"Don’t worry, I’m getting there. Now, you are going to want to hear this recording first," I assert firmly, my voice carrying a note of quiet authority. "And then, Jonathan, you are going to want to hear my demands."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Jackson

  As Marcus and I pull into the parking lot of the grand wedding hall, and I witness the empty parking lot, a surge of fear and rage courses through me and I clench my fists. Is it over already? Has he already taken her? It’s as if my worst nightmare is unfolding before my eyes, and the realization that I may have lost Madison forever threatens to consume me.

  Marcus and I leave the car, and as we step into the parking lot, I hear the sounds of an approaching motorcycle. Rook arrives, dismounting, gun in hand. Now, after everything, the bastard shows up.

  Snarling, I draw my gun and level it at him.

  "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

  "Saving your ass," Rook says as he calmly aims his gun at me.

  Marcus gives me a strange look and then steps between both of us.

  "What the fuck are you two doing? Why the fuck does the man who’s covered in vomit, shit, blood, and piss have to be the sane person in this fucked-up equation?"

  "Son of a bitch fucking ran out on me during the ransom exchange," I retort. "I should kill him for that."

  "You ditched Bullet?" Marcus says. "Fucking really, Rook?"

  "Thunder, do you think it would have done anyone good if I had just surrendered like Bullet did? Someone had to survive to have a chance at saving your asses."

  "So where were you?" I say.

  "Hunting for you. Which is more difficult than it sounds, considering how fucking big this ridiculous fucking state is and how much the Covington family has in the way of resources."

  Marcus chuckles. "Oh, you were looking for us, huh? Tell me: how much of a chewing out did Eliza give you before you finally got off your ass?"

  "Oh, she was pissed," Rook says. "But I'm here now. Figured when I heard over the police radio that a couple of men matching your descriptions and covered in vomit and blood, which really doesn’t surprise me, had carjacked an old woman—which is a low fucking move and I am going to make you both apologize to her—that you were on your way here. Now, are we going to stand around pointing our guns at each other, or are we going in there?"

  I lower my weapon and start toward the doorway.

  "Come on, Rook. Glad to have you back on the team."

  Inside, it is as quiet as a graveyard. The event hall, which is decorated in the way only the richest of the rich can afford, sits empty. Empty of sound, empty of life, empty of hope.

  Empty of her.

  Madison.

  In pain, I scream out her name. My voice bounces off the stone walls, as if taunting me, each echo reminding me of what I cannot have: Madison.

  I've lost her for good.

  "Something's not right," Rook says cautiously. "Rich assholes like these Covingtons wouldn't cut a celebration like this short. They live for adoration, for showing everyone how fucking great they are. So why the fuck is it empty here?"

  "Maybe all the guests finally got a closeup look at Alexander, realized just how much he looks like a festering cock, and decided they'd all rather go home," Thunder says.

  "Yeah, Thunder?" Rook says. "You think they all came in, thought to themselves: 'Hey, that man looks like an infected penis,' and decided they'd leave? That's your best guess?"

  "Look at me right now," Thunder retorts. "Do I look like someone you'd turn to for a reasonable answer?"

  "Fair point. You look like shit. Smell like it, too."

  “That’s because I shit myself.”

  “Fair point, again.”

  "Shut up, both of you," I say. "We have to find her. Split up. Let's search this place for some evidence of what the fuck happened."

  Before they can reply, I charge down the hallway, pulled onward by my desperate need to find Madison. Either her, or some evidence of where Alexander's taken her; I can't lose her, not again. Never again.

  Driven by a desperate determination, I sprint through the opulent halls, my footsteps echoing off the polished marble floors. Each room I enter fuels my anxiety, my despair, as I find them empty of any trace of the woman I love. Each room is a reminder of what I’ve lost. Each room is another slap in the face, another knife in my heart. While the opulence and grandeur that drapes from the walls, from the ceilings, is a mocking reminder of how out of place I am.

