05: Married To The Devil

ALEXA

"You signed what?" Sofia gawked at me like I'd just confessed to selling my soul to Satan. Which, in a way, I had. Just with nice cheekbones and jawline.

"Alexa. Be serious."

"I'm serious. Dead serious." I laughed bitterly, wincing when the tightness in my ribs reminded me that I wasn't made of steel. "Gun to my head, Sof. Literally. And you should have seen the contract. It might as well have been written in blood."

"You married a psycho."

I plopped onto the couch, rubbing my temples. "Technically, I signed a contract. The marriage part is today. Assuming I don't throw myself into traffic before then."

"You won't. You're too stubborn to die dramatically."

I shot her a smirk. "Thanks."

Sofia was pacing, barefoot and pissed. Her auburn curls were a frizzed halo from stress and the humidity, and I loved her for it. She was the only person who hadn't tried to profit off my pain. The only one who'd never looked at me like I was breakable glass. The only one who would waste no time in getting involved with my business if she was worried that something was wrong. Just like the one time she nearly stabbed Vincent when he was alive.

"I can't believe you went through all of that in such a short time," she muttered, her voice trembling. "Do you know how insane this whole thing sounds? He saved you, forced you to sign a contract, and now he wants a wedding with cake and vows and, what, monogrammed body bags?"

"He's not going to kill me," I murmured.

Sofia narrowed her eyes at me. "And how do you know that?"

"Because he wants to own me first. Same old song, different psychopath."

She looked like she wanted to scream or slap me. Maybe both. But before she could speak again, the front door splintered open. I shot to my feet, and Sofia grabbed a kitchen knife with the grace of a trained killer, and we both stood there, frozen.

Black suits. Masks. Guns.

Well, shit.

"GET DOWN!" Sofia screamed, lunging at the first man through the door.

The knife connected with flesh, and someone howled, but there were too many of them. Five? Six? My vision blurred as hands grabbed me from behind and slammed me against the wall. Sofia was kicking and snarling, her voice feral. One of them hit her across the face with the butt of his rifle.

"No!" I screamed, my vision going red. "Don't touch her!"

"Shut up," one of them growled, zipping a black hood over my head.

The last thing I heard was Sofia groaning as they dragged her too.

When the hood came off, it wasn't better.

There was light. It was binding and intense. I smelled him before I saw him.

Killian.

He was sitting in a chair at the far end of the room. His elbows were on his knees and his hands were clasped together.

His expression was blank, but I could see the storm stirring in the depths of those blue eyes.

He said nothing at first, he just stared.

Sofia groaned beside me, her face bloodied but still burning with fury. "You bastard," she hissed at the guards, trying to twist free.

Killian raised a single hand, and with a flick of his gloved fingers, everyone in the room froze like chess pieces ordered to halt.

"Out," he said flatly.

The room emptied instantly.

Then he stood and slowly walked towards me, his polished shoes echoing against the floor.

He looked like he was dressed for a wedding. Smug bastard.

"You ran," he said in a low voice. "You really thought I'd let you go?"

"I had to," I snapped, my lip bleeding. "You pointed a gun at me. Forgive me if that made me question your romantic intentions."

He stopped in front of me, close enough for me to smell the cedar in his cologne. His jaw twitched.

His gaze dragged over me slowly. "You signed my contract, Tesora. That means you're mine."

Sofia, bless her rebellious heart, spat blood on the floor. "If you lay a finger on her—"

"She ran," Killian interrupted, turning his gaze on Sofia for the first time. "You got caught in her mess. But I'm feeling generous today."

He snapped his fingers again, and the door opened. "Take her to the guest wing. Clean her up. Feed her. She's off limits."

Sofia blinked. "Wait—what?"

"You're welcome," he said without looking at her again.

I felt sick.

"Why...why are you doing this?" I asked.

Killian leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from my face.

"Because I'm not the monster you think I am."

I stared at him. "And what are you, then?"

His lips brushed my ear. "I'm the one who decides how your story ends."

Two of his men entered, dragging Sofia, who was spitting out strings of curses.

"Let her go!" I shrieked, and Killian grabbed me. Not roughly. Just firmly.

"She's safe," he murmured. "She'll stay in the east wing. There will be guards. But it's just... a precaution. Until I'm sure she won't try to burn my house down."

"Why should I believe you?"

He leaned in, his voice icy. "Because if I wanted her dead, you'd already be identifying a body."

I flinched, my heart plummeting into my stomach.

....

I'd always imagined that if I was to get married again, my wedding dress would be lace. Maybe a little backless.

Instead, I stood at the altar in a sleek white gown that fit like a second skin and constricted my airflow like a fucking funeral shroud.

Matching gloves and silk, check.

Veil? Not my idea.

Killian stood across from me in a black suit so immaculate it was probably the first time he was wearing it. He hadn't smiled once. He just stared like he was bored, as if marrying me was just another item on his agenda, somewhere between "laundering money" and "acquiring weapons".

My pulse pounded in my ears. I kept thinking, This can't be real. But it was. This wasn't some nightmare I could claw my way out of.

I was marrying the devil. And I'd signed the dotted line.

What about the freedom I thought I would get after my husband's death? It was gone with a poof. I must be cursed. There was no other reason why I would be marrying another psychopath.

The priest droned on and our vows were exchanged like threats. My "I do" sounded like a dare.

And then, the priest said,

"You may now kiss the bride."

Killian turned to me, finally smiling. And just as he leaned in to kiss me on the corner of my lips, I bit him, hard.

He drew back, his lips stained red, then he laughed as if I'd amused the devil himself.

"Entertaining as always, Tesora," he said, and before I could react, he'd scooped me into his arms. Then he carried me down the aisle as cameras flashed and witnesses clapped politely like good little puppets.

The limo smelled like roses and expensive air freshener.

I sat stiffly, my hands clenched tight on my lap. The wedding dress caused my skin to itch, worsening my discomfort.

Killian unbuttoned his jacket and took it off. Then he folded the sleeves of his shirt, exposing his veiny, tattooed arms and the expensive wristwatch sitting pretty on his left wrist. He leaned back in his seat, clearly ignoring the fact that he had just turned my life into a televised hostage situation. Jerk.

"Why?" I spat. "Why are you doing this? Is it for power? For fun? What is this game to you?"

He didn't answer right away.

Instead, he reached into the side pocket of his suit and pulled out...

My phone.

The one I'd lost. Or so I thought I had.

"You dropped this," he said, casually.

I snatched it from his hand, my eyes wide. The screen was dark, but it still worked.

"You're insane," I muttered.

Killian leaned closer. "You're a piece, Alexa. A pawn or a queen. It depends on the move and the player. Me? I'm just in charge of setting the board on fire ."

I turned to look at him, my heart pounding hard. "You don't make any sense."

"I don't need to," he said, just as my phone rang.

It was a call from a number I couldn't recognize.

Killian's eyes lit up with a feral glimmer. "Answer it."

I didn't move.

"Put it on speaker," he added softly.

My hands trembled.

I wasn't sure what was going on, but if this could give me the answer I wanted, I would answer the call. So I did, putting it on speaker.

"Did you really think you escaped me, kitten?" A familiar raspy voice said.

My blood ran cold.

That voice.

My lungs stopped working. My heart must've gone into cardiac arrest, it was beating painfully fast.

"...Vincent?" I whispered.

A soft laugh echoed from the phone.

"Miss me?"

Killian leaned back in his seat, relaxed as ever.

A lump formed in my throat.

I had buried my ex-husband.

I had seen his body.

Vincent Storm was dead.

And yet...

He was alive.

And somehow?

Killian had known all along.