Page 42 of Jayson
“The only way you’re getting out of this basement, Keira,” I tell her, slow and deliberate, “is either in a body bag… or as my bride.”
For a second, she blinks. Then laughs. Sharp. Short. Almost disbelieving.
“You’re joking.”
I don’t move. I don’t smile. And my silence is all the confirmation she could possibly need.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her voice rising. “You’re actually fucking serious.”
She gets up too fast—wincing as her leg reminds her she’s still healing—but she pushes through it, fury turning her into something radiant and wild. Her hands go to her hips, her chest rising and falling fast. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes dark and vicious.
“I don’t even know which part is more fucked up,” she snaps. “That you said it. That you mean it. Or that you think that’s a choice.”
“You do have a choice.”
“No, Jayson,” she spits. “What you just gave me wasnota choice. It was a threat, neat and tidy. Don’t try to dress it up as something it’s not.” She circles me, a wounded predator, voice trembling with adrenaline. “Marry my kidnapper or die? Is that the fairy-tale you’re peddling today?”
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s the only way I can protect you.”
She narrows her eyes at me, teeth bared. “From who? From you?” Her voice cracks, but her rage doesn’t. Shemoves toward me—limping, but refusing to look weak. She shoves me, palms to my chest. “Maybe I don’t want your protection!” She rakes a hand through her hair, breathing hard, then turns away before I can see the tears forming in her eyes.
“If they decide you’re a liability,” I say, quieter, “they’ll erase you. I can’t overrule them forever.”
She stops pacing, braces a hand on the wall like the room is tilting. “Then find another way, Jayson. Make me disappear somewhere. I’ll leave, never show my face here again…”
“There is no other way,” I grind out. “Spousal privilege makes you untouchable. They will always respect that.”
“Oh, the sacredcode,” she mocks, limping toward me. “Thou shalt not kill women—unless it’s inconvenient. Then hand them off for a forced marriage—nice loophole.”
I flinch because she isn’t wrong. “I’m trying to keep you alive.”
“No—you’re trying to keep yourself from pulling the trigger,” she fires back. “Big difference.”
It’s painful for me to suck in air as I try to digest her words. “You think I want this? Marriage isn’t my first choice, either!”
Her face softens for half a second—pity or disbelief, I don’t know—and then steels herself again. “You’re a professional, Jayson. Find another way.”
“I don’t want you to end up like your father,” I whisper.
Pain flashes behind her fire, and her posture falters. She hates me, but she hates what he was more. That paradox lives in her eyes every time she looks at me.
She limps forward, her hands are fists now, pounding at my chest like she wants to break through it. I let her hit me again. And again.
“I should’ve let you kill me,” she whispers.
She goes for another strike—but her leg gives out. She stumbles forward, and I catch her without thinking.
My arms wrap around her waist, her breath hitching as her body collides with mine. Her fists are trapped between us. Her cheek brushes my collarbone. And for one heart-hammering second, we’re not enemies. We’re something else entirely.
Something hotter. Heavier. Dangerous in a different way.
Her breathing slows, but her fingers don’t move. They’re still clutching my shirt.
“You fight like you’ve got nothing left,” I murmur into the space between us. “But you do. You still have this choice.”
She pulls back just far enough to glare up at me, eyes swimming with hate and something too raw to name.
“I’d rather die than be your wife.”