  Alexander Covington has taken Madison to a world I'll never be a part of, never belong in, no matter what I do.

  She's gone.

  And I'm never getting her back.

  Just as despair grips my soul, a voice cuts through the suffocating silence and I cling to it like a lifeline. It's Madison, calling out my name. My step quickens and my heart hammers in my chest and I burst into a room that must have been her dressing room. The sight of her, still clad in her breathtaking wedding dress, strips my breath away.

  "Maddy," I whisper. She looks so beautiful it feels wrong to make a sound in her presence, like I'm viewing some masterpiece in a museum, a work of art meant to be appreciated, admired, adored.

  When she looks at me, a smile breaks out across her tear-streaked face.

  "Jackson? Is that really you?"

  I take one halting step forward, then another, then the next thing I know, I'm running to her. Our bodies meet, our arms wrap around each other, and our lips find bliss.

  “It’s me. I’m here for you, Maddy.”

  "I can't believe you're here," she says, laughing, crying, kissing. "It doesn't feel real."

  Relief and love greater than I’ve ever thought possible washes over me as I hold her in my arms and press my lips to hers. I’ll never let her go.

  "How?" I say, my eyes sweeping in an arc to encompass her empty, palatial dressing room. “What happened?”

  She giggles, then. It's cute, it's full of pride, it makes me love her even more.

  "I recorded him. Alexander. Admitting to what he'd done. Admitting to all of it. I sent a copy to Elena, and I asked her to keep it safe. Then I made a presentation to Alexander's dad."

  "A presentation?"

  "Stock figures, numbers, dollars, you know, the things he really cares about. I did some math based upon cases where other companies experienced controversies similar to what would happen if I leaked the recording I made of Alexander—you know, family businesses having one of their leading members turn out to be a murderous psychopath. Anyway, I showed him just how much money he would lose if he didn't comply with my demands to call off the wedding and to give my parents the money he owed, plus some extra to buy my silence. He caved in an instant."

  My jaw drops. "You're fucking brilliant."

  "Of course. I know I'm good at this shit. And I nailed that presentation with PowerPoint, too."

  "You're incredible, Maddy. I wish I could have been here to see Alexander's face when he found out what you've done."

  "I'll show you. It was something like this..." She screws up her face, doing a decent job mimicking the donkey's asshole that used to be her fiance. Then her face changes back to its normal, breathtaking state of perfection. "I did some other calculations, too. I think you'll like this math, Jackson."

  There's a tone in her voice that makes me smile, even though I can't imagine a case where I’ll actually enjoy math.

  "Yeah?"

  "I was wrong earlier. About us."

  I hesitate, part of me reluctant to accept what I'm hearing; it's too good to be true.

  "What do you mean?"

  "I spent today surrounded by the people that I thought I belonged with: rich people, sophisticated people, people that, well, you know—"

  "—People in a much higher class than me," I finish bluntly. "It's true. You don't have to dance around it."

  "Well, I spent all of this morning around them. It was clear to anyone paying attention that I was in trouble, but no one even asked me if I was okay, or if I needed help, because not a single person wanted to cross the Covingtons. They were all so concerned with status and appearances and all that bullshit. Even my parents kept their mouths shut. All the people that I thought I belonged with, that I thought would care about me, turned out to be..."

  "The fucking worst?"

  "The fucking worst.” She nods, smiling. "The only person who saw me as anything other than a commodity is you. Even after everything I'd put you through, said to you, and after everything that Alexander did to you—because of me—you still came to save me. I love you, Jackson. I love you and I want you back."

  "I love you, too, Maddy. But you never lost me. I’ll always be yours."

  “And I’ll always be yours. Forever.”

  Our lips crash together. The electricity that courses through me is palpable, and I savor the sweet taste of victory mixed with the intoxicating flavor of Maddy's luscious lips. In this magical moment, we both know our lives are forever changed—this is finally the beginning of our newfound freedom and joy.

