down and grabs me by the shoulder a second before he just drops beside me.
It happens so fast, I find myself blinking down at Igor’s motionless body in shock.
“Fuck!” Alexei roars and begins to shout frantically in Russian as he continues to drag my father further and further away from me.
One of the three men shielding him moves toward me only to drop dead with a bullet in his head beside Igor.
“Meghan! Meghan!” my father wails desperately, and not knowing what else to do, I begin to crawl toward him.
A stream of bullets suddenly hit the floor in front of me, blocking off my escape. I scramble backward as another of Alexei’s guards falls to the ground, dead.
Thrusting my spine into the front of the pew, I look up in time to find Alexei staring at me. His eyes lock on mine, intense and full of something I can’t place as he reaches the door beside the altar.
A shot rings out, this one somehow much louder than the last.
The only guard standing in front of Alexei falls to the ground, his body thumping into the floor with a wet crack.
Then another shot rings out, this one hitting the door as it closes behind my father and Alexei.
I just stare at the door as two more bullets splinter the wood.
Then it finally hits me.
“They left me…” I say out loud in cold disbelief.
They fucking left me here to die…
A heavy silence falls over the church.
No more shots ring out.
No more voices pierce the air.
The only thing I can hear is the old priest wheezing beside me.
Seconds pass that drag on like minutes. A million thoughts race through my mind.
Is everyone dead? Are the attackers gone? Maybe now’s my chance to get away?
Staring at the bullet-riddled floor in front of me, my heart pounds so hard I fear I might be sick.
The thought of popping up only to drop to the floor like the dead men in front of me keeps me from moving.
So I wait, my ears straining.
The silence stretches on and on.
Then the first heavy footstep falls, echoing throughout the cathedral, and my heart freezes in mid beat.
Oh god, the attackers are still here.
One footstep becomes two, three, then four.
My brain finally processes what I’m hearing. Someone is walking up the aisle.
The footsteps stop.
“Dead,” a deep voice says.
Then they start again only to stop.
“Dead,” the voice says again.
The footsteps grow louder and louder, coming closer and closer.
Two gunshots suddenly ring out and I nearly jump out of my skin.
“Dead now.”
Fuck. I’m dead if I make a run for it, and I’m dead if I stay here.
If I want to live, I’m going to have to find a way to fight.
The footsteps start again, and knowing I only have a few precious seconds to save myself, I make a grab for Igor’s gun beside me.
I manage to reach it and get it settled in my hand just as I hear the footsteps approaching closer.
Taking a deep breath, I turn myself around, count to three, and then rise.
The most striking pair of baby blue eyes pierce right through me as I come face-to-face with the owner of the footsteps.
For a heartbeat, I’m frozen, stricken stupid by the handsome giant in front of me.
Then my survival instinct comes roaring back in.
It’s kill or be killed.
Adrenaline spiking again, time slows down. I catch the surprise, the confusion, then the acceptance in the bright blue gaze of the man looking down at me.
He’s ready to die, his eyes tell me, and I almost hesitate.
Almost.
My hand shakes and I wrap my other hand around the barrel to steady the gun.
Then I close my eyes, ask God for forgiveness, and pull the trigger.
I expect a little recoil and maybe even a warm splash.
What I don’t expect is for the gun to click and nothing to happen.
What the fuck?
I open my eyes slowly to see the massive man smirking down at me.
Shit.
4
Gabriel
Normally when someone puts a gun to my chest with the intention shutting down my beating heart, I rebel against that very notion and stop them.
But something about the way this girl’s deep blue eyes look up into mine stops me from moving.
Feelings that are completely alien hold me in place as I stare into her eyes. I don’t even get to give her a grin before she pulls the trigger.
