CHAPTER 2 - Three Days to Hell

EVA

"You have got to be f**king kidding me."

Sienna slammed a shot glass down in front of me at the Barroom, her platinum hair catching the dim lights. I had driven straight here after the nightmare at my father's house, and she took one look at my face before pulling out the good whiskey.

"Arranged marriage. To Albert Morrison. The Ghost." I threw back the shot, welcoming the burn. "My father literally sold me to the enemy."

"Jesus, Eva." Sienna poured another. "When?"

"Three days. I have three days of freedom left."

"Can you run?"

"They are watching me. Ruby said they would hunt me down." I laughed, but it came out broken. "And apparently if I break the arrangement, it means war. People die. So my choices are: become the Ghost's property or have blood on my hands."

"There has to be another way—"

The bar door slammed open.

Albert Morrison stood in the entrance, and every conversation in the room died. He was bigger than I remembered from an hour ago, broader, taking up too much space. Those gray eyes scanned the bar until they locked on me.

My heart kicked against my ribs.

"We need to talk," he said, moving toward me.

"No, we really do not." I turned back to my drink.

He slid onto the stool next to me, and I could feel the heat coming off him, smell leather and motor oil and something darker. Dangerous.

"Eva—"

"Miss Cross," I corrected. "You have not earned the right to use my first name."

His jaw tightened. "Miss Cross, then. We should discuss living arrangements."

"Living arrangements?" I spun to face him. "Is that what we are calling this? I thought the proper term was captivity."

"You are being dramatic."

"Dramatic?" My voice rose. "I just found out I am being forced to marry a man I do not know, leave my job, give up my life, and you think I am being dramatic?"

Sienna appeared with a beer, set it in front of Albert. "She has every right to be pissed, Ghost."

He ignored her, those cold eyes fixed on me. "The house is ready. It is on neutral ground between territories. You can bring whatever you want from your father's place."

"How generous. I get to choose which photos to put in my prison cell."

"It is not a prison."

"Then I can leave whenever I want?"

Silence.

"That is what I thought." I stood, grabbed my jacket. "This conversation is over."

His hand shot out, caught my wrist. Not hard, but firm. Possessive.

"Let go of me," I said quietly.

"Sit down. We are not finished."

"I said let go." I yanked my arm, but he held on.

Sienna's hand disappeared under the bar. "Ghost, you have three seconds to release her before I introduce you to my baseball bat."

He looked at Sienna, then back at me. Something flickered in those gray eyes—frustration, maybe anger. He released my wrist.

"You cannot run from this, Eva."

"Watch me."

I was halfway to the door when his voice cut through the noise.

"Your father is dying."

I froze.

"Cancer," Albert continued, and everyone in the bar was listening now. "Pancreatic. He has six months if he is lucky."

The floor tilted under my feet. I turned slowly. "You are lying."

"Knox told me tonight. Marcus has been hiding it for months." He stood, moved closer. "This marriage is not about territory or money. He is trying to protect you before he is gone."

"Protect me by selling me to you?" My voice cracked.

"By making sure you have someone who cannot be touched when he is not here anymore. Someone powerful enough that nobody will dare come after you."

I wanted to scream. Wanted to hit something. Wanted to cry.

Instead, I walked back to the bar and sat down.

Sienna poured another shot without being asked.

"How long have you known?" I asked Albert.

"An hour. Knox told me right after the meeting."

"And you agreed to this. To marry someone you do not even know."

"We do not get choices in this world, Eva. You know that."

"I was supposed to have a choice." I looked at him, really looked at him. Hard features, old scars, tattoos crawling up his neck. A killer wearing a leather cut. "I was going to leave. Start over somewhere clean."

"There is nowhere clean. Not for people like us."

"I am not like you."

His eyes went colder. "You are Marcus Cross's daughter. You have been part of this world since birth whether you want to admit it or not."

"I refuse to accept that."

"Then you are delusional." He leaned against the bar, and I hated how comfortable he looked, how in control. "We get married in three days. You move into the house. We play our parts for both clubs. After a year, if you still want out, we can discuss it."

"Discuss it? You mean you will consider letting me go like I am some kind of pet?"

"I mean after a year, if the alliance holds, there might be options."

"Might be." I laughed bitterly. "You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, Ghost."

"This is not romance. This is survival."

"My survival or yours?"

Before he could answer, the front window exploded.

Glass rained down as something crashed through—a brick wrapped in paper. The bar erupted into chaos, people diving for cover, hands reaching for weapons.

Albert moved fast, putting himself between me and the window. His body was a wall, one arm pushing me behind him.

"Everyone down!" Sienna shouted.

Through the broken window, I heard motorcycles roaring away. Multiple bikes. Not Reapers, not Vipers.

Someone else.

Albert pulled the paper off the brick, his face going dark as he read.

"What does it say?" I demanded.

He handed it to me.

Block letters, red ink that looked disturbingly like blood:

THE MARRIAGE CHANGES NOTHING. BLACKRIDGE BELONGS TO US NOW. THE CARTELS ARE COMING.

My hands shook. "What does that mean?"

Albert was already on his phone. "Knox. We have got a problem. Someone just hit the Barroom... No, not Reapers. Third party. Cartel, maybe."

I stared at the message, my mind racing. The marriage was supposed to bring peace. Unite the clubs against outside threats.

But what if someone did not want peace?

What if someone wanted us weak and divided?

Albert finished his call, turned to me. "I am taking you home. Now."

"I can drive myself—"

"Like hell. If the cartels are moving into Blackridge, you are a target. Both clubs' symbol wrapped into one person." He grabbed my arm again, gentler this time. "We leave now, Eva."

For once, I did not argue.

Because the truth was sinking in like ice water:

My father was dying. I was being forced into marriage with a killer. And now someone was threatening war before the ink on our wedding certificate was even dry.

Three days until my wedding.

And someone wanted to make sure I did not make it down the aisle alive.