Page 54 of Bride By Initiation

I don't say anything.

"You weren't careful," John accuses.

I continue to stay silent.

He takes a pocket knife out of his jeans and opens it. He steps before me and holds it in front of my face. "You do the honors."

"The honors of what?" I question, even though I know deep down what he wants me to do.

John orders, "If you didn't bring him, and you don't want him here, then get rid of him. Slit his throat."

My insides quiver. I don't look at Brax.

As beaten as my body is, I square my shoulders and lift my chin, standing as tall as possible. I step closer to John. In a loud voice, I declare, "No. I vouch for this man."

A gasp fills the crowd.

John sarcastically chuckles, "You vouch for him?"

"Yeah. I vouch for him," I repeat.

Tense silence fills the air between us.

Byrne interjects in a stern but respectful voice, "He hit thirteen. He won the bid."

John snaps his head toward him. "He didn't follow directions."

"I did," I insist.

John jabs me in the chest. "You were careless."

"He still hit thirteen," Byrne states.

The crowd starts chanting "Thirteen! Thirteen! Thirteen!" so loudly, I don't know what to make of it.

Another alarm sounds. This time, it rings for five full seconds.

Another hush falls over the crowd, and a different section parts.

A tall woman with curled long, dark hair and a ruby-encrusted red mask over her eyes and nose steps forward. She wears a matching strapless cocktail dress and stilettos. She confidently struts toward us and glances up when she stops in front of me. She reaches for my chin and holds it authoritatively so I'm forced to look at her.

I stare silently into her hazel eyes, unsure who she is but understanding she has power. And I'm not a God-fearing man, but I pray she'll give me some mercy. There's no way I'm killing Brax, but I'm unsure how we'll get out of here alive if I don't.

She tilts her head, studying me. Then she says with an Italian accent, "You're the spitting image of him."

My heart beats faster. It's surreal to be in a world where so many people seem to know my father. It makes me feel like I barely know him. I didn't used to think that, but I'm starting to question everything I did know.

I ask, "You knew him?"

She shakes her head, replying, "No. It was before our time. But my parents did, and I've seen photos."

"Who are your parents?" I question.

Her lips curve slightly. "That's not a question for you to ask."

"What question should I ask?" I retort.

Another moment passes before she replies, "They said you have your father's humor. I guess they were right."

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