HE CHOSE HER

MIA

When I wake up, the first thing I notice is the cold.

It seeps through the clothes against my skin and settles somewhere deep inside my bones, and for several seconds I don't understand why I'm lying on a floor instead of my bed. My cheek is pressed against rough concrete, my hands are numb behind my back, and there is a dull ache spreading through my head that makes it difficult to remember the last thing I saw.

I blink slowly, staring at a gray wall a few feet in front of me.

The room smells like damp stone, gasoline, and something metallic—blood.

The realization makes my stomach turn.

I try to move, and pain shoots through my shoulder. My wrists are tied tightly enough that the rope has already rubbed the skin raw, and when I shift my legs, I discover those are restrained too. Panic rises into my throat, hot and immediate, but I force myself to breathe through it because panic won't tell me where I am, and it certainly won't get me out.

The last thing I remember is the SUV.

I swallow hard and look around again, trying to make sense of the room. There is one steel door, one small window near the ceiling, and a single light hanging overhead that flickers every few seconds.

Then I hear hush breathing. Not mine.

Someone is in the corner.

I turn my head so quickly that pain explodes behind my eyes.

"Maren?" I call, shock flashing through my face. How's she here? What happened?

She lifts her face. For one second, neither of us speaks.

Her dark hair is tangled around her face, there is blood dried beside her eyebrow, and her wrists are bound just like mine. She looks as confused as I feel.

"I don't know how I got here," she whispers.

Neither do I.

I stare at her, trying to understand what this means.

She wasn't in the SUV with me.

At least, I don't remember seeing her.

Just then a sound comes from somewhere beyond the door.

A man's voice. Low. Furious. "Stay away from my wife."

My heart stops in recognition. Saint.

I know that voice. Even through a wall, even beneath all the fear clawing through me, I know him.

"Saint!" I shout.

The door opens immediately.

Two men step inside, both dressed in black, faces partially covered. One of them grabs Maren by the arm and pulls her upright. The other comes toward me.

I jerk away instinctively. "Don't touch me."

The man laughs. Then he grabs my arm anyway.

Before he can pull me farther, the door behind him opens again.

Saint is dragged inside.

Everything inside me breaks open at once.

He's bruised, blood streaking down the side of his face, his shirt torn near the shoulder, but he's standing. His wrists are tied in front of him, and there are two men holding him.

His eyes find mine immediately.

"I'm okay," I tell him quickly, even though I'm not. "I'm okay."

His eyes travel over me, checking my face, my arms, my legs, as if he's trying to count every injury.

Then he looks at Maren. "Maren."

She nods.

The man standing beside Saint shoves him forward.

"Three prisoners. One president."

Saint's jaw tightens. "What do you want?"

The man smiles. "That's a better approach."

He walks toward a table in the corner and picks up a small black drive.

Saint's expression changes.

I don't understand what it means, but he does.

"You have something that belongs to us Prez," the man says. "Everything your club has been hiding."

Saint says nothing.

The man turns toward me and his smile widens.

"Give us what we want, the ledger, where is it?"

"No." Saint blurted. “You won't find that “

The punch comes so quickly that I barely see it and Saint stumbles.

"Saint!"

He catches himself and looks at me. "I'm fine."

He isn't. I can see it.

The blood running from his mouth. The way his breathing has changed.

The interrogation continues, but Saint gives them nothing. They threaten the club, the territory, they threaten me.

Every time they come near me, Saint fights against whoever is holding him.

Every time they move toward Maren, something in him becomes even more violent.

Eventually after minutes, he gives them what they want. I don't understand the details, but I understand the relief that moves through the room.

It's over.

That's what I think. We're going home.

Saint looks at me, and for one foolish second I almost smile.

Then the leader looks between me and Maren.

"There's one more problem." He drops.

Saint's face hardens.

The man gestures toward us. "We only brought two women because we knew you would never leave either one behind."

My stomach drops.

Saint pulls against the restraints. "Let them both go."

"We can't."

"You have what you wanted."

"Yes."The man smiles. "But now we want to play the president a little and we want something else."

The room becomes very quiet, he points at me. "Her."

Then he points at Maren. "Or her."

I stare at Saint.

No.

I refuse to understand what is happening right now.

Saint looks at me. Then Maren. Then back at me.

He's Saint. My husband.

The man who has spent three years making me wonder whether he would ever truly choose me.

And now, when it matters, I believe he will.

The leader shakes his head. "There is no other way, that's as far as our grace can accommodate dear President."

He gestures toward the steel door. "One of them walks out with you alive."

Saint's breathing grows heavier."And the other?"

The man looks directly at me. "The one you don't choose dies here."

The words don't feel real. I look at Maren.

She is crying silently now, tears slipping down her cheeks as she watches Saint.

I turn back to Saint. His eyes meet mine. And I try to tell him everything without saying it.

Our baby.

I almost tell him. I almost tell him that there is a child inside me.

But the words won't come.

Because suddenly I am terrified that if I tell him, he'll choose me because of the baby.

And I don't want that. I want him to choose me because I'm me. Because I'm his wife. Maybe I'm selfish at this point.

Because somewhere in these three years, I’ve craved being more than a promise he made to my father.

The leader steps closer. "Choose. You have 20 seconds to do so"

Saint closes his eyes for one second. When they open again, they find Maren.

And I know. I know before he says it.

My heart knows before my mind can protect it yet I still hope.

"Her..Maren."

Her name leaves his mouth quietly. Something inside me goes completely still.

The men move toward Maren to cut the restraints on her.

Saint fights them. "Don't hurt her."

Of course. Even now. He reaches for her.

They release his hands long enough for him to pull her against his chest, Maren collapses into him and Saint catches her without hesitation.

He holds her like she's precious. Like she's the person he's terrified of losing.

I watch them. I watch my husband carry another woman.

And for the first time in three years, I understand exactly what our marriage has been.

A favor repaid with a ring.

Saint looks over his shoulder at me one last time.

His eyes are filled with something that looks painfully close to pity

"Mia, I'm sorry."

I stare at him. The answer I have waited three years to hear finally arrive.

The door opens and Saint carries Maren through it without sparing another glance at me.

The door slams shut behind Saint.

For several seconds, I can still hear his footsteps fading down the corridor, and I stare at the empty doorway as though staring hard enough might somehow bring him back.

For three years, I have imagined what it would feel like if he ever chose me.

I never imagined I would find out what it felt like to watch him choose his first love, he still loved her, I could never compete with that.

The man standing across the room looks at me for a long moment before a slow smile spreads across his face.

"Well," he says, almost amused. "Your husband chose the other woman."

I don't answer.

He walks closer, his boots scraping against the concrete as pulled out the gun and raised it at me.

"So tell me, sweetheart..." His eyes travel over my bound hands, then settle on my face. "How badly do you want to live?"

My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it.

I lift my chin