Page 109 of A Love Most Fatal

He lifts my hand in his, scarred and callused from years of the kind of work Nate could never do, the kind that would corrupt him.

“We could rule this city, more than we already do, can’t you imagine it?”

There’s something wriggling in my brain as I picture it, a worm of alarm that I can’t quite put my finger on.

I want to tell him no, but before I can, his lips are on mine, warm and insistent, but his kiss is a strange thing. It’s inviting, gentler than I expected, but as if he’s trying to convince me. Trying to show me, I suppose, this life that could be.

And as his hands wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him, I can almost picture it. He’s not a stranger, he’s practically family, the brother of my brother-in-law, marrying him wouldn’t be messy, it wouldn’t cause some uproar amongst families, it would be just fine. Expected.

His hand snakes into my hair as his tongue tries to press into my mouth, and I let him kiss me, let him remind me how no kiss has lit me up like Nate’s will and probably none ever will again.

But this one should, by all counts. He is sexy, he is powerful, he is a friend. I should feel something from this kiss, from the way his body presses against mine, but I feel nothing. Just the sliding of limbs, the wetness of his tongue in my mouth. No heat roiling in my stomach and busting through my fingertips, not the electric current I’ve grown accustomed to, the way my ears ring and every piece of skin feels like a live wire.

There’s none of that here.

As gently as I can, I push him away.

He searches my face like he’s looking for the yes in my eyes, but I can’t give it to him.

“I can’t, Cillian,” I say. “I won’t. Everything’s set, I’m marrying Maxim.”

Cillian doesn’t speak, barely acknowledges that he’s heard me, I straighten out my dress and turn the knob. I need to touch up my lipstick before I’m ready to stand tall before all our guests and pretend to be elated about my forthcoming nuptials.

I’m about to step out of the room when Cillian moves suddenly, a blur of motion to my right before there’s a sickening slam at the back of my head.

Everything goes completely black.

40

VANESSA

I wake with a gasp,like in a dream where you step off a ledge and feel like you’re falling, but upon landing, I’m not in my bed at all.

There’s a morning light that feels like it’s piercing into my eyes when I open them, it’s two minutes of rapidly blinking before I can look at my surroundings fully.

I’m in a metal chair, both of my arms and legs are tied down hard enough that I can barely wiggle them. My skull is pounding and there’s a sharp ache in my spine, which I equate to being knocked out in this chair for hours. I’m not wearing what I was at the engagement party, the green floor-length dress now replaced by a white linen one with intricate embroidery along the skirt and sleeves.

“What the fuck,” I mutter and turn my eyes to my surroundings. I’m in an office building that hasn’t been built out yet, all exposed ceilings and concrete floors.

I can’t see well out the windows from where I am, but we must be high in the city. It’s not one of our builds, an older one that’s been gutted if I had to guess by the condition of the exposed brick and cracked concrete. There’s a gutter around theperimeter of the floor where sheetrock used to be installed in front of the brick.

The floor is empty save for me and my chair, and if my eyesight isn’t betraying me, my dress and heels are in a dark green pile by the door. My skin crawls at the knowledge that someone changed my clothes while I was unconscious.

I’ve never been in trouble like this.

How did I get here? There was the engagement announcement—wait, no, I never got to see the announcement, did I? Did they give it without me?

Steps sound from down the hall and I wiggle in my bindings to no avail. Whoever tied me up knew what they were doing.

Cillian steps around the doorway wearing a clean suit, smart and fitted to him perfectly. I remember at once the kiss, the way he pleaded for me to marry him instead, the party—the party. What did they do without me there? Are they looking for me?

“You’re up,” he says, and I snarl at him, renewed strength in trying to break my bonds. They don’t budge, and my skin aches like a bruise beneath the rope. “Good morning.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I spit, followed by a slew of unbecoming curse words that he pretends he pays no mind to.

Cillian pulls up a chair from behind me and sets it down in front of mine. He sits on it backward, so his chest is against the bars of the seat back. He clicks his tongue.

“Darling, don’t fuss, you’ll bruise,” he says.

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