Page 64 of A Forbidden Arrangement
Nausea claws at my throat, but I force it back. I can’t fall apart. If there’s any chance of getting out of here, I need to stay alert. I need to think.
Shapes sharpen through the blur. Stainless steel tables crowd the narrow space. Stacks of plates, trays, and cutlery line the counters. The smell of bleach burns my nose. It’s a prep room for the waitstaff.
For a second, hope flickers. Maybe someone could walk in. If I break free of the palm that seals my mouth and scream, maybe they’ll hear me. But the thought dies as the door cracks open.
A sliver of light slices across the floor, stretching wide before it vanishes. The door shuts again. Another click.
Elliot stands there, calm as ever. He takes his time before stepping closer.
“You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, Dahlia.” His tone is almost gentle as he pulls on leather gloves, one finger at a time.
My body trembles. I can’t look away. The calm in his voice is worse than shouting.
“I’ll give you credit. You hid well. That backwater town wasn’t easy to find.” His voice drips with mock admiration. “Did you know only two buses left at that hour? Guess that’s what you get for running at dawn. Still, it took months to track every stop. Who’d have thought they’d spot you walking down the street?”
He grips my jaw hard enough to bruise.
“But you’re full of surprises, aren’t you? Of all people, Xander Everette shows up to save you.”
His boot slams into my stomach. Air bursts against the hand covering my mouth in a strangled gasp. “I convinced him I wasn’t involved, but if he’d been one minute later, I’d be dead. You’d have preferred that, wouldn’t you?”
Another kick. White-hot pain bursts through my ribs.
“While you were safe behind his walls, did you think about me? About how I had to live, wondering if you’d hand him that photo? You’re so selfish, Dahlia. You only ever think about yourself.”
Tears sting my eyes before I can stop them.
“Don’t cry,” he says softly. “This is all your fault. If you’d just died in that alley like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened. Because of you, the Everette brothers are crawling all over me. What do you think they’d do if they found out I killed Calder to take his spot in the deal?”
He tilts his head, eyes glinting with mock curiosity, pretending to wait for an answer he knows I can’t give. The hand over my mouth presses harder, sealing in my breath.
“You don’t know?” he says lightly, as if we’re having a conversation. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you exactly what they’d do to me. Then maybe you’ll understand.”
I shake my head, soundless against the pressure of his palm. My throat aches with the words I can’t get out. He watches me struggle, amused by the effort. He likes this. Likes the control.
Metal flashes in the dim light as he draws a knife, spinning it between his fingers. His smile stretches too wide.
“You’re prettier than I expected. You’d sell for a good price. Shame to waste it. Oh well. You’ll have to die. Normally, I go for a clean shot between the eyes, but your husband?” His grin twists. “He likes to take his time. You have no idea who you married.”
I try to speak, to tell him he’s wrong, but all that escapes is a choked sound swallowed by the hand covering my mouth. He leans close, breath hot against my cheek.
“But you will, Dahlia.”
The blade grazes my skin, a sharp sting.
Something shifts. It doesn’t break me the way he wants. It feeds something else.
Frustration curdles into rage, years of swallowed words and quiet submission pressing against me like restraints. I can almost feel them, thick straps holding me in place, cutting into my skin each time I try to move. I think of every time I smiledwhen things were unfair. Every time I stayed small to survive. Every time I said thank you when someone handed me nothing.
But Xander’s been cutting through those bindings, one by one. Every word of encouragement, every time he looked at me like I mattered, another strap gave way. He’s been teaching me to stop shrinking. To stop apologizing for taking up space.
He’s been teaching me to burn.
And the graze of a knife is all it takes to ignite.
I bite down hard, teeth sinking into flesh, mouth filling with iron. The grip around me jerks and falters. I twist free and slam my head into Elliot’s face. The crack is sharp and satisfying. I’m done being quiet. I claw and kick, nails tearing skin, arms flailing even as I’m lifted off the ground again. I keep fighting. I keep screaming. Because I’ll never stop again.
The door bursts open, crashing against the wall. I hit the floor hard as the men scatter like startled rats, trapped in the very room they locked me in.