  That feeling lasts only a moment and ends when the door swings open with force and hits the wall with a thunderous crash. I turn in time to see Alexander step into the room, his face contorted with menacing rage, a gun clenched in his hand.

  Time freezes and the air becomes so thick with tension it’s impossible to breathe.

  Instinctively, I grab Maddy by the shoulders and pull her behind me, shielding her with my body; I’ll take every bullet in Alexander’s gun before I let him touch her.

  He grins at us, a look of pain, triumph, and intoxication writ all over his ugly face. The gun sits rigidly in his grip as he aims it at me, then at Maddy, moving it back and forth.

  "You think you can ruin my plans? That you can get away with this? You're both fools. And now, you’re both going to die."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Madison

  The room crackles with tension as Alexander strides forward and directs his malevolent gaze towards me, holding the gun in a determined, murderous grip. Jackson pulls me behind him to shelter me from danger, and though Alexander's eyes dart between us—as does the muzzle of his gun—I know I am this primary target; I used his own words against him, turned his own father against him, thwarted his petty dreams and vile schemes. I beat him. To a petulant child like Alexander Aurelius Covington, that is unacceptable, so now he's here to throw a tantrum—a tantrum with a gun and a stomach full of expensive brandy.

  "Alexander, think about what you're doing. You know you won't get away with this. You will get caught. Do the smart thing and just put your gun down, walk away, and we'll forget this ever happened," Jackson says. There's a note of honesty in his voice that surprises me. Despite how much I know he hates Alexander for everything he's done to him and to me, Jackson would actually let him walk away forever just to keep me safe. Never did I expect him to be so ready to let go of his hate.

  Alexander doesn’t even acknowledge Jackson’s words, instead his eyes burrow into me with malevolence. "You think you've won, don't you? That just because you made my father call off the wedding that you'll get to walk away?"

  "Those were the terms, Alexander," I say. Even though my pulse is racing and the world teeters on the verge of swimming every time Alexander aims the gun in my direction, I keep my voice steady, steely. I'm both surprised that he would dare do something so bold as to disobey his father—not to mention getting his hands dirty—and also not shocked at all that a public defeat would send him into a tailspin. "Did you not understand them? Would you like me to call him so he can explain them to you?"

  Even in his drunken, disordered, and dangerous state, he flinches at the mention of his father. Then, with a shake of his head, his murderous scowl returns. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter what you say, it doesn't matter what you do, none of it matters. You are not leaving here alive, you fucking bitch."

  "You think your fearsome daddy won't punish you, Alex?" Jackson says, a derisive twist to his voice. “You think you can keep something like this from him? Everyone knows your daddy’s the real power in the family, and he will fucking ruin you if you disobey him.”

  I give Jackson a quick, stern look. He's not helping, and I wish he'd shut up. When you're on the receiving end of a gun-wielding maniac's anger is no time to posture or see who has the bigger penis.

  "You two wouldn't be the first people I've had to make disappear without my father noticing," Alexander says. "Not to mention the things we've covered up for Nathaniel. My father is not all-knowing, and the things he doesn't know, well, they just might give him a heart attack if he ever found out. So, no, Jackson: once I kill you both, I don't expect any problems aside from the minor annoyance of a sky-high dry-cleaning bill to get your blood out of my tuxedo."

  As the two men posture like animals fighting over mating rights, I carefully engage in the more useful task of subtly surveying the room for anything that might be useful in staving off my murderous ex-fiance.

  But unfortunately, my bridal dressing room does not come equipped with a bullet-proof vest, guns, or even a SWAT team sniper.

  How inconvenient.

  Just like earlier, I'll have to rely on myself to get out of this mess; no more being a pawn in other people's games. I'm a queen in charge of my own destiny.

  Taking care so that Alexander doesn't notice, I pinch Jackson on the back, hoping that he'll get the hint to stop provoking the madman with the gun and let me talk. Alexander came here to feel superior, to watch me grovel, to assuage his pathetic ego because he simply can't bear to be beaten. Anything that threatens his perfect vision of himself is just going to entice him to pull the trigger.

