to believe a monster can grow a heart?
At the moment, I only have one option to escape this unscathed.
Play smart, not rough.
I stagger to my feet and face Johnny. “I’ll marry you.”
“Absolutely not.” President Joe’s nose scrunches.
I give him a gentle nod. I’d die before marrying Johnny, but making him believe I would is our only non-violent way to get out of here.
“But you have to leave President Joe alone,” I continue. “It’s my only condition.”
“We’ll see about that.” Johnny grins, and I don’t like the smugness in it. Not one bit.
“We'll go prepare for the ceremony, then.” I nudge President Joe forward.
“Who said anything about a ceremony, babe?” Johnny advances with the unarmed man. “This is Larry, he’s authorised to register marriages and he’s all we need.”
My mouth hangs open. “You mean we’ll get married now?”
Panic bubbles in my throat no matter how much I try to swallow it back. Johnny the arsehole thought this whole thing through.
“I need time to prepare.” I push the hysteria out of my voice and plaster a smile on my face.
“I don’t think I was clear enough, babe.” Johnny snaps his fingers. Three of his men push President Joe and his guard to their knees and place guns to their heads.
Johnny taps his gun against his own temple. “Now. Sign the certificate or their brains will serve as your wedding dress.”
“She’s not my granddaughter.” President Joe grits out and motions for me to run or whatever he wants me to do.
“Could’ve fooled me, Boss,” Johnny smirks and yanks me towards him by the arm. “Now, be my wife, babe.”
I want to kick him. I want to ruin his face and add an even worse scar to the one already there, but that will be mine and President Joe’s sure death. Even if I follow President Joe’s plan and say I’m not his granddaughter, Johnny could still kill me. He’s that type of wanker.
My lower lip trembles and I bite it down. He’s the last man I want to spend the rest of my life with. The only person I was foolish enough to hope for something like that with left me, though. He didn’t bother to listen to any explanation I have.
Johnny taps on the table where the weaponless man sign with a piece of paper in front of him. “Sign.”
I suck in a stuttering breath and walk to him. I’m sure Liam will help if he finds out. Maybe I can prove that I was coerced into the marriage and can get an annulment. I grab the pen Johnny thrust in my hand with trembling fingers.
This is too final and will chain me to Johnny. But what other choice do I have?
With another intake of encouraging air, I hunch towards the table where lies the piece of paper that will shackle me down.
A thud startles me back. And then another. And another.
I whirl around to see Johnny’s men falling one after the other like pieces of dominos. They’re shot in the head or in the chest or having their throats slashed with knives. The motion is so blurry, I can’t make out the assailants.
Blood spills everywhere.
I throw myself behind the Chesterfield sofa with President Joe and the guard as a blown out war breaks out. Silenced gunshots. Wails of pain. The metallic stench of blood permeates the air.
Keeping my head low, I peek from the side. My heart almost thunders out of my chest when I make out those dark overcast eyes that became both my doom and my sole source of comfort.
Shadow.
He didn’t leave me. He returned for me.
The moment soon ends and he goes back to slaughtering Johnny’s men. Shadow isn’t alone. Ghost and Mist slaughter the men like it’s a competition about who kills more in less time. A petite frame is bathed with blood due to all the precise throat slashing. The tight T-shirt with ‘Bored’ all over it gives her away. Scar.
It’s fascinating – and scary – how utterly normal they all appear while killing. As if it’s a walk in the park. A daily occurrence – but again, it is something normal for them. Isn’t that what to expect from people whose sole purpose of existence is to kill?
Johnny’s men try to fend for themselves. It’s useless. I can’t see Johnny. Either he ran away like a rat again or – I hope – he’s dead.
Soon after, the shooting stops. The grunts of pain don’t. Injured guards lie all over the room, slumping against chairs or