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I keep my gaze locked with his. “What makes you think that?”
“Because, despite all your bravado, you’re still a good Catholic Italian girl, aren’t you? You’ve had it instilled in you to wait for marriage. But don’t worry. After we’re married, I’m going to show you what depths of pleasure I can take you to.”
I gulp. My lips part, but nothing comes out.
“Speechless?”
I hit his chest. “Shut up.”
He falls back onto the bed, laughing. “Gemma, go get some sleep. In the morning, we’re getting married.”
* * *
I runmy hands over the white fabric. The mermaid dress hugs my body in all the right places, and the simple design really brings out the blue of my eyes. I look more mature. No longer a scared eighteen-year-old, but a grown woman ready to marry the man she loves.
But that’s the problem—I don’t love Viktor. I still don’t really know all that much about him other than he’s certifiably insane. I thought I had at least a week to plan an escape, but I need to figure it out today instead. I can’t seem to kill him. I couldn’t with the machine gun when he first took me, and I couldn’t again last night with the scissors. So, murder is off the table. That just leaves luck, and I’m not sure how much of that I have on my side.
Viktor comes to get me. “Wow.” I turn to him and see his eyes widen as he takes me in. “You look stunning.” He’s in navy suit that compliments his black hair.
“The only thing you’ve seen me in the past week is my black dress, which is growing dirtier by the day. This is just a shock to your system.”
“Either way.” He saunters over to me. “You’re gorgeous. Ready to get married?” He holds his arm out to me.
“No,” I say, even as I take his arm. My only shot at escape is by leaving this house, so I have to play along until I find an opportunity.
Viktor laughs as he leads me out of the room, then out the front door. The smell of fresh air is like magic to my nose. It’s a symbol of hope, a chance to escape. Viktor motions me inside his car, which looks like something right out of the movies. “One more thing we have to do before we get married,” he says as he buckles his seat and turns the car on.
“What’s that?” My heart pounds as he pulls out of the driveway. I can see this time, meaning I need to look for markers to get word to Marco or my family for help.
“I have some business to conduct. A motorcycle club I work with sometimes owes me money. I need to collect it before we head to the church.”
“Wow. For someone so intent on marrying me, you sure made a strange decision to do a business deal right before the wedding.”
“I already had it in the books. I couldn’t change it. And I decided to bump our wedding to today just yesterday.”
I don’t know why I’m arguing with him. The longer we can extend the wedding, the better chance I have to escape. So, I keep my mouth shut as Viktor drives us into the city. I recognize a lot of landmarks, from the skyscrapers to the street names. I just have to remember them in case Viktor brings me back to his mansion before I can escape.
Viktor pulls up outside a shoddy looking club house, motorcycles all over the parking lot.
I settle into my seat. “I’ll wait for you here.”
He grins as he turns the car off. “Nice try. But I’m not letting you take off in my car. You’re coming inside with me.”
“I’m in my wedding dress.”
“I know. And you look great.”
I huff as I follow him out of the car and into the clubhouse. A couple rough looking men in leather vests and jackets eye me over but don’t say anything once they spot Viktor. He nods at the men before entering the building. Inside, it smells like smoke and leather, while the lights are so dim it’s hard to even see anything. I can just make out a bar against one wall and couches against all the others. Men mingle with other men. Women in scantily clad clothing walk by, looking at me with amusement. I glare at them, challenging them to say anything. They don’t. Instead, they sit in the laps of some in the men. This whole thing is so different from the world I grew up in. In Mafia culture, there’s an element of class, of business suits and expensive whiskey. At the club, it’s like they’re trying out for the grunge Olympics, given their black stained fingers and hole-covered jeans.
The conversation stops the moment Viktor enters the room. A scrawny man from behind the bar runs over, an envelope in his hands. “Here you go, Viktor. Your cut.”
Viktor takes it and checks it out, counting the money inside. “Huh. I think you’re about a thousand short, Johnny.”
Johnny blinks. “No. Your money is all there.”
“I don’t think it is. Are you trying to stiff me, Johnny? We made a deal. I get a cut of your gun shipments for my help moving them. And you’re stiffing me?”
“I swear. Viktor. The money is all there.”
