“You asked me to be your wife.”
"Show us, Rowan," Salister says, "show us all you've got."
twenty-six
Dove
Rage and panic twist together in my gut, dancing with each other to the tune of my misery.
I knew this day would come, when the EFW would come and get him after the deal they struck, but it wasn’t supposed to be until after the wedding. Untilafterwe were back home, pretending all was fine, and that the rest of our life together was about to start. Neither Cam nor I expected them coming to retrieve him sooner. The only thing I pray for now is that he’s still alive. That’s all I want.
Cam and I ride together in one of the Secret Service cars, the driver using the bus lane to get ahead. Cole and Maddox are close behind—they didn’t know about our involvement, but they were quick to figure it out. We didn’t want them to know, thinking they’d tell Rowan and betray us. But in reality, it turns out they didn’t know the true lengths of his plan either. We’ve all been lied to so he could sacrifice himself for all of us. For the country. For…me.
“How much longer?” I grip the seat in front of me, my wedding dress getting in my way of moving freely. I take the veil frommy hair and let it fall to our feet. Rowan’s phone’s GPS location flashes on the screen positioned on the car’s dashboard—we’ve been tracking him with the help of the Secret Service for a few days now, listening to his phone conversations, and full-on following every move he made. He had no idea we were on to him. It has stopped moving, so we know exactly where he is. It looks so far away that I worry we might not make it in time.
In time to get him back alive,a petrified voice says in my mind.
“Come on, come on, Henry,” Cam urges the driver.
The minutes stretch into an agonizing eternity, where all I do is bite the inside tissue of my lip and fume through my flared nostrils as we finally stop a few feet away from a large warehouse, hidden in the cemetery next to it.
Cam’s hand comes on top of mine, squeezing my fingers. “Take this,” she says, slipping the grip of a gun beneath them. “Just like I showed you.”
I look into her eyes, placing my other hand on top of hers and on the gun.
“Like you showed me,” I nod.
Then Henry, the driver, gets out and bombs the warehouse a few feet in front of us—real explosives outside and nothing but smoke bombs into the building, since we didn’t want Rowan to be harmed. It’s a diversion, and the signal we need to get out of the car. My hands are shaking, and I’m in over my head, but I start moving. One step in front of the other.
“Camelia!” the president’s voice shouts angrily behind us. Cam didn’t give him one chance to stop her from coming here with me, from being the one who gets to kill her father by putting a bullet in his head. Car doors get slammed, and the president keeps shouting, “Turn.The fuck. Around!”
“Dove,” she says to me, grabbing my shoulders. “If this were a movie… now would be the part where we run.”
And we fuckingrun.
Toward the warehouse, toward danger, because it’s the only way. And I’d do anything to save the bastard who just broke my heart.
A few men stumble into the street, coughing through the thick smoke. They pull their guns out, and so do we, but bullets are already flying from behind us—the Secret Service are doing their part. My brother passes us, slamming his shoulder into the metal door of the building to see inside.
“Stay close,” he tells me. I nod frantically, following him.
I peer through the thick smoke, struggling to make out the figures moving around. Pure adrenaline courses through my veins as gunfire echoes from all around me, the deafening sound reverberating against the walls.
A silhouette emerges from the chaos, the red robe wrapped loosely around his otherwise normal attire telling enough. He charges toward us, wielding a knife. Without hesitation, Cole points the gun at him and shoots him in the head.
My gun feels heavy in my hand, and another dam of anxiety breaks free in my gut. I’ve never used one before. Cam showed me how through a video call, and I’ve practically got zero practice. Still, I point it forward and walk by him, maneuvering it as best I can.
“Get him out of here. Get him out!” a voice cries out.
More people emerge from the smoke, running toward us.
And then… I see him.
Rowan lies on the cold, hard floor in a puddle of blood. His clothes are wet and sticking to his body as his hands are restrained behind his back. And there’s something… something wrapped around his neck. It looks so tight. So painful. I bring a hand to my mouth, fingers shaking uncontrollably.
“R-Rowan. Rowan!” I call out.
He’s not moving. Not immediately.
