***
The cold and indifferent Second in Command felt his breath halt for a moment. The unshed tears in Maura's eyes as she looked up at him glittered in the light from the entryway, making her almost supernaturally beautiful.Like the treacherous witch she was named after,he thought, hardening his expression as he not-quite yanked her out of the car when she refused to take his hand.
A doorman ushered them quickly into a private elevator, and James breathed in deep, forcing himself to slow down and slide an arm around her waist. The doors opened to a blooming rooftop garden, a wild profusion of flowers, and a sweeping view of the city around them. The rooftop was silent, aside from their steps down the tiled walkway. He knew by the mutinous set to her mouth that she’d rather drown in the ornamental pond they were passing before asking what was happening.
One of his bodyguards pulled aside a gate, almost hidden in a wall of English Ivy. James ushered Maura into an enclosed, elegant little space and there, she stumbled to a halt. Ms. Kingston was there, narrow-eyed with irritation, standing beside another senior official from Jaguar Holdings. There was a polished wood podium, flanked by two huge displays of flowers – orchids, roses, big, fluffy peonies, and more. A woman stepped up to them discreetly and tried to hand Maura a white and green bouquet of tulips and lilies.
Stepping back from her, Maura looked from her to James. “What the hell- what is going on?”
If he was honest – and James always was, at least with himself – he’d been looking forward to the shock and horror her pretty face was about to display.
“We’re getting married, Pet. I’m saving your life.”
Chapter 15: I Can't Have You Causing Trouble Here
In which James is kind. Sort of.
Maura tossed and turned that night, staring at the wedding ring sitting on her bedside table, glimmering in the moonlight. “This can’t be real,” she whispered, “this cannot be happening.”
***
James had tightened his arm around her waist after his horrifying announcement and pulled her swiftly into a corner. “Listen to me carefully,” his tone was it’s most cold and precise. “You should be dead.” His lips thinned into near invisibility. Taking a breath, he continued. “The only way to avoid killing you is to make you family.” He said the f-word in a way that sounded like he was making the mocking air quotes with two fingers. “This is a long-held custom in the Corporation. This allows you to live. It also allows me to be responsible for you, to determine your punishment for your betrayal.”
“I don’t-“ Maura tried to pull away from him, still clumsy from that injection he’d given her and he yanked her back.
“What you want is immaterial. Because, darling, you are quite aware that it’s not just your life you’re saving now, is it?” He savored the look of horrified comprehension on her lovely face. “Now. You are going to be my docile little bride, take your flowers and say, ‘I do.’ You will do as you’re told – exactly as you’re told – and your family lives.”
James could tell she was struggling with her shock, lips trying to shape something coherent to say. “Just nod your head like a good girl and say, ‘Yes, Sir.’ Do it now, Pet, Kingston is getting restless.”
From there, she was his perfect little puppet. A bit pale and her, “I do,” was barely loud enough to be heard by the officiant marrying them – a deputy minister of some federal branch in the U.S. government. The nervous man had the authority to legally name them husband and wife and just enough prominence to add a bit of authenticity to their performance. Raising her limp hand, James delicately slipped her wedding ring on, pushing past the knuckle to settle it. It was the perfect fit, of course.
There were pictures. He leaned in close to her to whisper a gentle reminder to smile and also, the location of her sister Meghan’s care center. Taking a look at the images later, James had to admit her expression could almost be construed as radiant.
Kingston issued a quick and emotionless toast, “To your happiness.” Champagne was drunk and a stunned Maura was shoved back into the car with a bodyguard. Watching the Mercedes turn the corner, James straightened his cuffs and checked his watch. He was meeting their Algerian clients at a club nearby. Fassell was the only one entertaining them, and it wouldn’t do to leave them in his inexpert care for long.
***
Her Irish Catholic roots made Maura certain of one thing at least. A false marriage to that murderous son of a bitch? She was going to hell. Straight to hell. A cynical chuckle escaped her that turned into a full-fledged laugh. She was going to hell anyway, for so many excellent and well-established reasons. What was one more? It took several more hours of fury, terror, and disbelief, but the combination of Maura’s shock and residual exhaustion from being drugged finally put her to sleep.
It had been years since she had this nightmare, but here she was again in their squalid living room, sixteen years old. One of the twins was teasing the other about something and Maura was trying to make dinner while drilling Meghan on history.
"History's so booring!" Meghan complained, "I wan' at do computer magic with you!"
"Flunkin' out o' school at 11 ain' magical a 'tal, Miss Meghan." Maura laughed, kissing her sister on top of the head. "You're brighter than me, there's the truth of it. So back to it, William the Conqueror invaded-"
The pounding on the door cut the study session short, their landlord yelling for the rent. Maura gave him everything she had from her two jobs, but it wasn't enough. "Yer Ma's over at Jim's Pub," he growled, counting her money, "go get the rest from her before the slag drinks it up." Maura's lips thinned, but she kissed the twins and told Meghan to finish dinner.
Racing down the street, she tried to steel herself for entering the latest hovel her mother used for meeting her "gentlemen," as Ma insisted on calling them, giggling coyly. Big Jim stepped in front of her, grinning lewdly. "Ah, lass! You're finally ready to go ta' work!"
"No sir," Maura moved around his pinching fingers. "Where's my Ma?" Digging her mother out from the filthy sheets and dragging her drunk parent home took another half hour. Climbing the stairs, Maura froze. The door was open - the door was never open, she taught the girls that first thing when she was gone you lock the door- the sound of the twins’ terrified sobbing made her drop her mother and slam through the door. Fuckin' Da' the bastard found them again! Damned bastard, he- Then Maura saw her Meghan, her dear girl but the blood coming from Meghan's sweet ear she-
"Oh, no, not Meghan not-"
***
James stood in the door, watching Maura thrash in the bed, moaning. Her forehead was beaded with sweat, her mouth twisted in anguish. "No, no!" Her voice was so small, like a child's, "Oh no, not my Meghan, no! Wake up,A leanbh, doan’, doan’you lay there, sweet girl, no..." She began crying softly in her sleep.
James suddenly found himself at her bedside, his hand out. Brushing the inky curls off her wet cheeks, he whispered, "Ssssh, now. Hush. It's only a dream. Only a dream, darling."
