74

Allison
Other guests mill about.
I recognize some of them. Papa’s cousin Vladimir. A business partner that worked with Papa on one of his earliest dispensary projects. A congressman I’ve seen on TV a few times. Criminals, gangsters, worse. Gregory leads me through the crowd, smiling and nodding, greeting people that stop to say hello. I do my best to smile through it, but inwardly I’m screaming.
“Shouldn’t you be inside?” an older woman asks me. She’s wearing so much jewelry, I’m honestly shocked she can stand under the weight. “Dear, weren’t we told this was going to start soon?”
“Soon, Madame Pomfrey,” Gregory says soothingly and pulls me on.
We angle toward a bar. It’s set up on the back patio. Music’s playing, soft strings, background noise to the conversations. “Where are we going?” I hiss at him. “If Paul sees me-”
“You’re with me now.” Gregory glances down. “You’ll be fine.”
I let out a startled, disbelieving laugh. What the hell is with this guy? That sort of confidence is movie-theater bullshit. We’re at my wedding, I’m the only woman in a freaking wedding dress, and everyone’s staring. How does he expect to get me away when we’re in the middle of everything?
But I don’t have time to argue. He strides through the crowd like a shark parting a school of fish. We reach the bar but don’t stop. He continues around to the side, past the bartender, and around to the other side of the house.
More bushes are ahead.
“We’re going to start running,” he murmurs, staring straight ahead.
“I’m sorry, what now?”
“Running. You can run, right?”
“Of course I can freaking-” I catch myself. “I’m barefoot.”
“We’re going for my car. It’s parked at the far end, unfortunately. I didn’t plan on stealing the bride.”
“You’re not stealing me.”
“Feels like stealing you.” He pulls me into the bushes again. Just like the other side, it’s a narrow gap. I’m pressed close, breathing in his smell, just like my fantasy from a few minutes ago. I shiver, trying to get a hold of myself, but this guy’s driving me crazy.
“You’re helping me.” I try to push him away, but I might as well try to bite through steel. “That’s all.”
“Let’s pretend it’s something more.” He’s talking to me, but he’s looking around like he’s waiting for something. “It’s more fun if I’m the dashing commoner stealing a princess out from under the nose of the evil, dastardly king.”
“What in the hell-”
“You can be my princess, can’t you?” He glances down, and now I realize he’s teasing me. “My little Russian Bratva princess?”
“You prick,” I hiss. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Can’t help myself. You look beautiful with your cheeks all flushed like that.”
“I don’t-” I blink at him, head reeling. “What are you even talking about? If you keep being an asshole, we’re going to get caught.”
He suddenly bends down, pushing me back against the bush. I grunt in surprise, but he grabs onto my dress down around my knees, and rips it. I try pushing him back, but he ignores my protests, until the dress is ruined.
“Now you can run properly,” he says, moving back to study his handiwork. “If we get caught, you’re fucked, and I’ll have started a war.” He considers for a moment. “I may be starting a war either way.”
“Why are you doing this?” I sputter at him.
“You have nice legs.”
“I don’t-what the hell are you talking about? That’s why you’re helping me?”
“No. That’s just incidental. Only another few seconds.” He pull me tighter against him. I’m astonished by his sculpted chest, his spicy-sweet scent, the way my body tingles when I’m this close to him. “This is nice, isn’t it? Me and you, alone in nature?”
“You just ripped my dress to shreds and we’re crammed between two freaking bushes. This isn’t nature and there’s nothing nice about it. Also, I don’t even know you, but I’m pretty sure you’re a crazy person.”
A crazy person that smells fantastic and happens to be absurdly gorgeous.
A crazy person with a sculpted body and the power of a demi-god.
“Still, I like the smell of the greenery, and you do have some rather fetching assets.”
“Fetching-” I gape at him. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Three seconds,” he says. “And yes, I am.”
“Three seconds until what?” Dread fills my stomach. “Gregory. Were you just distracting me so I wouldn’t be nervous?”
“Yes,” he says, grabbing onto my hand. “Now run like your fucking life depends on it, because it does.”
He pulls me, and we burst out from between the bushes.
I sprint wildly, breathing so hard it hurts my throat. He’s yanking me along, running faster but holding back so he doesn’t end up literally dragging me behind him. Ahead is a line of cars parked along a massive driveway. There’s a guard watching over a door to our left, the mirror image of the other side, but his back is turned. It takes me a second to understand-he’s lighting a cigarette.
That’s what Gregory was timing.
We blow past him. I barely hear him shout in alarm. We burst out from the shadow of the house, down the line of cars. I catch a glimpse of the front stairs on my left, majestic and obscene, leading up to an enormous gold-framed door. Guests linger, sipping champagne. There’s a fountain in the middle of the driveway where more guests are perched, talking happily, as guards and waiters move among them.
Gregory keeps running. “Don’t stop,” he says through his teeth.
I couldn’t even if I wanted to. He’s like a train loosed from its tracks, barreling ahead, barely under control. I’m doing my best to stay on my feet. I step on something sharp and suck in a pained breath, but ignore the agony in my sole and push on. Adrenaline’s fueling me now, dulling everything but the urgency of the escape.
Shouts ring out. I spot guards breaking from the guests and angling toward us. “Where’s your car?” I say between breaths. “Where are we going?”
“Just ahead.” A black Lexus at the very end of the row comes to life, the lights shining. Gregory’s got his key out, rapidly stabbing a button. The car’s engine roars to life. “You’re in the back.”
“But what about-”
“The fucking back,” he snarls as we get close.
I risk a look back over my shoulder. Four guards are chasing, two of them getting close.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” I keep on cursing, my lungs burning, my legs on fire. Twenty yards, then ten. Gregory lets go of my hand and pulls ahead, reaching the car first and yanking the back door open.
“Get in,” he shouts.
I throw myself at the back seat. It’s not elegant and I’m pretty sure he gets a glimpse of my underwear as what’s left of my dress rides up my ass, but the door slams before I can do anything about it. I sit up, staring out the window, as the two fast guards reach Gregory before he can get into the car.
It happens so fast. Gregory ducks a punch, knees the first thug in the guts, punches the second in the throat, and elbows the first in the back of the head. Both go down in an ugly heap as Gregory throws open the front door of the car and gets behind the wheel.
“Did you kill them?” I ask, eyes wide, freaking out.
“Probably not.” He guns the engine, car peeling out. “Does it really matter?”
I say nothing, only stare at the wreckage of my wedding as Gregory fishtails onto the driveway then speeds toward the main road, leaving my life and everything I used to know behind.