no turning back

• nineteen •

gladys

He's lost his motherfucking mind.

I glared at the stunning bride swathed in white. This dress probably cost many years of wages as a dental assistant. These bowknot chunky heels probably cost the same as all my clothes' value combined.

The dress and shoes looked fucking killer. I looked . . . beautiful. And I hated it.

Why is he doing this to me?

"Radiant, even without a halo."

I turned automatically toward Elijah's throaty voice. His raven eyes appraised my appearance in long, appreciative strokes.

"Stop trying to be nice," I mumbled, averting my gaze.

The longer I looked at him, the less logic I seemed to have. Hence, why I avoided looking in his general direction whenever possible.

"I'm not trying to be," he said. His voice was too husky and low for me to endure. Stepping closer, he tugged lightly on the ends of my hanging tresses. "You just bring out the best in me."

I laughed coldly. "Really? Are we in the same dimension?"

Stop pressing your luck, whispered the voice of survival in my head.

The sarcasm and attitude were most certainly a survival response at this point, because I could not believe Elijah was blackmailing me into marrying him.

Why can't he just be normal for once?

I wished that we never met that day at the 7/11. I wished that he'd ever laid eyes on me, that he never felt any impulse toward me, that he had taken zero interest in me like every other male on the planet.

Was it not enough that he tried to kill me as a child? Was that not enough trauma and pain for one person?

But then, his warm, calloused palm rested on my shoulder. The tips of his fingers brushed my collarbone. Heat spread down my front, flushing out to the ends of my nipples and further down to the joint topping my thighs.

My eyes found his in the mirror, already on me, as usual. That searching gaze peered right into my soul.

"Come," he said. "We're going to be late."

"Late to our own wedding," I muttered. "Of course."

On our way down to the lobby, I stole a chaste glimpse of his sculpted body in the solid black tuxedo. The crimson color of his pocket square brought a sexy flare to his appearance that left my knees a bit wobbly. His sable hair was tousled back out of his face.

He was sex on two legs, the perfect combination of rugged sensuality and refined grace.

What am I thinking? This man fucking kidnapped me!

The SUV from last night was parked outside the lobby. I glanced at the reception desk, where a woman in uniform smiled at us.

"Have a good day, sir," she called out. "Best of luck!"

Did she just wink at him?

I nearly broke my ankle stomping so hard. Elijah beat me to the car and opened the backseat for me. I didn't bother covering my bottom as I climbed in, praying I flashed the world my panties just to piss him off.