Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
But he doesn’t. What he does is kneel to check the dead man’s eyes for proof of life. With cruel casualness, he wipes his blade clean on David’s tuxedo pant leg. Then he rises, gives me a smile, and strolls back the way he came.
The pool of David’s blood has reached my foot. I back away, cataloging my emotions. Horror. Annoyance. A resigned sort of calm.
I toss the bouquet of peonies into the closest pew, pick up my dress and stride away. Toward the front of the church, not the back. I don’t want to be caught in the tangle of David’s friends and his lone relative, none of whom had the wherewithal to stand strong.
David was my way to get Stephanos. I had hoped Stephanos would show up at the wedding so I could execute him during the reception. Barring that, I intended to spend my ‘honeymoon’ setting a trap and springing it.
I’ll need more than luck to get so close again. If my plan is going to work, I’ll need a new way in. Soon, immediately, before my cousin Royal tracks me down. He’s the head of the Regis Famiglia now and has never approved of my quest for vengeance.
Stephanos sends his regards. Ironically, my best lead is the blond hitman. I shiver as I think of him. Those piercing eyes, that powerful frame. So beautiful and so cold.
I rub my chest and automatically grasp the delicate necklace at my throat, a tiny sword that rests between my breasts. I kiss the small pommel for good luck and tuck it back into place.
I stride out of the church, ready to call a cab and head to a safe house for a change of clothes and a glass of whiskey while I rework my plan. Marrying David was supposed to be the beginning of the end. Now, I’m back where I started. And I look like a damn runaway bride. A runaway bride covered in blood spatter.
Fuck my life.
I don’t get more than a few steps out the door before someone seizes me from behind, immobilizing me in strong arms. I see a glint of metal, and in a smooth, practiced move, my attacker raises a knife past my blood-speckled bodice to rest at my throat.
“Not so fast, beautiful,” the hitman rasps in my ear. “You’re coming with me.”
2
Victor
The bride is a warm bundle in my arms, if not exactly willing. Her feet drag, but she doesn’t put up a fight as I bundle her into the backseat of the waiting car. This job came with a driver, but there’s a divider between him and the backseat. I’ll have plenty of privacy to play with my new toy.
She settles into the car seat beside me, filling the space with mounds and mounds of white satin. A bride on her wedding day, representing love and innocence and purity and all the things I’ve never experienced. All the things the world withholds from a soulless man like me.
But now I have her in my clutches. My blood heats, and I have to force myself to slow down, remain cool and in control. She is a prize like no other. A triumph I wish to savor as long as possible.
The car pulls away from the curb, and the bride’s back hits the seat. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, making the delicate silver chain around her neck ripple. The necklace caught my eye in the church, the charm unusual—a tiny weapon. Too long to be a regular dagger, too short to be a sword. An old-fashioned poniard.
I extend a finger and brush the toothpick-sharp tip of the blade and, with it, her skin. Her chest prickles with goosebumps, and my prize’s breath hisses behind the veil.
She’s not unaffected by me. Her slight reaction is a blood-bright flag unfurling before a bull. Adrenaline pounds through me, and my cock stirs. My palms itch to unwrap my gift.
I grasp the edge of the veil and lift it. My movements are slow and tender, a mockery of what a groom’s should be. Once again, she surprises me. She doesn’t fight me, doesn’t slap my hand away. She holds still, her chest moving faster in her tight bodice.
She has the loveliest eyes, dark and velvety. She’s striking rather than pretty, her jaw narrow but strong, and her nose sharp as a stiletto. Her makeup is subtle and perfect, except for those bold, blood-red lips. Not a hair of her sleek updo is out of place. For a witness to a knifing and a victim of kidnapping, she’s the very picture of calm.
I want to crack her apart. I killed her groom in front of her, and she made no sound. I thought she was in shock at first, but she’s remained calm.
Who is she? I researched the wedding but focused more on the layout of the church. The target was a civilian, a nobody. At first glance, his wife-to-be and guests were the same.