Mackenzie’s POV
Leaning over the table, I unlace my fingers from the soldier’s grasp, picking up his half filled glass of scotch and tipping it down my throat like a damn shot of tequila. The liquid burns slightly as it flows down my throat, but I don’t care, I need it, need something to help me digest the s.hit show I just been told.
Callan’s father is a piece of s.hit, a God damned b.astard, ass wipe piece of s.hit. Who the f.uck forces their kid into an arranged marriage? I thought that kind of crap was phased out centuries ago along with paying with cattle for a bride and you know . . slavery.
‘Is there any way out of this?’ I ask him finally, bringing my attention back to the brooding man across from me.
The bad boy shrugs, spinning the other, empty glass around on the polished wo
