Page 50 of Vapor

“The wedding?” I can’t believe he still thinks I’m going to marry Broussard. Although, I guess I haven’t told him I have no intention of ever walking down the aisle with that despicable man.“You can’t lock me up like this. I’m not a child!”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorts dismissively, fury etched deep into the lines of his face.“Sneaking out, consorting with… bikers!” The last word is spat out like venom, laden with all the disdain he can muster.

I step forward, my own rage giving me reckless courage.“You can’t do this! You don’t own me!”

“Actually, I do.” His eyes are steely, unyielding.“Until you’re married to Broussard, your actions reflect on this family. You’ll do well to remember that.”

The threat in his voice is palpable, wrapping around me like the muggy New Orleans air, thick and suffocating. My chest tightens, breath coming faster now. For a moment, I wonder if he sees me at all or just the image he’s crafted, a perfect daughter to be traded for power.

“Is this how it’s going to be? Am I just a pawn to you?”

“Enough!” His hand cuts through the air like a blade.“You will do as you’re told. That’s final.”

“But—”

“Final, Blue!” His shout echoes off the walls as he storms toward the door.“These men are yournewsecurity detail.”

He yanks the door open to reveal two towering figures whose very presence seems to suck the air out of the house. My father steps aside, allowing the monstrous duo to stalk forward into the light. Their faces look like they’ve been chiseled from stone, their hearts from ice.

“Meet Brick and Rocco,” he announces, as if introducing colleagues at a business meeting rather than jailers at my personal prison.

I can’t help but recoil slightly, taking in their broad shoulders and thick arms that are clearly capable of crushing dissent as easily as they would a throat. Their eyes, dark and unreadable, fix on me with an intensity that feels like a physical force, pinning me in place.

“This is a joke, right?” The words tumble out, tinged with a desperate laugh that doesn’t quite mask the horror creeping up my spine.“You can’t be serious.”

My father’s lips twist into a semblance of a smile, devoid of warmth.“Oh, I’m dead serious. They’re here for your protection.”

“My protection?” My voice climbs with incredulity.“Or my captivity?”

“Semantics,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. His eyes, emerald-green mirrors of mine, show nothing but cold resolve.“They’ll accompany you everywhere until your wedding to Broussard.”

“Everywhere?” The word hangs heavy between us, a leaden reminder of the chains he’s wrapping around my life.“You’re making me a prisoner in my own home.”

“My home. My rules.” He steps closer.“You will marry Broussard, or you will deeply regret it.”

“What are you going to do?” My challenge is a bold front to mask the quivering fear in my heart.“What’s left after you’ve stripped away my freedom?”

His gaze hardens, a silent storm brewing behind those calculating eyes.“Don’t test me, daughter. You won’t like the consequences.”

“Is that a threat?” I spit back, defiance surging within me, refusing to be cowed by his intimidation tactics.

“Consider it a promise. Your cooperation is non-negotiable.”

“I’m not going to let—”

He slaps me so hard across the face I’m stunned into silence. Heat rushes to my cheek where his hand made contact, a stark, throbbing reminder of the line he’s just crossed. My father, the man who’s controlled every aspect of my life with an iron fist, has never resorted to violence.

Until now.

I touch my face, fingers trembling. Gazing up at him, I feel like a child for the first time in years. Disbelief keeps me mute. Even at my most defiant, he’s never dared to strike me before.

“Blue, you listen, and you listen carefully,” he seethes, looming over me, his voice so cold it could freeze the humid in the air.“Your antics end here.”

I peer up at him through tear-stained eyes, my mind racing. If he’s willing to hit me, what else is he capable of? Is my life now something to be bartered with or, worse, discarded if I step out of line?

“Get out,” I manage to whisper.“Get out of my room.”

He doesn’t move at first, assessing me, calculating. Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and strides out, the two mountains of men—my new shadows—following obediently behind him. The door clicks shut, and I’m left in my silent prison.

---