20: EVER THE HURRY
898 Words
PHEEONA.
I struggled hard, kicking, twisting, trying to throw my weight in every direction at once, but whoever had me didn't miss a single step.
They had strong arms and an even steadier grip. The kind of grip that told me whoever this was had done this before, had carried a struggling body without breaking stride more than once in their life.
I was carried a good distance, my struggling completely useless against the size and strength of whoever held me, before I was shoved roughly into the back of what felt like a car. The seat dipped beneath me, leather cool against my bare arms.
Someone grabbed me, righted me before I tipped sideways onto the floor of it.
Another person climbed in right behind, the door slamming shut with a finality that made my stomach lurch.
I realized, body still thrumming with panic, breath coming in short, useless bursts beneath the fabric still covering my face, that I was sandwiched between two or more bodies, pressed in on every side, no room to move, no room to think clearly.
Then the bag was pulled off.
I blinked hard against the sudden light, vision adjusting fast, my heart slamming against my ribs hard enough that I could feel it in my throat. The interior came into focus slowly—dark leather, dim overhead lighting, the low hum of an engine already moving.
It was a town car. Open plan seating in the back, built wide enough for a group, and right now that group consisted of five faces, all of them turned toward me, all of them wearing the same look.
Triumph.
I looked around, fear crawling slow and cold up my spine.
This wasn't something I'd ever thought would happen to me. Not once in my entire life. In Lunaris, I'd been sheltered. Protected. Guarded at every single turn by people who loved me enough to keep the worst of the world far, far away from my doorstep. But now I was married to three men who apparently had more enemies than I had fingers to count them on, and apparently that came with consequences I hadn't fully understood until exactly this moment.
"Who are you?" I asked softly, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.
One of the men, his accent thick and clipped, snapped immediately, "Do not speak."
Another, accent lighter, barely noticeable, cut in just as fast. "Let her, if she wants. Her words will have no consequence."
I swallowed hard and tried again anyway, because sitting in silence felt like surrendering something I wasn't ready to give up yet. "Who are you?"
Nobody answered.
My eyes moved across each of their faces slowly, methodically, searching for anything I could recognize, any detail that might tell me exactly where I'd ended up or who had decided tonight, of all nights, was the night to do this. One of the men, quiet up until now, smirked at me, slow and deliberate, before reaching up to scratch idly at the side of his nose.
That was when I saw it.
An imprint stamped into the back of his hand. Faded with age, but unmistakable once I actually looked.
Shadowcrest.
The words left my mouth before I could stop myself, before I even fully processed I was saying them out loud. "You're from Shadowcrest."
Nobody confirmed it. Nobody denied it either. The silence that followed felt like answer enough.
"Why are you doing this?" I asked, voice steadier now even as everything inside me continued to shake. "You're taking me as a prisoner on my wedding day."
The man with the lighter accent finally spoke again, almost amused. "We're not taking you prisoner."
"That's a lie." My voice cracked despite every effort to keep it level, to keep it sounding like I had any control over this situation at all. "You want to use me as leverage."
"Not at all," he said simply. "We want to use you for nothing other than to send a message."
The question hung heavy in the air between us, thick enough to taste, but I didn't ask it out loud. I didn't have to.
The man with the thick accent answered it anyway, voice flat, almost bored, like he was discussing something as mundane as the weather. "After tonight, your husbands will know that our surrender has been rescinded."
I sat there, completely lost, staring at each of their faces, hearing the calm certainty in their voices, fully aware of exactly how much danger that confession put every single one of them in. If Crowen, Nashyn, or Vizellan ever found out who had done this, who had dared to take their wife on the night of their own wedding, these men would be dead before the sun even thought about rising. Every single one of them.
But that thought only lasted a second before something else hit me. Harder. Colder. Settling deep into my chest like a stone dropped straight into still water, sinking, sinking, refusing to stop.
They said they weren't taking me as a prisoner.
They said they only wanted to use me to send a message.
Oh no.
The realization crawled through me slow and absolute, freezing every single nerve ending in its path, stealing the air right out of my lungs.
They weren't planning to hold me anywhere.
They were planning to kill me.
- Writer
