But Dylan is maintaining his composure, so I follow suit. Does he have a plan? He always has a plan, right? Didn’t he say that there wouldn’t be a wedding? That someone is coming to stop it?
God, please let that be true.
Delta is unloaded from the back, the poor animal looking just as terrified as I feel. A leash is clipped to his harness and held by a man wearing all black. They’re all in black.
My breathing is ragged, panic making my heart race. I survey the boat dock in front of us. A massive yacht is parked straight ahead, bobbing slowly with the movement of the water.
“No.” I shake my head. “No.”
“You afraid of the water, little dove?” Heath taunts.
“She can’t swim,” Mattheus offers up. “Told us that at dinner.”
Heath chuckles. “Fantastic. That only makes this even more fun.”
“It’ll be okay,” Dylan tells me.
But I’m starting to think it won’t be. I don’t know why this is happening, but unless God grants us a miracle, I don’t see a way out.
There’s a yellow sports car parked at the end of the dock, and as we get closer, a leggy redhead climbs out, wearing a black dress that barely covers to her upper thigh. Her hair is the color of the blood still saturating my shirt, her long, pointed nails the same shade.
“Did you bring me a present?” she asks, eyeing Dylan.
“No, darling Tori. I brought my wife and the guy who thought he was going to keep her from me.”
We come to a stop in front of her. She looks me over first, her dark eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong with you? Can you not walk?”
“She’s injured,” Heath replies.
“Hmm.” The woman saunters over toward Dylan and comes to a stop. “You are stunning.” She grips his face, and I watch as he pales.
“Let him go!” I yell as I thrash in the guard’s hold. He drops me, and pain shoots up through my injured leg. But I’m on my feet, so I lunge toward her, only to be ripped back by the same guard.
All while she continues pinching his face.
His body trembles, and he’s barely breathing.
Delta whimpers and pulls on the leash, trying to get closer to Dylan.
If he loses it here—a shudder runs through me. What will happen if he loses his head here? Will they shoot him without thinking? Or use his trauma to further torment him?
“I don’t take orders from you,” she says as she glares at me. “You need to learn your place in this house, darling, and it’s not as the head. You’re merely a trinket to get us everything we want.” She releases Dylan’s face but scrapes one of her sharp-as-a-talon nails over his cheek.
Blood droplets slide down the side of his face. He doesn’t even flinch.
Delta growls, low and deep, pinning his ears back against his head.
“What’s with the animal?” she asks, tone flat.
“Consider him a trophy,” Heath replies. “I plan to bend him to my will just as I’ll do his owner. A living reminder of my wedding day.”
“Do you always let your girlfriend do all of your intimidation?” Dylan asks, regaining at least some of his composure now that she’s released him.
“Oh, honey, I’m just the appetizer,” she replies, leaning in closer.
“What a shame. I’m not hungry.”
“You will be,” she replies, then turns, flipping the long tail of red hair behind her as she turns to the rest of the guards—and Mattheus—who have joined us near the dock. “Mattheus. How lovely to see you.”
