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I was angry and a little tipsy when I sent a note to the email address scribbled on the back of Mom’s old photo. A part of me had been ready to blame him if he was really my father, but when I realized that Vincent never even knew about me until I contacted him, I didn’t know what to think.
I obviously don’t know everything about him. Hearing him smoothly threaten bikers who have a gun to my head just confirms what I was already starting to believe. Vincent Mesner isn’t just a businessman and investor. There’s something dirty about him, and there is probably a reason Mom made the choice she did.
Vincent watches us from the top of the stairs as we reach the bottom. He's furious, but keeping his distance. One of his security guards starts to lift his gun, and Vincent stops him with a curt gesture. Devin finally appears, rushing to my father’s side, face dark with rage.
The staff are all pressed against the walls and taking cover behind whatever they can find. Nobody here is going to risk their own neck to save me, and I don’t blame them. Even if they wanted to, the chance of getting to me before at least one of the bikers starts shooting is miniscule.
“You're doing good,” the biker whispers harshly in my ear. “Just fucking perfect. Keep it up, and you'll be back to loverboy in no time.”
“I don’t care about him. Just don’t shoot me,” I whisper honestly.
I don't want to be a hostage, and I really don’t want this gun pointed at my head. I'm terrified to imagine what they might do to me, but… being returned to Vincent so I can marry Devin doesn't exactly fill me with any kind of joy, either.
“Everyone just keep your fucking distance!” the playful twin shouts, his voice echoing off the cavernous room. “We don't need any fucking heroes.” He and the bearded guy with the vest and tattoos pan their guns around the room, while the serious twin covers Vincent. They work together seamlessly, like they've done this a million times.
A moment later, we're outside in the crippling summer heat under the carport where the limo waits to whisk me and Devin off to our honeymoon. The shocked expression on the driver's face is almost comical, even in my position. She takes one look at us, decides she’s not getting paid nearly enough to be a hero and runs, leaving the car door open.
“The cops are already on their way,” Vincent yells, him and his men coming down the stairs, but slowly and keeping away. “Let her go.”
“Please,” I say, even though a small, guilty part of me feels relief at the idea of being stolen away from my own wedding. How messed up is that?
“You'll be fine. Just a little further,” the biker holding me says.
“Bikes are too far,” growls the serious twin. “We can't drag her through the whole damn city.”
The man holding me barks out a laugh. “We'll take the limo.”
“You fucking kidding me?” the serious twin groans.
“Do it.” And I guess if this guy says so, then they're all in.
I expected to leave the wedding in the limo, but this wasn't how I pictured it—at gunpoint with three violent bikers in the back and the fourth one behind the wheel. They push me in first, putting me in the seat that faces backwards. I reach for the door handle, but the serious twin grabs me before I can even try it, squeezing in next to me. The one with the scar that was holding me sits across from me, with the auburn-bearded biker next to him. The playful twin gets behind the wheel and floors it. The limo shoots out with surprising power.
The sudden lurch throws me right out of my seat and into the lap of the biker who dragged me here in the first place. He catches me with a laugh and holds me.
“You so eager to get your wedding night started that you don’t even wanna wait for the groom? What's your future husband gonna think?”
I try to push away, but he's too strong. “Let go of me.”
The limo corners hard, and only his grip keeps me from rolling right over into the other biker's lap. “Gonna keep you safe right here, babe.”
I dig my nails into his thighs, holding on for dear life as we careen through the city streets. Sirens sound in the distance, but are they close enough to follow? What happens if they catch up? What happens if they don't? When the bikers don't have any reason to keep me alive anymore? I shut my eyes hard and squeeze as a wave of panic comes over me, making me shiver like I've got some kind of fever.
“Shh. You're gonna be fine,” says the guy under me, pulling me closer against him. He puts my back flush against his broad chest and his arms close around me, comforting instead of constricting. Powerful. Warm. “Easy, easy. I swear it. Hey, what's your name?”
