Page 22 of Wild Devil
“Good,” she says weakly before taking my free hand. “Good.”
We leave the church and approach a van driven by an unfamiliar man in black. There, I realize the first of many precautions my father is willing to take to keep me in line.
And to keep Daze and his cohorts from even dreaming of a rescue.
My guard goes up even before Catherine uses her narrow body to block my view while she lifts something from the seat.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking, as she turns to me while holding the item in question—a long, thin strip of black fabric. “He insisted. I’m so sorry. I don’t even know how to—” She bites off her words and tries again. “I’m so sorry. I won’t tie it too tight. I promise.”
As Catherine ties the blindfold around the back of my head, blocking out the gray daylight, I’m too exhausted to feel dread or even hopelessness. If I’ve learned nothing during the past few weeks, it’s that there’s no use in crying over spilled milk or dwelling on the seemingly inevitable future. All I can do is focus on the present and be ready for the next chance to seize my freedom.
Speaking of… I remember the razor blade still in my palm. As Catherine ushers me inside, I have no choice. I can’t tuck it into my skirt while blinded, and I certainly can’t risk her seeing it out in the open. As I sense her enter behind me, I do the only thing I can.
I pretend to cough and shove it into my mouth, narrowly avoiding slicing my tongue. Powered by adrenaline, I manage to sit while concealing the weapon against the inside of my cheek.
Unfortunately, Catherine, not one for chatty conversation normally, seems determined to fill the silence now. “I’m sure you’ll love the dress,” she chirps once she’s seated beside me, and the van starts moving beneath me. “It’s lace and has a beautiful design, and I know the veil will be very special to you. It was your mother’s,” she says hesitantly. “I badgered Michael until he let me take it out of storage. I know she would have wanted you to wear it, even if he insisted that it be dyed?—”
“How do you know what she would have wanted?” Even with the razor precariously pressed against my inner cheek, I can’t help the vitriol that spills out of me—as a harsh snarl, I barely recognize. Burning hot tears spill from my eyes, wetting the fabric obscuring my vision. I’m clenching my jaw, recklessly ignoring the sharpened strip of metal pressed against tender, sensitive flesh. “You didn’t know her. You didn’t know the first damn thing about her!”
“You’re right,” Catherine says softly after a few moments of silence. “I’m sorry for mentioning it. I had no right. You deserve to be angry with me. I really am so sorry.”
Instead of responding, I turn my attention to the drive. Whenever we are, it’s out of the city. I can feel the road switch from smooth asphalt to the rough, rugged country roads that line the outskirts of the city limits. As far as I know, there’s nothing out this way for miles. Certainly not a church.
Just where is my father planning to hold this wedding? At least one of his aims is clear—he wants it somewhere that Daze could never find.
To calm my nerves, I count down the passing minutes. Then, the hours. One. Two…
Any hope I had of a last-minute Daze rescue vanishes. Without allies, I’m alone.
While it feels like a cold comfort, I can’t deny that there is nothing more reassuring than having a weapon on me. When I swallow, the telltale scrape reminds me of the danger I’m in and what’s really at stake. Colton seemed to be envisioning a future far different than the one my father had in store. Sooner or later, they are in for a collision, and I need to make sure that I am far, far away when their fragile alliance finally crumbles.
Suddenly, Catherine shifts beside me, alluding to a change in the monotony. “Finally,” she mutters. “We’re almost there. It won’t be very long now.”
There is a pause, as if the property we’re entering is blocked by some kind of gate or path, requiring the driver to stop. I swear I can hear old, metal hinges creaking as I strain my ears. There aren’t many places near Westpoint City that have such an approach. But where? Abruptly, the van lurches forward again, and all my focus goes to staying upright in my seat.
Beneath us, the road becomes coarse and riddled with what must be rocks that jostle me and Catherine from side to side. I can barely keep my balance. As the van suddenly pitches to the right, I’m thrown directly into Catherine.
As my cheek bounces off her shoulder, my stomach sinks through the floor. Dear God, no. Fiery pain lances through my jaw, and warm, hot liquid floods my mouth in a seemingly never-ending stream. Don’t panic, I tell myself. Just breathe. Swallow. Don’t panic.
“I hate this drive,” Catherine exclaims, oblivious to my injury. “I can’t wait until I can show you inside. I’m sure you’ll love it, and even if it isn’t the wedding you envisioned, I’ve worked hard to make it as beautiful as possible. You’ll see.”
All I can do is nod as my cheek sears, on fire. I can feel part of the razor still embedded in the skin. Damn it. There is no other choice but for me to manually free it. As blood threatens to dribble down my chin, I panic and press my hand to my mouth in a pathetic bid to buy more time.
“Are you okay?” Catherine asks, sounding closer. Her voice shakes, but I can’t tell if her unease is due to nerves or shock.
“No,” I say thickly. “I think I bit my tongue.” Speaking at all is excruciating, and I can only pray that I don’t somehow swallow the razor entirely before I can free it.
Though, in a sick, morbid twist of irony, that would certainly end my ordeal and thwart my father’s plans in one fell swoop.
Daze wouldn’t approve, though. Thinking of him must change my entire demeanor, because Catherine exclaims in alarm.
“Oh no! Let’s get you to a bathroom.” She takes my free hand and guides me forward, presumably from the van. I struggle to interpret my surroundings as my feet contact what feels like a gravel-strewn path. The air here is cool, devoid of any sounds that serve as hallmarks of Westpoint City. Chirping birds sing to each other, and lonely wind rustles what sounds like swaying trees. Despite the flood of information, I still have no idea where we are as I’m hastened up a set of rickety steps that squeal with every movement, but I can tell the second we enter yet another enclosed space. A house, maybe? The air itself changes, becoming thick and suffocating. Under the blindfold, sweat slicks my forehead, weighing down my matted hair.
“It’s this way,” Catherine explains while hurriedly guiding me along what seems like winding corridors. After pulling me to a stop, she gently unties my blindfold. As I blink to make sense of my surroundings, her constricted expression comes into focus first. “Oh dear.”
Her horrified gasp adds a new concern to my rapidly worsening bleeding—though I could hemorrhage to death for all I care. Above all, I can’t let her see the razor.
“Open your mouth,” she says, turning to a porcelain sink in what I quickly realize is a spacious, if old-fashioned, bathroom. “Oh dear. I hope you didn’t bite too deeply?—”