My jaw works to the side, my face growing hot as I think about her giving herself to another man.
We drive in silence for a few minutes, and then she motions to an upcoming exit. “The mall is just off this exit.”
“I’m aware.” Instead of slowing down, I accelerate. She’s not going to like where I stop this car.
Charlie whips a look at me. “What are you doing? You passed it.”
I don’t answer her. I should reassure her, but I don’t want to deal with the fallout inside my vehicle.
“Clayton! Turn the car around. Now.” She crosses her arms and glares at me. Her eyes flicker with fear. “I’ll call 9-1-1 if you don’t. I’ll jump out of the car. I’ll—”
“Please, just settle down. Everything’s totally fine,” I use her words. “I promise.”
Her left leg starts to jerk as she bounces her knee. “Are you serious right now? You think you can just, what, dump my body in a ditch in broad daylight?”
“I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m definitely not going to do that. When I dump a body, it’s never in a ditch. Too obvious.”
She looks out the windshield, her eyes searching, and then realization sinks in when she sees the exit I take. I slow down at the end of the ramp and put on my blinker to turn left. Soon we’re on a road with signs for the Abbott Winery popping up on both sides. I turn into the driveway and we roll slowly toward a sprawling farmhouse that looks like it’s seen better days.
“How did you know where I live?” she asks, her voice pitching higher. “What the fuck is going on?”
Tension ratchets in the air between us. She’s not scared anymore—she’s angry. And about to boil over, from the looks of it.
“Look, now. I know all about trying to outrun demons, lassie. And I’m sorry to bring you here. But sometimes we just gotta face up to things in the end, don’t we?”
“What are you, my fucking life coach? Let me out of this damn car!”
She’s got the door open before I even fully stop. Her feet hit the gravel; she stumbles in a slow-motion walk-run before she gets her balance. Charlie spins to look at me and jabs a finger in the air.
“Who are you, you bastard? Who are you working for?”
The front door of the house opens behind her, and a man walks outside with a shit-eating grin on his face. I can’t tell if he’s drunk or not, but he’s laughing.
“Well I’ll be got-damned,” he says. “I thought you were against this arrangement, Charlie. Yet here I find you getting escorted home by your future husband.” He looks over at me. “Couldn’t keep it in your pants ‘til your wedding night, eh?”
As he laughs some more, Charlie goes completely still. My stomach knots in disgust at the way this man is slagging her, and me. There’s a sadistic edge in his voice that I do not like. He’s taunting her. Goading her. And dragging me into it as if I somehow plotted this whole thing with him. What kind of father does that to his daughter? Then again, what kind of father hands over his child like she’s nothing more than a bargaining chip?
“I don’t want to hear another word about your opposition to this wedding,” he tells her, all the humor suddenly gone from his voice. “Considering you’ve already spent the night with the groom, I’m calling it a done deal.”
The fella walks back into the house, all nonchalant, ignoring the daggers his daughter darts into his back. It only takes a second before she turns on me.
Putting my hands up in a gesture of truce, I lean against my car and try to divert the rage that’s coming my way. But then she bolts straight into the house, leaving the door wide open as she yells after her father.
“It’s not a done deal, because I don’t consent, you asshole! This isn’t legal!”
Something crashes and then glass shatters followed by the shout of a male voice. Pushing off the car, I run after her.
Neither of us might want this fake marriage, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand by and let this asshole lay a fucking hand on my future bride.
4
CHARLIE
I ranafter my dad so fast that I tripped going over the threshold and stumbled into the console table next to the door. Which hit the hallway mirror, knocking it off the wall so abruptly it shattered against the floor—guess that’s seven years of bad luck for me; just what I need right now—but despite the mess I just made, Dad didn’t bother to slow down.
I swore at him, a huge no-no, but all he did was yell back, telling me to watch my mouth. He’s smug as shit over the fact that Clayton brought me home, and hell if it doesn’t fuel my hatred of my father even more. As I chase after him, watching him duck into his office, I hear footsteps racing down the hall behind me. Clayton’s cologne fills the air and something about the scent makes me snap. I turn to face him, hands clenched into fists at my sides.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I demand.
