Page 28 of Arranged Scars
“The details don’t matter.”
“Then let me be clear. You’re going to help me kill your father and all four of your brothers. I’m going to hunt them down, Caroline, one after the other. I’m going to cut their throats. I’m going to make them suffer. And you’re going to be there, by my side, drowning in their blood with me.”
I make a gagging, choking noise. I drink more alcohol and cough, sputtering some out. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “That’s insane. You’re joking, right?”
“How did you get those scars, Caroline?”
“Stop asking me about that.”
“How’d you get them? Who gave those to you?”
“Stop it!” I throw the bottle at him. I don’t even know why I do it. The bottle spins in the air and he neatly steps to the side. It misses and hits the tile next to the deep end, glass shattering all over, spilling into the pool.
He doesn’t look back. “We’ll kill them together for what they did. You’ll help me do it. Once your family is in the ground, you’ll be free. I swear on my life, I’ll let you go.”
I shake my head. This can’t be happening. My husband can’t be trying to get me to murder my own brothers with him. This is pure madness.
But there’s no joke in the serious way he’s watching me.
I suddenly feel sick. I whirl away from him and cover my mouth. I make it about two steps before I spew prosecco all over the floor. It splatters against the hem of my wedding dress. I feel pathetic and foolish. I’m so drunk I can barely think straight. Why did I have an entire bottle? What the heck was I thinking? I have zero tolerance on a good day, and I haven’t eaten all night.
Finn appears beside me. He rubs my back, his palm rolling over the scars, his fingertips tickling them. I puke a second time, gasping for breath. He gently holds my hair back. “Sorry, so sorry,” I mumble. “I got some on your shoes.”
“Let’s get you to bed.”
I stand up and wipe my mouth with a groan. “What, for our wedding night? Do we have to fuck now? Is your brother going to inspect our sheets?” I’m babbling. I bet he can’t even understand my slurring nonsense. He leads me back inside, down the steps, and into the guest bedroom. I flop down on the comforter and start wiggling out of my dress.
Finn helps. He’s surprisingly gentle. I burp and laugh.
“There you go.” He rolls me onto my side. I’m aware that my tits are out. They’re covered in flesh-colored cups, but there’s not much left to the imagination. “Are you going to be sick again?”
“God, I’m embarrassed.”
“You’re fine.” He gets me under the sheets.
“Why are you being nice? I tried to kill you with a bottle.”
“You did a very bad job of it.”
“But why?”
“Because you’re my wife.” He smooths my hair from my face. I want to ask him to stay, but even wasted out of my mind I can’t stoop that low. He moves away to the door and flips off the light. “Sleep it off, darling.”
“Don’t call me that. My mom calls me darling.”
“Then I’ll call you something else.”
“Wait.” I squint at his outline in the doorway. “Do you really want to kill my family?”
“Yes, I do. Goodnight.”
The door creaks closed. I’m spinning and burping. I have to put one foot on the floor to keep from puking again.
But my head’s ringing the whole time with two words, over and over again, like an angelic choir screaming down my brain stem.
Kill them. Kill them. Kill them, kill them, kill them, kill them, kill?—
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