  If I want to buy us time to figure a way out of this mess, I have to give him the begging that's like catnip to his gigantic ego.

  "Please, Alexander," I begin, my voice quivering. "Don't do this."

  "Madison, don't even think that by asking nicely you're going to save your life," he says mockingly.

  I step forward, move around Jackson to fully expose myself to Alexander and his gun. Though I want to meet his gaze, though I want to stare down this bastard who has for so long dominated my past, my present, and my future, I don't. Because I know that he's too fragile to bear the challenge. That's why he's standing in front of me now—he's too broken, too weak, too pathetic to take defeat like an adult. He has to cry; he has to throw a tantrum like the pitiful facsimile of strength that he is.

  Instead of meeting his gaze, I keep my eyes low, averted, meek. My voice is that way, too.

  "I'm not asking, Alexander. I'm begging."

  As I speak, I lower myself until I'm on my knees. I suppose I must make a shocking sight, kneeling in my wedding dress before someone as sloppily drunk as Alexander, a madman with a god complex who’s waving a gun around like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But it's what I need to do to survive this without anyone I care about getting hurt.

  Behind me, Jackson hisses. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  I give him a brief and withering look.

  Thankfully, Alexander seems not to notice.

  He stares at me, entranced, a victorious smile lifting the corners of his mouth like a sick puppeteer pulling the strings on a marionette.

  "You're begging? I must admit, Madison, the sight of you on your knees in your wedding dress is something I never thought I'd see. This pose looks good on you. It's where you belong. Where I wish you'd understood you belong from the very beginning."

  "I know that now," I say. Bit by bit, I can feel his resolve to kill weakening. Can see it in the way his jaw loses its tightness, in the way his eyes turn less steely, more glassy; he still wants to dominate me, and my begging is pure intoxication to this drunken wretch of a man. It keeps him entranced, and it keeps me alive so my brain can scramble for some escape, some route to survival. That's all I need—time. "I wish I had known it sooner. But you know how people like me are. We think we know everything, and sometimes it's hard for us to understand that we're less than those above us. I'm sorry, Alexander, for all the trouble I caused you."

  "You caused me all the trouble in the world, Madison. It was all your fault. You deserve to die for embarrassing me."

  "I know, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I hurt you, and I'll make it up to you. In any way you want. Just don't kill me. I'll do anything. Anything you want. Please, just be merciful, Alexander."

  "Do you mean that?" He steps closer to me, the gun pointed down at the floor. His grip slackens, but he's still in control of the gun. For now. The best I can do is keep him talking, keep him engaged.

  "I do. I'll do whatever you ask." As the words leave my mouth, I reach up and undo the wedding dress. It falls to the floor in a lacy, elegant pool. Beneath it, I'm wearing nothing but the most minuscule bra and panties. “Anything. Everything. Whatever you desire.”

  Alexander appears entranced. Enraptured. His eyes grow wide and his smile, too. He comes closer.

  "Anything?"

  "Anything." Keep coming. Just a little closer. “Whatever you ask of me.”

  This close, I can see just how intoxicated he is. He must be truly unhinged to be so openly drunk where even a lesser person like Jackson or me might see. Good. Because the second he gets close enough for me to strike, he'll be undone, too.

  That's my plan: kick my drunken ex-fiance's ass as soon as he gets in range.

  Alexander shifts his aim just slightly more toward Jackson. Enough that I can see the crooked gears in his mind are grinding over something, some way to hurt me, to hurt Jackson, without pulling that trigger.

  "Anything at all? Even in front of him?" He says.

  "Don't you fucking dare, you sick—" Jackson says.

  Alexander erupts, firing a bullet into the ceiling. "Shut your mouth, you fucking peasant. I’ve heard that some people have taken to calling you 'Bullet.' If you don't be quiet, I will bury your namesake in your skull."