“Then why…”
“I need to blend in. And you agreed to help.”
“I didn’t agree to…”
Our muttered argument is interrupted by the officiant, dressed in a sparkly Elvis outfit, of course, declaring loudly, “You may kiss your bride!”
Wait! What?!
I look around and realize we’re standing in a row with dozens of other couples. So many that I don’t see Leah and George. And everyone else is kissing.
I turn to Zak. “Did we just…”
But at that moment, his phone rings. He pulls it out and answers, “Yeah?” There’s a pause, then, “Good. I’m at…” He glances around, reading the sign on the wall, “Palace of Eternal Love. Pink building.”
He hangs up and looks at me.
“My men are here. We need to move.”
“What…”
I don’t get a chance to finish because freaking gunshots erupt! People scream, and the front windows shatter.
Zak grabs my hand. “Stay close.”
“What the fuck…”
“Move!”
He pulls me toward the back of the room. More gunshots explode around us. We’re ducking, running. I don’t think my heart has ever beaten so fast, but when I look up at the man who has me tucked into his side, shielding me from the violent mayhem around us, his face is stone-cold calm.
We see men flood through the front, wearing black suits with their guns drawn. It’s complete chaos.
I yell, “Leah!” searching around frantically.
“Nadia!” she calls back, tucked under George. Fuck, he might be one of the good ones after all.
But before we can exchange more than a panicked wave, Zak yanks me through the back door into an alley. A massive black SUV pulls up. He shoves me inside, climbing after me. The door slams, and we peel out. I’m pressed against the leather seat, heart pounding, ears ringing. Zak’s next to me, staring ahead, jaw clenched.
I glare at him. “What. The. Fuck.”
He glances my way. “You’re safe now.”
“Safe? Someone just shot up a wedding venue!”
“No one got hurt. They were looking for me. Dipshits from a rival family.”
“R… rival family? What are you, the freaking mafia?”
He smirks. “Bratva.”
“What?!” I shriek. Because, yeah, I’ve seen ‘Arrow’. All eight seasons, one-hundred-fifty-plus episodes (Stephen Amell, duh!). I know what the freaking Bratva is! I stare at him, shocked.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“Calm down, babe.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! And don’t call me, babe!”
