Marrying My Father's Enemy

Chapter 4

Sloane's POV

I sat on the edge of the bed, my eyes locked on the door.

Anxiety churned in my stomach like acid, and exhaustion was starting to blur my vision at the edges.

I sank into a bottomless well of fear and regret — what right did I have to treat a stranger's pity as a lifeline? I didn't even know her name. She could have already gone straight to Killian O'Connor. She worked for the O'Connor family. Of course she'd tell him.

I'd already promised him the list in exchange for my family's safety — a clean, clear-cut deal. A man like that wouldn't tolerate being crossed. I was gambling with my own life, and I knew it.

I thought of those "Boxes" lining the corridor. He'd stripped a prominent, powerful prosecutor of everything and thought nothing of it. What was I, next to that? My fate would be worse than anything I'd seen in those cells. And it wouldn't stop with me — he'd take it out on my mother and Mia too.

A shudder ran through my entire body.

I shook my head hard, trying to throw the thought off. My eyes drifted to the window, sealed shut behind steel plating, blind to the night outside. The storm had finally stopped. All that remained was the tick of the clock, one second at a time, grinding against my nerves.

There was no going back now.

God, have mercy on me.

I couldn't figure out where we'd slipped up. Five years since we'd escaped that hell — we'd changed hiding places more times than I could count before finally settling in that small town. There, Mia could go to school like a normal child. My mother could sleep through the night without waking up screaming. I could live like any other girl my age, even study the subject I actually loved.

And today, all of it had come apart.

I pressed my face into my hands, a crushing helplessness swallowing me whole.

Ding—

The clock struck three.

My head snapped up.

The door cracked open, and the maid slipped inside.

She came.

The string that had been wound tight in my chest all night finally snapped loose. I was off the bed before I knew it, throwing my arms around hers. "Thank you... thank you so much."

She caught my hand, a silent warning to stay quiet, and pressed her ear to the door, listening. Then she pulled a maid's uniform from beneath her skirt. "Put this on. Quickly. Come with me."

I took the clothes from her. "I still don't know your name."

"Cora. Hurry — the surveillance room's changing shifts right now. We'll lose our window."

I fumbled the uniform on and followed her out into the hallway. It was pitch dark, but she moved through it fast and sure, like she could walk it blind.

Cora led me through the kitchen and pried open the iron grate over the drainage channel in the back. A wave of rancid, decades-old grease hit me full in the face, and my throat convulsed.

"We're getting out through this?" I choked out, fighting down the urge to gag.

"Just push through it," she murmured. "This line runs straight to the shoreline. It's the one blind spot in their patrol route."

She climbed in first. I didn't let myself hesitate — I held my breath and followed close behind.

The stench inside was even thicker, the passage so narrow I could barely turn my shoulders. Filthy water rose past my knees. My palms pressed into a slick film of grease coating the walls; I didn't let myself think too hard about what it actually was.

"How much farther?" I gasped, my knees raw, my arms burning with fatigue.

"Almost there. The sea's just ahead."

I stayed glued to her. My knees were scraped raw, my arms shook with exhaustion — but next to my family's lives, none of it mattered.

Finally, a thread of salt air cut through the stench, and somewhere close, I heard waves breaking against rock. I looked up and saw it — a round opening ahead, moonlight pooling at the mouth of it.

"We're here," Cora said.

I picked up my pace. She climbed out first, then turned and reached a hand back down for me.

I grabbed it, half my body already out of the tunnel, and drew in a greedy breath of sea air.

"Ugh—!"

Cora let out a short, strangled sound. A thick rope had dropped from somewhere above and cinched around her throat. Her eyes went wide, her hands clawing at the rope, and then a pulley creaked and she was hauled straight up off the ground, legs kicking wildly at empty air.

My mind went blank. My body moved on its own — I lunged forward, trying to catch her legs, trying to somehow get her free of the rope.

Two hands seized me from behind, closing around my throat, and shoved my face into the sand. Grit filled my mouth, bitter and salt-sour.

