6. 6 Tori
6: Tori
The words land like a death sentence, cold and final. His face doesn’t betray even a flicker of humor.
Nico actually plans on marrying me.
“Pretty sure you have to want to marry someone for it to count.” My laugh is brittle, desperate. I wait for a reaction, but Nico doesn’t say anything. Instead, he picks up the rope again, the coarse fibers a grim promise in his hands.
“Don’t.” I shake my head, panic rising. “I can walk without it.”
“You can also run without it,” he says, maddeningly calm. “And I don’t feel like chasing you.”
The rope stretches taut between his fingers as he moves toward me. My teeth grind together, rage clawing its way to the surface. “I hope you know I’m cursing you tonight. To every god, in every way I know how.”
The threat hangs in the air, but it bounces off him like stone. His face remains a blank wall, and when the rope bites into my wrists again, the fight drains out of me.
The hope that’s been keeping me upright—that Thorne, Blaze, and Ryder will storm in to save me—dims, flickering like a dying candle.
Where are they right now?
Did they get hurt last night?
Nico ties the knot, tight and unyielding, as my pulse pounds against it.
“Let’s go,” he says again, his tone leaving no room for argument.
And just like that, the walls feel closer, the air heavier, and my fight a little weaker. My feet drag like leaded weights, unable to lift off the floor, only sliding roughly against the tile. Nico hands Marcus the rope like it’s a leash and I’m some dog needing to be walked. He leads the way, followed by Marcus and then me.
When Marcus realizes I can't navigate the stairs in this overgrown marshmallow of a dress, he doesn’t offer me a hand. No, the man hoists me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, puffball and all.
Dignity?
Never heard of it.
Normally, I’d be spouting off a string of colorful commentary about how he smells like cheap cologne, but today? My energy is laser-focused on not aggravating Nico enough for another deranged punishment.
The rope around my wrists is my new nemesis. I twist and wiggle, hoping to loosen it just enough to be useful. But—of-fucking-course—it doesn’t budge. My wrists burn from the friction, and the knot—clearly tied by the ghost of a Boy Scout leader—laughs in my face.
They always make this look so easy in the movies. The heroine wriggles free at the last second, takes out the bad guy with a swift kick to the jaw, and strolls into the sunset, triumphant. Meanwhile, I’m about as intimidating as a house cat tangled in yarn.
When Marcus shoves me into the SUV, I crane my neck to catch glimpses of the outside world beyond the estate’s walls. It’s slim pickings—just enough to note a few key details, like the gate's position or the stretch of road ahead. The door slams shut behind me, jolting me from my focus, and then I feel it: a hand at my waist.
I freeze, my heart lodging itself somewhere in my throat. Slowly, I turn my head and find Nico sitting beside me. His face is as expressionless as a porcelain mask—no customer-friendly grin, no mocking amusement. Just cold, unflinching power.
“You make a beautiful bride,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers against my cheek with a featherlight touch. The feel of his skin against my own is revolting, nauseating me further.
I'll be sure to throw up on him.
“I’m not a bride.” The dress might say otherwise, but I won’t.
“Tori,” he says, his tone soft but heavy with menace, “I’ve told you already. I own you. Did last night teach you nothing?” He leans closer, his breath grazing my ear as his next words drip like ice into my soul. “You’re my bride. Say it with me, Tori.”
It takes me longer than I’d care to admit for me to finally answer. “I would rather not.”
Right now would be a great time to have my hands free.
“Tori, you’re testing my patience, and you really don’t want to do that.” His voice is calm, as if he has all the time in the world to wait for me to bend. Then he leans back, his dark gaze locking onto mine. “But make no mistake: if you don’t comply when we reach the courthouse, I’ll have Alicia killed before we return.”
I’ve spent years swearing I’d never let another man control me, but here I am again—trapped, bending to someone else’s will. My inner voice screams at me to fight back, but Alicia’s face flashes in my mind, and that scream fades to silence.
Fine. Marriage first. Murder later.
“How do I know she’s still alive? I haven’t seen her since you moved me to the house.”
Because who would be stupid enough to just take Nico’s word for it.
Nico smirks, as if he’s proud of me for asking. “Very well.”
He pulls his phone out, dialing a number that picks up on the first ring. A gruff, male voice answers, and Nico orders him to hand the phone to Alicia.
“Hello?” Alicia’s voice is quivering with fear, faint and broken. My breath catches as I try to steady myself, to keep myself from crying.
“Alicia!” I yell, as if saying her name loud enough could somehow save her.
It’s quiet for a moment, a moment too long for my sanity, and then I hear her again. “Tori?!” she cries. “Oh my god. You’re okay? Did he hurt you?”
Before I can respond, Nico hangs up. “There's your proof of life. Now, let’s get going. We don’t want to be late to our own wedding.”
The silence in the car is deafening as we drive. I focus on the streets we’re passing, memorizing the route, every sign, every building. Details lodge in my mind, from the faded letters on a convenience store to the abandoned red brick theater. It reminds me of Bren, of the date that set this whole chaotic chain of events into motion.
Maybe I was always meant to end up in Nico’s hands.
Too bad for him. I don’t plan on staying.
You can kiss my ass, Nico.
We pull into a dimly lit parking garage, the tires grinding to a stop. Marcus steps out and leans against the SUV instead of opening my door. The glint of a knife catches my eye as Nico pulls it from his jacket. I hold still, refusing to flinch. If Nico wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of dressing me up like a twisted bridal doll.
The blade glides coldly against my arm, leaving a shiver in its wake as it slices through the rope. The relief is instant, but before I can act, Nico waves the knife in front of me, reminding me who holds the power here.
