35. Ani
Ani
I knew what I was coming back to when I left. I guess I just didn’t realize how suffocating it would feel once I got here. Now that I’ve had a taste of freedom, I don’t know how I’ll survive this.
But I will.
For them.
I’m not kept behind locked doors. There’s no need for locks because there are cameras hidden in the ceilings and attendants posted in the hallways. I am not free. I am not safe. And I’m not going anywhere.
The woman “assigned” to me never gave me her name.
She never strays more than a few feet from my side, and constantly types notes into her phone.
She doesn’t engage in real conversation.
If I ask about anything too specific, she redirects.
She doesn’t even pretend to offer me privacy.
Bathroom? She waits outside the cracked door.
Shower? She lays out the towel and clothes like I’m a child and waits for me to come out.
Every part of my day is managed—what I wear, what I eat, where I go.
My mother drifts in and out like nothing is wrong, her perfume overpowering my nose. She brings swatches of silk and delicate lace, laying them on my bed or holding them up to the light. “This is the shade Davit liked best,” she says. “It brings out the gold in your eyes.”
She never mentions the cabin or my men. She doesn’t ask how I’m doing. She only talks about the wedding. “So soon now,” she says. “Everything will be perfect.”
My father doesn’t speak to me at all. He watches. He oversees. I feel him more than I see him—like the edge of a knife held just out of view.
And then there’s Davit.
His eyes track every move I make. His comments let me know that he’s aware of just how much I changed when I was gone. And he’s not happy. I know I’ll pay for it all later, once I’m his wife.
Once I belong to him, no one will be able to stop him. He’s counting on it. He’s not asking for me to be willing. Just compliant.
They dress me in clothes I don’t choose—mostly heavy tapestries in subdued colors, and over-the-top jewelry that speaks of money. Everything feels suffocating. And the wedding dress is the worst of it. I fucking hate that thing.
I stood on the platform while the seamstress circled me with pins and clips, murmuring about alterations and drape and fit.
Apparently I put on a little weight when I was actually eating foods I like.
My mother clapped her hands when the veil was placed on my head. “You look like a dream,” she said.
I looked like a prisoner.
Now it hangs in the corner of my room, sealed in a protective bag. I’ve tried not to look at it. It makes me sick to my stomach.
My room is as beautiful as I remember. High ceilings, huge windows, an antique bed and vanity. It’s the kind of room any daughter would be grateful for—if it weren’t a cage in disguise. It all feels like a set someone built to convince me I’m loved.
But I know what real love feels like now.
It feels like early mornings with pancakes and coffee in mismatched mugs. It feels like Finn’s laugh in the kitchen and Jonah’s steady hand at my back. It feels like Mae falling asleep on my shoulder and Boone watching over us like a silent sentry. It feels like being chosen just for being me.
And I let it go.
I gave it up because I thought it was the only way to protect them.
What have I done?
It’s been three days since I left the cabin, but it feels like I’ve been gone forever.
Things haven’t gotten better. I don’t miss them less. If anything, I miss them more. And now, I’m standing in a wedding dress I never wanted preparing to marry a man I don’t love.
I stare into the mirror, hating what I see.
My mother designed this dress. She picked the shoes, the makeup and the jewelry. She even tried to dictate the expression on my face.
I will spend the rest of my life being someone else’s puppet.
But my men will still be alive. And Mae will grow up with them, happy and safe.
I fold my hands in front of me to stop myself from fidgeting. The silk gloves are too tight. I want to rip them off, but I don’t.
There are eyes everywhere. My “assistant” sits just outside my room. She hasn’t said much, but I know she’s here to make sure I don’t run.
Again.
The lace at my neckline starts to itch, a slow, creeping discomfort I can’t escape. I press my fingers to it, then drop my hands again.
I think about Boone. The growl in his voice when he said, “Touch her again and I’ll end you.” I think about Jonah and the way he held me like I was everything. I think about Finn and how he always made me feel better just being near him.
They are still my rocks. Even now. Even here.
A soft knock comes at the door. I don’t answer but a second later it opens anyway. The woman in the hallway pokes her head in.
“It’s time,” she says with a bright smile.
I take a deep breath. Then another. I turn from the mirror and walk toward the door.
I’m halfway through the door when I hear the commotion.
It’s not the loud crack of a gun, but the deep, concussive sound of something more deadly. The windows shudder. Somewhere down the hallway, someone shouts.
There’s more shouting, doors slamming, footsteps thundering. The sharp staccato of gunfire now cracks the air, and I can’t breathe.
I stumble back into the room followed by my assistant, who slams the door behind her.
Suddenly, my door flies open, the handle ricocheting off the wall with a thud. My assistant yelps and stumbles back.
I freeze.
Boone stands in the doorway, his hand outstretched, and he grabs me by the wrist with a firm grip. The moment our skin connects, I feel it. That invisible tether that had never actually snapped, no matter how far I ran.
“Time to go, sweetheart.” His voice is a low growl.
My knees buckle. I would collapse if not for his grip. Behind him, a shadow cuts across the hallway—Jonah. He moves without a sound, but bodies are hitting the floor. Two men who must have been standing guard hit the ground, each one struck down with laser precision.
Boone tugs me closer. His body shields mine as he pivots, positioning himself between me and the door, one hand already reaching for the gun strapped to his side.
I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
Then—
“ANI!”
Finn.
His voice crashes into the room. A moment later, he barrels through the door with wild eyes. There’s blood smeared across his cheek, a shallow gash along his temple. He looks half-feral.
He crosses the distance in a heartbeat, grabbing my waist with one arm and behind my knees with the other. Then I’m airborne, scooped up like I weigh nothing at all. My hands clutch at his shoulders.
I press my forehead to his collarbone and breathe in deep. Smoke, sweat, and just Finn.
“You all came,” I whisper, barely audible.
He holds me tighter. “Oh, baby,” he says, voice thick. “There was never any question.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. I can’t fall apart. Not yet. Not until I’m away from this place.
Finn carries me out like he’s daring anyone to try and stop him. Boone is at our side in seconds, checking corners, guarding our flank. Jonah joins up with us again in the hallway, walking backward as he covers us, weapon drawn.
Somewhere behind us, I hear another explosion. Distant shouting echoes through the house. Alarms shriek to life. It’s complete chaos.
“You’re safe,” Finn murmurs. “We’re not going to let them take you.”
I want so badly to believe him. Outside, there is more chaos. Security is in shambles. Smoke curls upward from the north end of the property. Black SUVs with dark windows line the road, some with tires shot out. One is on fire. I don’t ask questions.
Their truck is waiting for us, hidden from view in the woods. Boone gets there first and starts the engine. Finn climbs in with me still in his arms. Jonah follows, sliding in beside us.
Tires spin and gravel flies. The truck lurches forward and tears down the drive.
Finn presses a kiss to my temple. Jonah’s hand cradles the back of my head.
“You’re okay,” he repeats. “It’s over. We’re taking you home, baby.”