"Don. We've got her."

Got her.

They'd been waiting here the entire time. The realization hit like a shard of ice — every moment of this had been a scene we'd only thought we'd written ourselves.

I wanted to bury my face in the sand and disappear. Instead, brute force hauled me upright. The world spun as I was slung over someone's shoulder like a sack and carried back toward the estate.

Through the blur, I saw Cora cut down from the rope, her feet dragged limp across the sand.

...

Back inside the estate, Killian sat with his legs crossed on the sofa, dozens of men in black standing around him like a wall. He looked up at me, and there was nothing readable in those dark eyes.

"You that fond of my staff's uniform?"

"Let Cora go. It was me who asked her." I already knew what was coming. All I wanted was to say this much for the woman who'd helped me.

"You're not in a position to bargain anymore."

He rose, crossed to me, and drew his pistol. The cold barrel traced a line up my cheek, lifting a strand of hair off my face.

"Sloane. You broke our agreement. And you turned one of my own people against me."

"That's on me. Just let her go — please."

The barrel slid down from my cheek, coming to rest against my lips. "Take off your clothes."

"...What?" I stared at him, certain I'd misheard.

He looked at me the way a man looks at merchandise.

"Strip. And I'll let her live."

The maid crawled toward me across the floor, arms wrapping around my legs, her face a mess of tears and mucus.

"Save me, Miss Sloane, please save me—" Cora's voice was wrecked from the rope, her fingers digging into me like claws. "I only did this to help you!"

I understood then. I looked up at the wall of men standing silent around us, disciplined, eyes fixed forward. He wanted me to strip in front of all of them. And then what? What waited for me after that?

"Please," Cora gurgled.

It's just clothes. I repeated it to myself, over and over. It's just clothes. It's a fair trade for her life.

I closed my eyes. My fingers found the top button of my shirt, trembling too hard to work it free.

The first. The second. The third — my hands were shaking so badly I could barely coordinate them.

"Look at me," Killian said, and pressed the barrel harder against my mouth, hard enough to grind against my teeth.

I opened my eyes. Tears streamed down without my permission.

Cora was still on the ground, still begging.

I held Killian's gaze and kept going. In moments, my shirt hung open, the maid's dress pooling at my feet. I wrapped my arms around myself, helpless, my voice barely a whisper. "You're humiliating me."

"My patience has limits." He didn't move the gun from my mouth — he moved it to Cora's head instead. Then I heard the safety click off.

"No—!" My hand jerked, tearing frantically at my bra clasp.

That was when—

BANG—

The gunshot cracked next to my ear. Something hot and wet splashed across my face and chest. I flinched violently, turning, dazed, to look at Cora.

There was a hole where the center of her forehead used to be. Blood, thick and mixed with something grayer, sprayed the floor behind her. Her body dropped straight down, boneless, like a puppet with its strings cut.

My mind went completely white.

The whole world went silent — nothing left but a ringing in my ears. I couldn't even feel the blood cooling on my own skin. I just stood there, hollowed out, as if my soul had lifted out of my body and was watching the whole thing float somewhere just above my head.

I don't know how long passed before that ringing sound cracked open into a scream — rage tearing through me like a breached dam, so violent it threatened to swallow me whole.

"You promised! You said it yourself, you promised!"

I threw myself at him, clawing, hitting, everything I had. Tears blinded me. The sound coming out of my throat didn't even sound like my own voice. "You said you'd let her go — you promised!"

I'd killed a man before. But this was the first time someone innocent had died because of me. Because of me. She'd only been trying to help.

He caught my wrist and shoved me backward, and I hit the sofa cushions hard. He leaned over me, pulled a phone from his pocket, and dropped it into my lap.

"Your tears are cheap." His voice was flat. "That's Cora's phone. Go on. See how innocent she really was."

My hands shook as I unlocked the screen. A transaction record filled it — a hundred thousand dollars.

I recognized the sending account instantly. It belonged to the Moretti family.

He shrugged off his jacket and draped it over me.

"You owe me your life."