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‘Maybe we’re going to have a nice brunch,’ Dornan said, his jaw tensed, his demeanour no longer amused. Now he just looked fed up.
‘I’m not marrying you,’ I said, the words out of my mouth before I could think twice.
He slapped me across the face so hard I tasted blood. My wrists were free, though, and purely on instinct I punched him in the face, as hard as I could.
Right in the nose.
The nose that John had broken the night before. Teamwork.
Blood exploded from his face and he stepped back, cupping his hands over his nose. All I could see were his eyes – black, cold, determined. The pain of my blow hadn’t angered him, or so it seemed. No, it seemed that the violence had only strengthened his resolve.
He took his hands away and blood dripped onto his shirt, a chilling grin spreading across his face. His nose was bent slightly, and red.
Oh, Jesus. I was going to pay for that.
He came at me like a fucking CIA operative: blunt, fast, effective. He grabbed my hair and yanked, spinning me until I was in his arms. Before I could break free, he had his arms locked around my neck, squeezing against my carotid artery, and within a matter of seconds, the room went black.
* * *
I woke up on the plush carpeted floor of the limousine we’d travelled in to Vegas. I had no idea how I’d gotten there, or how long I’d been there. I had some drool on my cheek. I wiped it away, craning my head to take in the dimly lit interior of the car.
Dornan sat on the seat above me, his knees wide, his face clean. He held an ice pack against the bridge of his nose, but the damn thing was swelling anyway. There were dark circles under his eyes, and cuts on his skin from the fight with John. He looked terrible.
‘It’s lucky I brought an extra shirt,’ he said, taking the ice pack away from his nose. ‘Though we’re gonna have to retouch the photos.’
I sat up on my elbows, noticing the white dress now on me. The air-conditioning was cold between my thighs. I felt with one hand – no panties. Figured.
‘How kind of you to dress me,’ I said, dragging myself to my knees and sliding up onto the seat opposite. I was four feet away from Dornan, but if I’d been able to jump out of the limousine, I would have. We weren’t moving. I looked out of the window to see a large, garish sign in the shape of an arrow, pointing down at a chapel that was adorned with Elvis.
Could life get any worse? I looked around the car for something sharp that I could use to kill myself. There was nothing sharp, unless you counted Dornan’s eyes. I had the sudden urge to crawl over to him and rip those eyes out of their sockets.
Dornan tossed my purse at me. It hit my arm and fell onto the seat beside me.
‘Put some fucking make-up on,’ he said. ‘You look like shit.’
He tossed something else at me. Panties. Black lacy ones. I rolled my eyes, hooking them over my shoes and sliding them up my thighs and over my ass. Better. That felt better.
‘Why do I need make-up?’ I asked, rummaging through my bag. I still had my gun. I pulled it out and pointed it at Dornan’s head. I smiled, amused.
‘I thought you would have taken this out,’ I said, marvelling at the way it felt in my hand. It felt like power.
He grinned, holding out his open hand. Nestled in his palm, six shiny bullets.
I stuffed the useless gun back into my purse and yanked out my make-up bag. I took my sweet time applying foundation and blush.
* * *
‘Why’d you want me to wear make-up, anyway?’ I asked Dornan as we approached the counter inside the chapel. ‘It’s not like anyone’s going to see this.’
He smiled a plastic smile, one hand pressed into the small of my back as he drove me towards the tired-looking woman behind the counter that screamed CHEAP WEDDING CEREMONIES.
‘Our children will ask to see the photos one day,’ he said, his voice steeled, his expression a mask of self-preservation. ‘You should look beautiful for them.’
My knees actually buckled when he said that. They just plain stopped working, and the ground rushed up at me. Dornan’s big hands were there to keep me steady, of course. He leaned me into him, tucked me into his side so I was pressed against him.
‘I’m going to throw up,’ I said, scanning the foyer for a bathroom.
‘Oh, good,’ Dornan replied, half-dragging me towards the sign marked BATHROOMS. ‘Maybe you’re knocked up again already.’
