There’s another screech as Diego, my head of security, pulls up next to me, the engine running. I jump into the passenger’s side as he takes off, following Desmond’s car and the other SUVs following him. But several streets later, it’s clear that his men have taken us on a wild-goose-chase. The car Desmond was driving is nowhere in sight.
“They might have switched cars,” Diego says. “See if we can track his phone, figure out where they went.”
It takes thirty minutes longer than we have, thirty minutes longer than I’d ever have fucking liked, but we get a ping in a rough area of Boston, on the edge of the city. Zooming in, I can see they’re at a church.
St. Catherine’s. It’s been closed for years. But if that’s where we have a lead, that’s what we have to follow, even if we end up looking at nothing but a phone in an abandoned church left to throw us off the trail.
“Drive,” I tell Diego, my jaw clenched. “As fast as you can.”
—
The church is exactlywhat I expected—small and decrepit, its paint peeling, its windows cracked. Long abandoned. I approach on foot with Diego and two more men, the others fanning out to watch the streets around us and the exits, our main car parked two blocks away to avoid alerting Desmond or his men if they’re really there. If he knows we’re approaching, he might panic. He might hurt Annie.
I won't risk it just to go in guns blazing. We have to be careful about this. Smart. I won’t let him get away again.
The front door is unlocked, and I slip inside with Diego at my back, my gun drawn. The interior is dimly lit by candles, casting flickering shadows across the walls. The pews are covered in dust, and there are holes in the roof where the evening light filters through.
And there, at the altar, I see them.
My blood runs cold.
Annie is in a white dress one size too small even for her, the silk clinging to her body so tightly that I can see every outline of her frame, her nipples sharply pointed against the fabric from the icy cold in the air. Her hair is loose and tangled around her face, her eyes bright with fury—and Desmond has her by the arm. There's an old priest standing in front of them, his hands trembling as he reads from a worn prayer book.
The words register, piercing through the shock. He's marrying them.
Desmond is forcing Annie to marry him, right here, right now.
My vision goes red.
I don't announce my presence. I don't shout or threaten. I just move, fast and silent, closing the distance between me and the altar. I hear the low thud of Diego and my other two men’s footsteps as they fan out behind me.
The priest sees me first. His eyes go wide, and he stumbles over his words. Desmond notices the priest's reaction and turns, his grip tightening on Annie's arm.
"Elio." He doesn't sound surprised. If anything, he sounds pleased. "I thought you might show up. You or Ronan. Honestly, I wasn’t sure you had the balls.”
"Let her go." I keep my gun trained on him, my finger on the trigger. One wrong move and I'll put a bullet in his brain.
"I don't think so." Desmond pulls Annie closer, using her as a shield as he yanks her in front of him, a poisonous smile on his face. "We're in the middle of something important here. It would be rude to interrupt."
"This isn't a real marriage," I say, my voice low and dangerous. "You can't force her to marry you."
"Can't I?" Desmond looks at the priest. "Father, is this a legal marriage?"
The priest swallows hard, his face pale. "I—if the ceremony is completed and the,” he swallows again, as if there’s a lump in his throat, “paperwork signed and filed, yes. It will be legally binding."
Desmond chuckles. “I can’t imagine the courthouse looks too hard for forgeries.”
Fuck.
I look at Annie, trying to assess her condition. There's a bruise forming on her cheek, and her wrists are red, chafed as if she’s been tied up or cuffed. The rage burning through me intensifies, but I force myself to stay calm. I need to think clearly.
"Annie," I say softly. "Are you okay?"
She nods, but I can see she's trembling. "I'm okay,” she whispers, her eyes wet. She’s frightened, but she’s trying not to let on.
"This is touching, really," Desmond says. "But we don't have all night. Father, continue."
The priest looks at me helplessly, then back down at his book. "Do you, Desmond Connelly, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?"
