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2
ISABELLA
“We need to talk, Diego,” my father says flatly as he, I, and Ángel approach the other man and his surrounding security. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Niall try to step forward—whether to try to help me or to slip out, I don’t know, but I can’t imagine why he would want to help me rather than save his own skin. Not after what I’ve done.
It doesn’t matter, though. My father’s guards keep him from going anywhere, as Diego’s rough voice brings my attention back to him.
“You’re going to try to back out of our fucking deal, aren’t you, Santiago? The girl’s hand in marriage, to keep my dogs from your door.” He snorts, his thickly lined face creasing in anger. “I should have had them kick it down and taken her anyway. No need for rings and vows, just a man’s pleasure, as it should be—or sold her off for a pretty penny. Virgin princess that she was—but no more, she says.” His eyes narrow cruelly. “It could be a lie. She should be examined.”
“It’s not a lie,” my father says tiredly. “I know my daughter. She’s telling the truth—which means that you’ll have no interest in her now. This was a mistake, Diego, and not one of my doing. We can come to an arrangement with money, perhaps, something to be paid for your losses and to soothe the insult, and then—”
“Then, what?” Diego sneers. “You’ll marry her off to the Irish bastard who deflowered her, I go home with your hush money, and we all go back to business as usual? The Santiago family on top again, scuttling out from under the shadow of their shame?” He snorts. “I think not. I’ll have the girl, regardless of her purity—and you’ll not say a word about how you hear she might be treated under my roof, either,” he adds, wagging a thick finger in my father’s face. “Not taking her virginity is only a small price to pay for having the daughter of Ricardo Santiago at my tender mercy—or lack thereof.”
He laughs as my father turns ashen, as if he’s made some hilarious joke. “I’ll make her my wife, of course—but a whore should be treated like one.”
“I’ll not have—” My father starts to speak, but one of Diego’s guards shoves him roughly backward, two of them reaching for me. In that instant, I act purely on instinct, flinging myself forward as I swing wildly at Diego’s face, an open-handed slap with my nails clawed to rake his face.
For an old, overweight man, he moves more quickly than I would have thought. His hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist so tightly I feel the small bones in it grind together, and he leans forward, hissing in my face with breath that smells of meat, garlic, and too much liquor.
“Careful, little princess,” Diego sneers. “I would have thought your family would have taught you how to be a lady, a proper wife for a cartel boss like Diego Gonzalez. But I see that might not be the case.” He pulls me closer, close enough that my body is almost touching his as I shake in his grasp. “I suppose I should expect nothing less from a whore who throws her value away on a man like that—” he jerks his head in the direction of where I know Niall must be, even though I can’t see him. “But do you know where disobedient wives go?”
I can’t speak, can’t move, can barely even think. My mouth can’t form words to say yes or no, because all I feel is fear, cold and freezing one moment, and dizzyingly hot the next. I can feel tears welling in my eyes from the terror and the pain in my wrist, but I try not to let them fall.
“Don’t make me send you to the bride-tamer, little Isabella.”
His voice is thick, sing-song, and he pulls me against his body as he whispers it in my ear. I can feel how aroused he is through his pants, one hand sliding between us to grope my breast, and I feel as if I’m going to be physically sick.
The bride-tamer is a boogeyman, a tale told to frighten rebellious wives-to-be—or so we tell ourselves. We’ve all heard of someone carted away and sent to him—in my case, the woman I heard of was the same one who nearly deceived her husband into thinking she was a virgin. She was sent away, and whispers were that she was taken to the mountains, to the bride-tamer. A man who breaks women to his will, who forces them to submit—and who sends them back to their husbands quiet and obedient, shells of their former selves.
I saw her when she same back. She wasn’t the same woman. It was proof enough—even if the bride-tamer himself was just a story,someonehad changed her. Someone we never wanted to meet.
But I’m not sure that Diego isn’t worse.
“Get your filthy hands off of her!”
Niall’s voice cuts through the air, far too close, and I twist around in Diego’s grasp despite the pain in my wrist just to see his face. He looks furious, with whom I’m not sure exactly—probably everyone—and he won’t look at me. But his gaze is leveled squarely at Diego, and he’s momentarily free of my father’s guards. “You’re not sending her to anyone. You’re not taking her, not without—”
His voice cuts off abruptly as a burly man—Diego’s or my father’s, I’m not sure—punches him squarely in the gut. Niall doubles forward, the air knocked out of him, but he recovers faster than I would have thought any man could.
If I’d thought it was chaos before, it was nothing compared to this.
The kind of body Niall has doesn’t come from anything other than hours in the gym—but I hadn’t realized he could fight like this. It’s as if he turns into a beast, his jaw set and eyes hard as he fights off the men coming for him, ducking and blocking and trading blows before they ever come within reach of his chiseled face. But he’s not the only one fighting.
“I said the deal is off—” my father starts to say. “She’s no longer yours to take, Diego. I’ve made my decision—”
“And I’ve made mine. Finish this,” Diego says, turning to his men. Then he starts dragging me by my wrist, away from my father and brother across the marble floor as the guests part like a sea, none of them wanting to get involved.
My father draws himself up to his full height, his face dark with rage. “I am RicardofuckingSantiago!” he shouts. “And you willnottake my daughter without my permission,señorGonzalez!”
I see the hand motion he makes, and suddenly his men are coming for Diego’s, guns and knives drawn, Diego’s men forming a wall on the other side of him and me. The guests are frozen, as if they can’t believe what’s happening—until the first gunshot goes off, and then it’s nothing but pandemonium.
“You’re coming with me, if my men have to kill every goddamn family member you have to accomplish it,” Diego snarls, dragging me forward until I’m sure my wrist will snap. I whirl around anyway, scanning the room for Elena, but she’s nowhere to be seen, and I remember my father telling the guards to get her upstairs.
Please let her be safe,I think, my eyes filling with tears as Diego lets out a grunt of angry frustration and steps forward to scoop me up as if I weigh nothing.
“Put her the fuck down!” I hear Niall shout, along with my father’s curses and threats and my brother’s shouts, but they can’t get to me. No one can. The guests are stampeding, running for the doors, and there are more gunshots now, more screams.
I see it all from over Diego’s shoulder as he strides towards the front door, flanked by guards. I see blood on the marble, a guest falling, trampled. I feel my skirt tear as I try to struggle, and he holds me down. I see Niall knocking someone to the floor with a well-placed punch and see my father and Ángel backing up behind a wall of security as Diego’s men are fought off. My father and my brother aren’t fighters, not really. They pay men to do that for them. But Niall—
