Thayer pulls a heavy platinum band from his pocket. He extends his left hand toward me, palm up, silently demanding I give him mine.
Every muscle in my body screams in protest. The phobia of being touched, of being controlled and handled like an object, surges through my veins in a rush of pure adrenaline. I stare at his scarred, calloused palm. The very hands that shatter bones and pull triggers.
I can't move.
A muscle feathers in his sharp jaw. He doesn't look at my father. He doesn't look at the priest. With a smooth, terrifying display of speed and power, he reaches out and wraps his large fingers around my left wrist.
The shock of his skin against mine is a violent electrical current. I flinch—a hard, involuntary jerk backward. A soft gasp rips from my lips, my eyes widening in pure panic.
But his grip is iron. He doesn't let go. He doesn't even blink.
Instead, he yanks me forward, pulling me flush against his rock-hard chest. The impact knocks the remaining breath from my lungs. The entire cathedral gasps collectively at the aggressive display of dominance.
He slides the cold metal ring onto my trembling finger, claiming me. Branding me.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife," the priest stammers, clearly sweating. "You may kiss the bride."
I freeze. The blood drains entirely from my face. My heart stops.
Thayer’s free hand slides around my waist, his large palm splaying wide across the small of my back, fingers digging into the silk and bone of the corset. He holds me against him in a grip so tight it borders on pain, ensuring I cannot retreat.
He leans down, his face hovering mere inches from mine. His warm breath brushes against my cheek, sending a cascade of terrifying shivers over my skin. I squeeze my eyes shut, bracing for the unwanted violation of his mouth, my body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.
But his lips don't claim mine.
Instead, he turns his head slightly, his mouth grazing the shell of my ear.
"Flinch from me again, Sybil," he whispers, his velvet voice a lethal caress that makes my stomach hollow out in pure dread, "and I’ll show you exactly why you should be terrified of the dark."
Before I can process the threat, he presses his lips firmly against the corner of my mouth—a bruising, possessive mark that burns my skin. He pulls back, his gray eyes flashing with a dark, triumphant satisfaction.
He laces his fingers through mine, his grip unyielding, and turns us toward the congregation.
The deal is done.
He drags me down the aisle, my feet stumbling to keep up with his long, predatory strides. The cathedral doors burst open, revealing the bleak, gray Chicago sky. A fleet of black, armored SUVs waits idling at the curb.
His soldiers open the heavy door of the lead vehicle. Thayer doesn't wait for me to climb in. He practically lifts me by my waist and deposits me onto the dark leather seat, climbing in immediately after me.
The door slams shut, cutting off the noise of the city, plunging the interior of the car into a heavy, soundproof silence. The locks engage with a sharp, mechanicalclick.
I am in the cage. And the monster has the only key.
CHAPTER 2 WELCOME HOME POV: THAYER
The heavy metallicclunkof the SUV doors locking echoes through the soundproof cabin like a gunshot.
It is the sound of absolute finality. The sound of a six-year-long game of patience coming to its inevitable, bloody conclusion.
I settle back into the plush leather of the seat, the dark tint of the windows swallowing the bleak gray skyline of Chicago as the motorcade pulls away from the cathedral. The city outside is a chaotic blur of rain-slicked pavement and miserable lives, but inside this vehicle, the air is completely static. Heavy. Charged with a violent electrical current that centers entirely on the small, trembling creature beside me.
Sybil is pressed as far into the opposite door as the massive skirts of her wedding dress will allow. Her knees are locked together, her spine ramrod straight against the leather, refusing to let even a millimeter of her white silk touch my charcoal suit.
She thinks she is putting distance between us. She doesn't realize that in my world, there is no such thing as distance. There is only what I allow.
I don't look at her right away. I don't need to. My senses are already drowning in her. The confined space of the vehicle issaturated with the scent of her fear—a sharp, intoxicating blend of adrenaline, vanilla, and the frantic heat of a body preparing for a fight it cannot possibly win. I track her erratic pulse by the rapid, shallow hiss of her breaths. She is hyperventilating, trying desperately to suppress the sound by biting down on her lower lip.
I finally turn my head, allowing my gaze to sweep over my new bride.