“Don’t forget, my sweet possession,” he murmurs, his voice almost soothing. “Your friend’s life depends on your performance today. Don’t let her down.”
The word ‘possession’ sends a fresh wave of fury coursing through me. I meet his gaze, my voice steady despite the fire burning in my chest. “I’m not your possession. I’m your hostage.”
Nico’s smirk widens, his amusement clear. “Semantics, darling.”
I bite back the retort on the tip of my tongue, the taste of it bitter. Because he’s right about one thing: Alicia’s life hangs in the balance.
But if Nico thinks this is the end of the story, he doesn’t know me. This is just the beginning.
The SUV door creaks open, and Marcus gestures for me to step out like he’s a chauffeur, except he’s missing the charm and definitely the hat. Nico’s sitting on the other side of the car, calmly adjusting the cuff of his jacket like he’s about to walk the red carpet instead of forcing me into a marriage.
I hesitate for a second too long, and Marcus grips my arm with all the gentleness of a junkyard crane.
“Alright, alright, hands off!” I snap, jerking away but stepping out before he can manhandle me further. My heels hit the pavement, and I wobble, catching myself against the car door.
These shoes were clearly designed for torture, not walking. Fucking heels.
Nico’s already out, buttoning his coat and waiting with that smug look that makes me want to punch him in the throat. He extends an arm to me, and when I don’t take it, his smile only grows wider.
“Don’t test me, Tori,” he says quietly, but there’s steel beneath the velvet.
“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” I reply, sweetly sarcastic, slipping my arm through his with all the enthusiasm of a cat being dragged to a bath. “This is my dream wedding, after all.”
His grip tightens on me just enough to make a point, and we begin walking toward the courthouse doors. My mind churns as I try to piece together the logic—or lack thereof—behind this charade.
Why marry me? What’s the point of dragging me into a legally binding agreement I’d rather set on fire? It’s not like I’m bringing any dowry or political advantage. My greatest asset at the moment is my ability to pick fights with oversized bodyguards and hold grudges longer than most people hold jobs.
Unless... that’s what this is about. Control. Ownership. Nico doesn’t just want leverage—he wants me. In name, in title, in every way that lets him claim victory.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine, and I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s walking with the kind of calm confidence that makes my skin crawl, like he knows he’s already won.
The courthouse doors loom ahead, each step toward them feeling heavier than the last. I glance around, searching for anything—a distraction, a person… a miracle. But the courtyard is desolate, the world outside oblivious to the disaster unfolding in my life.
Marcus opens the door, and the cool air inside is a slap to the face. The lobby is as bleak as I imagined, all fluorescent lights and scuffed tile floors. There are few people here, the morning coffee still fresh in the air.
I get a few glances as we walk by. How could I not in this dress? But not a single person questions whether I am a willing participant of this wedding. Really though, why would they? For all intents and purposes I look like a happy bride-to-be.
“This place sure is romantic,” I whisper, and Nico chuckles low in his throat.
He leans closer, his lips brushing against my ear. “Remember, my sweet bride, Alicia’s fate rests entirely on your cooperation.”
“I know, I know,” I mutter, biting back the urge to elbow him in the ribs. “You’ve made it abundantly clear.”
He steers me toward a clerk’s desk where a bored-looking woman glances up from her paperwork. Her eyes flicker over us—him in his tailored suit, me in this monstrous wedding dress—and her brows lift ever so slightly.
“Marriage license?” she asks, her voice monotone.
Nico slides the paperwork across the counter, flashing her his award-winning fake smile. “Everything’s in order.”
When did he even get that?
Wait, is that my signature?
Did he forge my signature?!
The clerk stamps the documents without a word and motions toward a hallway. “Room three, down the hall on your left.”
Room three. Of course. Because this whole thing feels like a bad doctor’s appointment, and what better way to cap it off than a waiting room masquerading as a wedding chapel?
Nico’s grip on my arm is as hard as steel by this point, walking us down the hall.
“Relax,” Nico murmurs, sensing my tension. “It’ll all be over soon.”
“That’s what they tell people before surgery,” I mutter.
He laughs softly, but there’s no warmth in it.
Marcus steps ahead to push open the door to room three, and we enter. The justice of the peace looks up from his desk, his expression neutral but vaguely annoyed, like we’ve interrupted his lunch break.
The ceremony begins, the justice droning on about vows and unity and other nonsense I couldn’t care less about. My heart hammers as I cling to the faint, ridiculous hope that something will interrupt this nightmare—a fire alarm, a power outage, a meteor crashing through the roof.
But nothing happens.
“Do you, Victoria Reyes, take Nico Moretti to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
The words hang in the air like a guillotine blade. For a split second, I consider saying hell to the fucking no . Screaming it. But Alicia’s face flashes in my mind, and the weight of her life crushes any resistance I have left.
“I do,” I whisper, the words clawing their way out.
The justice turns to Nico.
“And do you, Nico Moretti, take Victoria Reyes to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do,” he says smoothly, his voice brimming with triumph.
“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Oregon, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Holy shit. Did I really just get married to Nico?!
The justice glances at Nico, who doesn’t wait for an invitation. He leans in, capturing my lips in a kiss that’s more possession than affection. My nails bite into my palms, and I remind myself to breathe, to endure this just a little longer.
When he pulls back, his dark eyes gleam with satisfaction.
“Smile, Mrs. Moretti ,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now.”
I plaster on a grin, sharp and venomous. “Enjoy it while it lasts, dear husband.”
His laugh follows us out of the courthouse, but all I hear is the sound of my own heartbeat, pounding with the promise that this is far from over.