Page 7 of Rapunzel Is Losing It

Five and a half years.

He was happy here.

They were going to kill him.

He was supposed to be with me.

“We’re leaving,” Beck said.

“I’m not going anywhere without Cordelia,” Del gasped, “and I’m not going anywhere with you.” I squeezed her hand behind my back for reassurance. I mumbled something about going to the hospital with Beck, but it was lost in their back and forth.

“Fuck, Julian, at least get a first aid kit before she loses any more blood.”

“Jesus fuck. Always so dramatic. She’ll live. You don’t need her to be fully functioning to marry her,” Julian grunted. She didn’t have to befully functioning? What kind of fucked-up did you have to be to think like that?

I barely heard the three muffledpops. The bullets thumping into Julian’s body were louder than the shots actually being fired. His body jerked around them, but he silently fell to the ground, no scream, not so much as a grunt. And in the blink of an eye the man who wanted to kill me at the dinner table turned into a dead body on my kitchen floor.

“He sure likes the sound of his own voice.”

I liked the sound ofthatvoice. Every muscle in my body relaxed. Each taut nerve loosened.

“Victor,” I gasped.

“See? This is what happens when you start messing with my family.” He stepped through the open backdoor and tossed his gun with the silencer onto the side table before walking towards us. He gave Beck and Del a quick once over as he worked the ties around my wrists. One thumb calmly circled the inside of my palm. “Delilah, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” she breathed.

“Let’s get you out of here, Blondie,” Beck said and tried to grab a hold of her.

She slapped him with more strength than I would have expected from her in this condition. “I told you to stop touching me.”

“Cordelia?” Victor asked the second my wrists came free.

“I’m fine,” I reassured him, eyes on Del’s trembling frame.

“I’ll take Del,” Victor said and bent down to let Del wrap her arms around him for support, “clean up your mess, Beckett.”

CHAPTER THREE

“I’m notsure about this anymore,” I sighed.

This didn’t look romantic.

The swirly font on the box of pastel macarons was mocking me. I’d meant for it to look Pinterest-worthy, laid out on the bed with some flowers and a handwritten note. Instead, the box was dwarfed by the expanse of the mattress and washed out by the bouquet of colorful dahlias.

I wasn’t good at gifts.

I’d never gotten a chance to get good at gifts.

My father had been too rich to need anything, and not sentimental enough to appreciate the things he couldn’t buy himself. So, now I stared at what was meant to be an engagement present, and the plushie on Delilah’s bed stared right back, judging me for my choices.

I glanced over my shoulder at Victor, who still held the massive box the flowers had been delivered in. The white and silver packaging was a stark contrast to his ink-covered hands.

He quietly raised his brows as if to ask:What’s wrong?

I grimaced at my pathetic attempt at gift-giving. I should have just gotten them something useful. A washing machine maybe. Then again, we had a housekeeper, so Del and I weren’t even doing our own laundry. Even once she’d move in with Beck, I doubted he handled his own laundry. Plus, he probably had a state-of-the-art washing machine anyway…

Maybe a new laptop, so Del could stop using that thing that made more noise than a jet engine. Then again, that wasn’t really a couple’s gift.

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