Chapter 3: Because you are beautiful

Sweat forms on my forehead as I stare at the picture in my hand. Isaac rides a woman reverse cowgirl. I can’t believe it. My own Isaac? My own fiancé? Tears blind my eyes instantly. I can’t see the woman’s face; whoever took the picture focused only on Isaac.

Tears threaten to spill. It’s not real. Maybe it’s just a photoshopped image, I tell myself. Whoever sent this just wants to destroy our happy relationship.

Is our relationship really happy? I wonder.

No, it isn’t something I can describe as happiness. But it’s normal. We’re both very busy adults.

“What’s it, Cilla?” Kaila’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “What’s that?” She leans forward, stretching her neck to see. “Is it a love letter?” Her brows lift playfully.

“No,” I say curtly, squeezing the picture. My eyes dart around, searching for the men in white who brought the cake to the stage. They clearly aren’t Isaac’s. Isaac wouldn’t sabotage our relationship. So who could it be?

“Cilla? You don’t look right,” Avery says, concerned. “Did—”

Gunshots explode in the air, cutting her off. Everyone scatters. Avery jumps down from the stage. I can’t see where Kaila runs as I duck under the table holding the cake.

My hands tremble as I grab my phone from my bag and dial Isaac. It rings and rings. He doesn’t answer.

Gunfire continues. I peek from under the table and see two groups of armed men shooting. Like this is some kind of battlefield?

One man almost catches me. I duck my head and pray they don’t see me.

This is it. This is what happens when you defy the law in my family. My parents warned all of us—my siblings and me—never to go to clubs. One of the many strict rules they set for the Hayes girls.

I can already picture my mother’s face if she saw the mess I’m in.

Bullets fly everywhere. I’m about to pee on myself. But I try calling Isaac again. This time, he picks up on the second ring.

“Isaac, please come get me out of here,” I whisper, voice hushed and careful. I can’t risk being caught by these killers.

They might think I’m calling the cops. God, I’m too young to die. I haven’t even done half the things on my bucket list.

“Where are you, Druscilla?” he asks.

“What’s all that noise?”

“I’m in a club,” I whisper.

“What the hell are you doing in a club?” His tone is sharp, judgmental.

“Please come pick me up. This is not the time for judgment—” The phone nearly slips from my hand as a strong grip seizes me by the waist.

I shut my eyes tight. God, is this how I die? My mother will spit on my corpse if the police find me. And I probably won’t even see heaven—that’s what the pastor always says about rebellious youths.

My feet leave the ground as a body, solid as steel, lifts me into his arms. My heart somersaults when I see him.

Two eyes that don’t match—one icy blue, one burning amber. His face is smooth as jade, jawline sharp and perfect.

Jet-black hair frames his face, yet a scar on his brow gives him a dangerously wild edge.

Is the devil this handsome?

I remember our Sunday school teacher saying the devil isn’t always ugly. I never believed her—until now.

“Stay down,” he commands, low and steady.

I obey instantly. He leads me to a door behind the stage, using his body as a shield from the bullets.

I see Isaac opening a car door. When did he get here? I want to run to him, but Avery jumps into the backseat. Isaac climbs in immediately, and the car speeds away.

What the…? He didn’t even check on me?

I want to chase his car, scream my lungs out, but Handsome Devil tugs me into his car. Well, he only tugs—but I’m distracted and land on my butt.

“Sit tight,” he says, speeding into the night.

My heart races as he drives the opposite way from my destination.

Am I being kidnapped? Why is he taking me?

“Please let me go,” I cry, tears streaming.

“What?” He raises a brow, glancing at me through the mirror.

“Please… I’ll give you anything. Anything you want,” I plead. “I don’t want to die. I’m just an innocent girl.”

“I don’t get you,” he mutters, confused.

“I don’t know who offended you and your men… maybe it’s my family or—” My voice falters. “I just don’t want to die.”

The car stops on a dark road.

He turns to me. I cringe.

“First, those men weren’t my men. Second, I’m not kidnapping you.”

“What?” My mouth drops.

“I saw you hiding under the table. It was too dangerous. You could’ve been hit by a stray bullet. So I came to rescue you.”

Huh? My eyes nearly pop out. He saved me?

I slap my forehead. I’ve been crying like a fool when he hasn’t even hurt me.

Through the tinted window, the street is dark and quiet. No cars, just dim streetlights.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, mouth dry.

“My hotel room,” he says casually.

“What?” I gasp. “I can’t follow you to your hotel!”

“Then step out and find your way back,” he says calmly, as if we weren’t on a lonely highway in the middle of the night.

“No. I’ll follow you.” What am I saying? Follow a man who looks this dangerous? What if he kills me? What if he’s a serial killer lying about saving me?

I glance at a bottle of rum. Perfect.

The only thing that might dull my fear. If I’m drunk when he shoots or stabs me, at least I won’t feel the pain.

I reach for it.

“What are you doing?” He smirks, eyes on me and the road.

“I want to drink,” I grunt.

He chuckles. “I wouldn’t, if I were you. The alcohol content is too high for your tiny frame.”

“Better.” I gulp. The liquid burns, and I cough violently, shivering.

Handsome Devil frowns and snatches the bottle.

My eyelids feel heavy. “That’s right.” I smile, tipsy. “It’s working.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he mutters.

The car stops atop a hill.

He climbs out and opens the door.

I stumble out, legs wobbling like a newborn lamb.

“Let’s go in,” he says.

I try to follow, legs shaky.

“What’s wrong with your legs?” He looks amused.

“They’re… not cooperating,” I stammer.

“You’re drunk,” he grumbles.

“I’m not drunk. My feet are disobedient.”

He smirks. “That’s what drunk people say.”

“Let me help you, beautiful.” He scoops me into his arms, carrying me to the receptionist.

A key card exchanges hands, and we enter a cozy suite.

“Put me down,” I groan.

He sets me gently, standing still, eyes devouring me.

He cups my face, fingers brushing my hair. I shut my eyes, expecting a snap, but he tucks stray strands behind my ear. Warm hands on my neck.

“Beautiful hair,” he says.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He steps back, sits on the bed. I stay by the door, curious.

“Why are you staring at me?” His arrogant smile appears.

“Why did you save me?” I ask.

“Because you’re beautiful,” he says.

I frown. “So if I weren’t, you wouldn’t?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

A psycho?

“Stop standing there,” he says.

I stay silent. Throat burning, stomach tight.

“I don’t bite.” He rises, unbuttons his black shirt, tossing it aside.

Tattoos crawl across his skin—dragons, serpents, burning skulls. My eyes widen.

Who is this man? Mafia? Criminal?

Run! My instincts scream.

But I can’t. I’m rooted, captivated.

“Wanna touch?” he asks.

“Yes—No!” I stammer.

“Why the contradiction, sweetheart?” He smirks, a dimple flashing.

I avert my gaze.

My eyes catch something black, shiny, with a nozzle. I freeze.