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Had I heard that voice before? It sounded so fucking familiar.
He walked a few feet before he stopped and I heard the beep of a keypad, before what I assumed was a door opened up in front of us and I felt a gasp of air against my hands.
The door was slammed behind us and then we moved forward a few more feet before we began to descend. Fuck…he was going down a long flight of stairs.
By the musty smell in the air, I guessed we were going somewhere underground. Which was not my ideal place to be.
If I ever got out of this ridiculous situation and got the chance to live, I was going to make sure that any future dwelling I inhabited was going to be basement free. That would be my number one requirement for a house. Nothing could be underground.
Maybe a treehouse,I mused…obviously losing my mind.
We stopped again, and there was the sound of another keypad, and another door opening—and then I was seated on something soft and cushiony.
Everything was silent, except for his breathing. That was a bit unnerving.
Out of the darkness and into the light…I chanted silently, trying to keep my mind sharp for whatever hellscape I was about to encounter.
Who was I kidding? Was it even possible not to totally lose my shit right now…especially as some sort of weird chorus music began to play.
Wait…the song was a…wedding march?
My insides tensed even more as dread spiked through my veins.
It was becoming more and more clear who was going to be on the other side of this bag on my head, and I was just praying that I was wrong. Because yes, I was a tough badass.
But my father’s apprentice…he was a thousand times more fucked up than me. And that was hard to beat.
The humming began again, and an unbidden tear streaked down my face…
I heard his footsteps near me and then suddenly the bag was ripped off my head, and before I even could comprehend who was standing there, a warm, slimy, rough tongue licked the moisture off my face.
“Fuck,” I screeched, not enjoying that at all.
“Language,” the voice snarled, and I blinked as my captor removed his tongue and stepped away from me, revealing…Bentley.
He was dressed in an ill-fitting tuxedo, worn in some spots like he'd taken it from a corpse in some grave. I shivered at the thought because, knowing Bentley, that probably wasn't too far off the mark.
I had to admit as I stared into his cold, evil eyes…the universe fucking hated me.
"Sorry you've had to wait so long. Things had to be put into place until everything was perfect. For my perfect bride,” he said smoothly, looking genuinely sorry he hadn’t been able to kidnap me earlier.
Wait a minute…perfect bride?
Horror blossomed even further in my chest as I glanced around the room and realized what was happening.
Bentley had organized the saddest-looking wedding ceremony I'd ever seen.
"You’re admiring the decorations. I worked very hard on them," he said excitedly, or as excitedly as one could speak when you didn’t have a soul.
I took in even more details, keeping one eye on Bentley the whole time as I did so. There were wilted flowers propped up in spray-painted black vases all over the room. The air was ripe with decay. Pepto Bismol-colored tulle had been thrown everywhere, like a party store had thrown up all over the place.
And there was the cake. That was…interesting. He’d taken what was clearly grocery store sheet cakes, and cut them in half, stacking them on top of each other until the end result was this eight-layer monstrosity that was on the verge of tipping over. The bride and groom perched on top looked like they'd been crafted with papier-mâché, and the groom was several inches shorter than the bride since he’d begun to sink into the cake frosting.
It was almost impressive how pathetic my wedding was going to be.
There were no windows in the room, making the whole thing just that much creepier. The carpet was a 50s orange color that clashed violently with the pink theme he had going.
Was this really happening?
