Chapter 24 #2
He groaned, dragging a hand through his hair, but there was no doubt in his eyes. He knew I meant every word.
About 12 days later, once I could walk on my own and had been discharged from the hospital, we made it official.
The chapel smelled musty, with the harsh scent of old wood polish mixing with the faint, lingering incense.
A single stained-glass window let fractured, sickly morning light spill across the pews, casting jagged, distorted shadows that danced unevenly across the cold stone floor.
We were in the hospital chapel. It was just us and a justice of the peace. Despite already being married, it didn’t take much to convince Agent West to do this for me. He looked troubled, guilt gnawing at him for his impulsive decision.
Fucker.
Fuck them both.
He made sure we had clothes, but they offered little comfort.
My dress was cheap. I could feel the thin lining and the itchy seams biting into my ribs.
A dull ivory that caught the faint, unnatural light each time I moved.
The skirt fluttered just enough to mimic innocence, yet it offered no warmth or solace.
Lace sleeves brushed my wrists, fragile and delicate, hiding the bruises from the IV.
My hair was pulled back with a simple clip, hiding my tattoo and the fresh scar beside it. No veil, no bouquet—just me, exposed, honest, trembling.
The pain was relentless; I moved carefully, painfully slow.
Max had been surprisingly dedicated. He never left my side, sleeping on a pullout in the room, only rising for the restroom or cafeteria.
He walked me through the halls daily until I was gasping for breath.
He monitored everything I ate and drank with an obsessive precision.
He read to me, watched movies, did everything a husband should.
But nothing could erase the sickening truth.
He had married me while I lay unconscious, as if I were some prize to claim in the darkness.
Max was already waiting at the foot of the altar when I stepped inside. He was clean now, scrubbed raw from the hospital shower. He complained about the water pressure but refused to return to camp.
Despite my anger toward him, I froze in place when I saw him.
He was wearing a cream-colored suit, the jacket slightly too broad at the shoulders.
His towering height made it difficult for Agent West to find a suit on short notice that fit his frame.
His bruises, though fading, were still visible.
Grim reminders of the fight. His damp hair curled at the edges from the shower.
No blood stained him now, only sharp lines, unblemished skin, and eyes that seemed to fixate where I stood.
The moment his eyes locked onto mine, he froze, too. His jaw clenched tightly. His chest heaved and stuttered as if he had forgotten how to breathe. He stared at me as if I were a ghost, a specter that might vanish if he blinked.
The way he looked at me, as if I were his salvation, burned through the frigid silence of this cold, empty chapel.
As soon as I made it halfway down the aisle, he surged forward, grabbing my hand and yanking me toward the altar with frantic urgency.
The officiant began, asking us to recite our vows, and Max opened his mouth first.
“I, Max—”
I raised a hand, palm flat like a command. “Stop.”
Max stopped mid-sentence, brows clenched in confusion.“Mackenzie…”
“No.” My voice sliced through the tense silence. I took two deliberate steps forward, the silk hem of the dress dragging along the chapel floor.
“You don’t get to start this. You tricked me into a contract while I was unconscious. You stole my agency. My freedom, my choice. If you want me, Max—,” I cocked my head, savoring the way his jaw twitched, lips parted in helpless anticipation, “—you’re going to fucking earn it.”
His throat worked furiously, Adam’s apple bobbing as if he were choking on his own panic and shame. I pointed down at the ground at my feet. “On your knees.”
The justice of the peace sputtered, voice trembling. “Miss, this isn’t exactly—”
“Do it,” I ordered. My eyes remained fixed on Max, burning with intensity.
Max hesitated only briefly before collapsing onto one knee, then both, his palms flat on his thighs like a man awaiting judgment from the gallows. His gaze never wavered; it was fierce, defiant, desperate. Those beautiful blue eyes pleaded for salvation as he looked up at me with a grimace.
“Good boy,” I said softly, menace lacing my voice.
I stepped closer, forcing him to tilt his chin up to keep me in sight.
“Now say what you mean. Not vows, not promises—say what you really feel. And if you screw up, Max—” I leaned in, whispering into his ear, “—this marriage ends here, and I’ll tear you apart. ”
He inhaled sharply. Then, slowly, his words escaped in a hoarse, raw whisper.
“I promise,” he rasped, “I’ll never trap you in chains you didn’t choose…
ever again. I’ll bleed first. I’ll kneel before you and worship the ground you walk on until you’re sick of me, and even then, I’ll follow you into hell.
I’ll protect you, fight for you, burn the world down for you.
You’re mine, Mackenzie. Always mine. But I’m yours first.”
The chapel was silent except for the crack in his voice at the last word.
I exhaled slowly, feeling the power shift, the control sliding into my hands where it belonged. Then I extended my hand, palm up.
“Get the fuck up.”
He rose suddenly, towering over me with an imposing presence. But I wasn’t afraid of him because I had him. I had the entire dark, sinister essence of him. The justice of the peace cleared his throat nervously, breaking the tense silence. “Uh… shall we continue?”
My lips curled into a victorious smile. “Yes. Now we can.”
I didn’t realize we had rings, but when the officiant said we could exchange them, Max produced two black boxes.
He must’ve worked with West overnight to prepare this.
When Max slipped the ring onto my finger, I drew in a sharp breath.
It was actually perfect. A slender band of tarnished white gold, a single diamond set in delicate filigree that shimmered, as if it had been made just for me.
Even amidst the chaos, Max somehow managed to pick something that truly represented me. He knew me too well.
I turned my hand in the dim light, marveling at how it caught the flickering sunlight streaming through the stained-glass window. He slipped the matching band onto my finger and looked down at me, a strange glint in his eyes.
“He sent me a couple of texts last night with options. I knew it was this one the moment I saw it. Your mom… your mom agreed this was the one.”
My mom.
I hated that she couldn’t be part of this. Max knew what I was thinking because I could see it all on his face.
“I’d die before letting you wear something that doesn’t feel like you,” he said, his voice low and steady.
“Also, I paid for it, not the FBI. I just wanted to clarify that. I used my money from baseball lessons during the year.” His finger brushed over my rings, and I felt branded, like a scar repeatedly reopened.
But for some reason, it felt good, right, like it was the way it was supposed to be.
His ring was nothing fancy — a plain, sturdy band — but it suited him, rugged and understated, just like him. Together, the two rings were chaos and elegance, fire and earth, just like us.
The officiant cleared his throat and pronounced us husband and wife. Max didn’t wait. His hand slid to the back of my neck, careful not to press too hard on my wound, his mouth crashing against mine with something halfway between hunger and relief, echoing with a raw desperation.
When we finally pulled apart, we walked out together, hand in hand, hearts pounding. The chapel doors swung open to the empty hallway beyond, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee, replacing the faint, lingering traces of incense and wood polish.
Yet, there was an eerie silence hanging in the air.
I could almost feel it.