In my dream, Ronald Wright had this crazy, dangerous look in his eyes, and I just wanted to run. But before I could even get up, he shoved me down on the bed, his grip like iron around my waist.
He pinned my hands above my head, and I couldn't move at all. Then came those rough, almost aggressive kisses. He even ripped my wedding dress—it was just shreds at that point.
Then he bit down hard on my neck, eyes wild. “Isabella Carter, I'd have to be insane to watch you marry someone else. You’re mine. If you die, you're dying in my arms!”
I jerked awake, heart pounding, and shot upright. Turned out I was in a hospital bed—probably carried here by my brothers.
George and Richard Harrison both swung their heads toward me, concern written all over their faces. “Bad dream?”
I wipe
