Page 2 of Ripped Veil (Ripped Bratva)

And the whole thing is drenched in blood.

Panic starts to pulse through my frozen body, but it hasn’t yet crested. I have to avoid hysteria.Hysteria is just another outlet for sin,Father Josiah always says.

I struggle to my feet. I fall a couple of times, still so dizzy that it feels like I’m on a ship at sea, but I keep trying until I’m upright.

The room spins again. I refuse to fall back to the ground, though I do think about how easy it would be to succumb to the disorientation and simply fade away.

Because the alternate is remembering how I got here.

And I’m not sure I want to do that.

I finger the folds of my tuille dress. Another realization hits me like a slap in the face. It’s not just any dress: it’s a wedding dress.

The confirmation is on my head.

Filmy material tickles the side of my neck and when I go to bat it away, I realize that it’s attached to my head.

A veil.I’m wearing a veil.

Oh God…If this is my wedding night, then something has definitely gone very, very wrong.

The panic surfaces again, but I push it down. Hysteria is the enemy. I cannot react. I should not react.

I drop the paperweight. It clunks to the floor. My fingers come away from it, sticky with dried blood clinging to me like a second skin. Without thinking, I brush my hand against the folds of my dress. Of course, it leaves a dark crimson smear.

Don’t panic, Elyssa. Don’t panic. Do not panic.

Shivering, I take a step forward and stop short when I notice something sticking out from around the edge of the bed.

A naked foot.

My shivering worsens. I hear the howl of a coyote from somewhere in the distance and my gaze flits instantly to the bedroom window. I can see only darkness beyond the glass, but I’ve grown up on this land. I don’t have to see the rolling acres of desert to know what’s out there.

My eyes slide from the window to the mirror propped against the adjacent wall. Beneath it—and beside it and lining every available surface in the room—are hundreds and hundreds of candles, all lit and flickering. The flames look almost blue in the moonlight.

That’s why it’s so hot in here. That’s why I’m sweating.

My reflection swims in the mirror. Confirmation of what I suspected when I first came to—it is a wedding dress I’m wearing, and it is a veil on my head. The smear of blood on the skirts does not belong to me.

Scariest of all is my face. It’s not even the expression, which is both terrified and confused. It’s the makeup caked onto my skin.

Rogue on my cheeks, a dark red lipstick on my lips, a pale foundation applied with a heavy hand. I look so white I’m nearly lifeless. A corpse made of clay.

I’ve never worn makeup once in my life. I wouldn’t even know where to start with it.

Which means… I’ve done none of this.

Automatically, my gaze falls back to the foot peeking out from behind the bed. I can’t ignore it anymore. I take a shaky step forward, my stomach roiling uncomfortably as the man takes shape before me.

He’s tall. He’s wearing dark pants and no shirt. He’s fallen facedown, but his head is turned to the side.

“No,” I whisper to the empty room. “No!”

The candles seem to flicker manically, spurred by the burgeoning panic that’s turning my chest into a block of ice.

I lurch forward, my hand reaching out to touch him, but I stop at the last moment. Instead, I fall to my knees next to him. I want to touch him, but fear has taken my hands captive.

“Father Josiah,” I whisper.

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