Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“What?” I can’t think of a better reply. I am too stunned to speak.
Ghost forces me to look at him, ensuring I can’t miss the honesty in his eyes when he murmurs, “This stopped being about you the instant you gained his attention.”
“But what does that have to do with my family?”
Stupidly, I bang my fists on his chest when he replies, “They asked too many questions.”
“So you killed them. You murdered my parents.” I only get in two good thumps before he snatches up my wrists in a painful hold. “Let me go. Get your filthy hands off me!”
This entire time, I’ve been living for them. I’ve been fighting for them, so now that I know it’s been a waste of time, I am fucking done.
I yank out of Ghost’s hold and race for the exit doors. I don’t have much meat on my bones, so I’ll take my chances with the dogs guarding this property. I won’t be appetizing enough for them to worry about.
My steps freeze partway out the door when Ghost orders, “Move in.”
I snap my head back, gasping when I spot a small handheld device in his hand. It shows the university that was being built the year I was snatched and a beat-up Civic zooming into the parking lot.
“No,” I breathe out with a sob when I spot the fiery red hair of the female behind the steering wheel. I haven’t seen her in years, but I’d never forget her. It is my baby sister, Hailey.
“Please don’t,” I beg when a blacked-out SUV pulls in behind Hailey’s car. It is a replica of the car we just traveled in, except this driver is wearing a balaclava and black gloves.
Ghost acts as if I didn’t speak, forcing me to beg louder and more heartfelt. “Please, Ghost. She isn’t a part of this. She doesn’t belong here.”
As a man dressed in black slips out of the back passenger side of the SUV, Ghost brings his eyes to meet with mine. “And you do?”
“Yes.” I nod so forcefully I make myself dizzy. “I’ll prove it. I will do anything you ask. Anything at all.” I stray my eyes down the long procession of people waiting for the doors to pop open and for the bride-to-be to emerge. “I’ll marry him and have his children. I’ll do whatever he asks.” My voice cracks when I realize the man is mere feet from Hailey. “Ghost, please!” I fall to my knees and grab his hand with mine. I need two hands to his one, but it gets across my point that I’m willing to obey. I always have been. “Don’t do this.”
I suck in a sharp breath when an abrupt “Stop” rumbles out of his mouth. I assume it is in response to my pleas for clemency but learn otherwise when the man approaching Hailey backs up, yanks off his balaclava, then proceeds to meld with the students around them.
I struggle to work out which way is up when I recognize the face of the man behind Hailey. It is one of the original men who kidnapped me.
I sound as rattled as I feel when I ask, “Why so long?”
I’m referencing the Bobrovs’ obvious eight-year interest in my family, but Ghost doesn’t realize that. “Because this dress was not made for you.” He tugs me to stand before bobbing down to place on the heels needed so my dress won’t swish against the ground. My thighs wobble more from his reply than the closeness of his breaths to my vagina. “She chose off-white, which meant she didn’t make it to the end of the aisle.”
As my eyes shoot to the glass doors separating the foyer from the main part of the chapel, my heart thuds in my chest. Behind the pipe organs at the left of the aisle is a black tripod. It houses a weapon I’ve only seen in movies.
Is that why half the congregation is wearing black?
They don’t know if they’re here for a wedding or a funeral.
I’m fairly certain it is both.
19
KATIE
Against the odds, I survived the ceremony.
My husband seemed pleased when the tulle of my dress caught the rays beaming through the stained-glass windows. He complimented the purity of my dress before instructing his guests to sit.
It was a brief five-minute sermon that gave no sign of my husband’s identity or the grief I’m currently wading through. I must be in shock because I can’t express a single emotion.
The aura of wealth in the room exposes my husband is a notorious man who is feared by many, but everyone refers to him as ‘He.’
Even the priest.
An elderly lady with a wrinkled face she’s trying to smooth with Botox stops waffling on about the sermon the priest gave during our nuptials when a scuffle at the side of the room captures our attention. Our ‘reception’ is being held in a ballroom next to the chapel. It is beautifully decorated but appears as if it was set up some time ago. The realistic yet still plastic flowers have dust on them.