Page 311 of Hide and Keep

Using my phone’s GPS, I speed off toward the church Ever’s wedding is taking place in…

I glance at the time on the dashboard.

Shit!

Now. She’s getting married right fucking now.

My foot almost breaks through the floorboard as I lay on the gas, swerving around cars and fountains and people as fast as I can, but Jesus Christ, this place is small. And old. The roads are brick. Uneven brick that makes the Mini Cooper feel like a damn lawnmower with all the vibration.

I don’t give a fuck. I have a wedding to crash.

Passing the church and the twenty cars packed in front of it like sardines, I’m forced to park four blocks down.

I’m bursting through the double doors less than a minute later, booming, “I object!”

“Sir, the time for objections has passed,” the priest tries to inform me, but I ignore him because Ever,mywoman, comes into view. In a white, lacy gown, a veil over her face, and a long train spread out behind her, she’s the epitome of the perfect bride. Even spotting a frown under that veil, she manages to do that thing again—steal my breath right out of my lungs.

I point at her and say, “You promised.” She said she’d never leave me to run into another man’s arms. That motherfucker Mallory has both of his around her right now, cradling her like she’s some precious ornament. And to him, she probably would be. An ornament. Not precious. If she was, he wouldn’t have tried to stick his dick in her without her permission.

Fuck, I hate him.

Arthur stands to round on me coming up the aisle. “Mr. Brantley, you are—”

I don’t skip a fucking beat to give him a right hook. I hate him, too.

“That’s for slapping your daughter.”

That very daughter demands, “What are you doing here?”

I spin and tell her point-blank, “Taking you home.”

“You can’t just steal my bride,” Mallory says with a snooty scoff because he’s a snooty piece of shit.

“I’m not stealing anything. I’m just taking back what’s mine.”

Turning to face me fully, Ever says, “Crue.”

One of Mallory’s hands drops, but he keeps the other on her. At her hip, to be exact.

Ever hisses and bends away from him.

Motherfucker’s pinching her in the same spot Arthur does and he’s doing it right in front of me, right in front of everybody.

Oh. He’s fucking dead.

Climbing the steps to the altar two at a time, I wrap my arms around him from the side, then throw him over my back in a suplex. Suplexes are risky as shit because they can paralyze—or worse, kill—the person getting thrown to the ground on their head or neck. I’m hoping for worst-case scenario when I bring Mallory down as hard as I can.Die, fucker.

I pop back up on my feet without waiting to see if he did, and grab Ever’s hand. Immediately, she tries to pull it out of mine. There’s that funny girl of mine.

Ha-fucking-ha.

I snatch her hand again.

“Ever. Come on. We’re leaving. You’re not marrying this fucking loser.”

“Excuse me! I’ll have you know—”

I swing a glare around on Mallory’s dad, whatever the fuck his name is again. “Shut the fuck up or I’ll body-slam you, too, old man. You arranged a marriage for your rapist son with a woman that was already promised to someone else.”

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