He has had blood on his hands all his life.
She has never had any blood on hers.
Arranged to be married, will they grow to hate each other... or might there grow something else too.
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Blood is the only thing I see as I slowly come to. I'm seated in a chair, my wrists and ankles zip-tied to it. I'm gagged and can barely see who is in front of me through my tears.
Blake.
He's slowly bleeding out. His wrists shackled together and attached to a long chain at the ceiling. His head leaning against his arm. His breathing slowing by the minute.
I try to speak, try to say anything. But the gag won't let me. However, my struggle causes Blake to rise back to consciousness, too. His eyes flutter open and focus on me. He manages a small yet painful smile before he whispers, "Don't fight... We'll be okay."
The door opens moments later, and another round of hell starts.
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Nina's POV
Six months earlier.
"Goddammit!" I curse as the blade slips between my fingers and knicks me. My hands have been trembling all day and I have no idea why. Maybe it's the conversation my dad wants to have with me tonight, maybe it's the loads of assignments coming my way from college. I don't know.
I pick up the blade, twirl it between my fingers and throw it at the board. Bullseye. At least I can still throw accurately. I walk to the board and pull the knives out.
"Nina? You down here?" my brother calls out from the stairwell.
"Yes, I'm down here!" I shout back, pulling out the last dagger.
The door opens and Owen emerges, his sniper rifle hanging from his shoulder. "Thought I'd find you here."
"Why were you looking for me?" I ask as I walk over to him.
He grabs my still shaking hand and lifts it in front of my face. "This."
"How did you notice?" I pull my hand from his grip.
He crosses his arms over his chest. "I could see them trembling from the other side of the hallway this morning when you left dad's office." He looks me up and down. "What did he say?"
I lean my head against his chest. "He has something important to talk to me about later." Owen puts his hand on the back of my neck and lightly squeezes it, calming my nerves. "I'm scared of what he has to say."
"You'll be okay." He kisses me on the top of my head before stepping back. "Now it's time for you to show me how much you practiced."
I sigh and take the rifle from him. Owen puts up a new target paper and stands behind me. He puts his hands in his pockets in a nonchalant way, a few strands of his brown hair hanging in his face. I tie my own hair in a bun and stand in the position Owen had me repeat over fifty times last week to make sure I had it right. Now he hums in approval as I take the apparent correct position, aim at the target and fire off three rounds back to back.
