Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 392(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Pregnant.
I sweep my gaze over the circle of faces around me and my brain begins to piece a terrible puzzle together, one I can’t face just yet, because I recall some of her diary entries. The strange plural wording. The thing that couldn’t be real because my brain refused to let it be so.
The cloaked masked men begin a chant, and the organ becomes an accompaniment, background noise to something darker, more sinister.
The men look down at me, watching me. Even behind their masks, I feel their gazes burning into me.
A familiar scent begins to fill the space. Incense. It’s followed by the sound of the doors opening again. It’s like I’m in a fucking horror movie. I’m the fucking star of the show.
The circle around me opens to reveal the back of the chapel and from those same doors in this unholy place, two boys appear dressed as altar boys. I recognize one as the waiter from the restaurant. They’re carrying processional candles on long brass poles, and they begin to walk toward us.
The priest of earlier is next. He’s chanting, too, and swinging the thurible leaving puffs of incense to float to the ceiling and vanish.
Behind him comes Master Robertson. Once he is in sight, each of the masked men lower their heads in deference.
Robertson is unmasked and I watch as he chants. The altar boys stand back and once Robertson enters the circle, the others close it around him. Robertson’s eyes never leave my face as he walks around me, coming to stand behind me.
The organ music drops away at the same moment the chanting ends and we are plunged suddenly and irrevocably into a silence thick and heavy and final.
Robertson’s hand lands on top of my head. I flinch but he carries on as if I haven’t.
“Let the chosen step forward,” he says.
And from the circle of men, one steps forward, coming to stand before me, looming tall and dark and terrible.
“Do you, Callum Stewart, accept the role of husband?”
My world goes sideways, my brain trying to keep up, to make sense of what is senseless.
“I do.”
“Brother,” Robertson says, clamping his free hand around Callum’s arm in a brotherly greeting. “They key is yours.” He hands the literal key to my chain to Callum. He then turns to the collected men. “Let us begin.”
38
JET
They’re not expecting us, but they’ll figure out pretty quickly we’ve pirated their vessel when we dock, so before we reach the island, we lower the anchor and climb into two of the life rafts. A few men will remain behind ready to carry us away once we return with Amal.
Cassian has a dozen soldiers with him and the boat was well-stocked with guns, various knives and ammunition. Even Sev is armed.
Our boat launches. Sev steers us toward the pier that will take us to that cave we were led out of. I study my brother’s back, wondering about him. Growing up together, he and I have had our share of fist fights, each of us leaving the other bruised and bloodied, but I’ve never seen him be outright violent. That’s not to say he hasn’t been. I don’t know. But he’s always been against my having anything to do with the Trevino mafia family.
“Sev,” I call out over the roar of the engine and the storm wreaking havoc on the sea.
He looks over his shoulder at me, eyes squinted against the rain, his hair and face wet. “Thank you.”
“She’s your wife. Family. We protect our family,” he says before returning his attention to the castle.
I nod in gratitude but he doesn’t see it.
“How the fuck are we going to find her in there?” Cassian asks as he takes in the sheer size of the place.
“We’re not,” I say. Cassian turns to me, eyebrows raised. “Cotton’s going to find her.” I set my hand on Cotton’s head. She’s standing obediently at my side, her good eye on the castle as if she, too, understands. I scratch behind her ears like she likes and she turns her cheek into my palm. Her way of showing her affection and allegiance.
No one is guarding the cave entrance. No need. Water has risen higher since they marched us out here not too long ago. Once we reach the rickety old dock, I throw the rope out, lassoing it around a pole. Sev’s first off and he catches the second rope I toss, securing us as best he can in this storm. The men file out, me leading the way with Cotton running slightly ahead in a hurry to get to dry land. Trauma, I think. I don’t know how many hours she survived on that cliff’s edge where she was left to die and have no doubt she felt the same terror any human would feel.
“Good girl,” I tell her. “Good girl.”