Sitting at my desk, I glance across all the bridal magazines that Veer had his wedding coordinator flash in my face the last few days. The women are so skinny and smiling it makes me angry. Don’t any of these women have hips? Dresses range from white to red, fluffy and lacy to modern and sleek. So many choices it gives me an instant headache.

I should get black as I’m mourning my life away the day I marry this prick.

I rub at my temples, not sure what to do about this whole thing. I feel like crap, I have been for over a week now and my head hurts, I’m bloated, and am so freaking tired I can’t even think of a way out of this mess.

“So, did you look at the swatches?”

My eyes slowly drift from the desk to Kel. His hair is blonde and short, his chin sharp and face flawless. It’s like he walks around with a Snapchat filter on his face it’s so smooth.

He’s skinny, pulling off his black spandex shirt and skinny jeans better than a model. Kel was hired by Veer to help me plan everything for the wedding while he’s away for work and I haven’t been very cooperative because this wedding isn’t happening if I ever figure out how to get out of it without hurting anyone.

Kel sashays into the room, and tosses the swatches in my lap, once again.

I thought I threw those away.

“Kel, I told you I’d get to it,” I huff, throwing them on the desk and out of my sight. Again.

“Veer wants colors, Simone. Today!” Kel crosses his arms and looks at me pointedly.

The little vein in my neck begins to throb and the words of “there isn’t going to be a wedding” hangs from the tip of my tongue. Not looking, I snatch the wad of colors and hand him one.

It’s black. How fitting that fate should pick the color I was just thinking of. If Veer does get his way and this wedding happens, it will be over my dead body. A wedding and funeral in the same day.

“You want the color black? Don’t you think that’s a little, I don’t know… morbid?” He frowns, his fingers pinching the swatch like a splash of color is hidden between the threads.

“No,” I sigh, leaning back in my chair. “It’s perfect.”

I yawn, not bothering to cover my mouth. “God, why am I so exhausted,” I exhale.

“What flowers do you want?” he looks at me with excited eyes. “Roses? Tulips?”

“What kind are sent to funerals?” I deadpan.

Kel purses his lips and snatches the swatches off the desk. “I will just pick everything for you,” he huffs. I shrug. Apparently, this isn’t his first wedding where one of the participants… doesn’t want to participate in a wedding because Kel has been organizing everything. I could care less about it all.

“How is it going?” I sit upward at the sound of my mother’s voice entering the room. My chair creaking from the sudden movement.

Kel growls dramatically in response and hustles out of the room.

Mom closes the door after Kel leaves and raises a curious brow. Standing at the other end of my desk, she eyes me quietly.

“What?” I finally ask. I hate it when she does that. She’s done it since I was a child. She’d stand there with wide eyes waiting for me to fess up to what I was up to. It’s like a superpower.

“What’s with you, Simone? You seem tired all of the time, you’re distracted—”

“It doesn’t help Dad stuck me in here.” I wave my hands around the office. “I should be out there doing what I normally do. I mean, who is going to approve percentages, and make sure payouts are on time?” I shake my head. These gangs and outlaws are not going to pay what they owe if someone isn’t on their ass.

“You need to focus on the wedding,” she defends. “Working time is over, you’ve learned enough. Besides, wives don’t work.”

“There is not going to be a wedding,” I growl under my breath, shaking my head. I wish my mother would stop pushing and help me figure a way out of this.

I’m independent, on the top of my game. Being with Veer, I’ll only live in his shadows.

Mom slowly paces in her blue and gold sequin pantsuit. She places her hands on the tip of my desk and looks at me sternly.

“You need to wrap your head around this one, sweetie, it’s happening.”

I just look at her, my eyes conveying everything I’ve said a million times. I’m intelligent, I outsmart outlaws and thugs every day. So why can’t I figure my way out of this one?

“Are those… sweatpants?” Her eyes fall to my lap. Squirming in my gray comfy sweats, I slide myself a little more under the desk.

“I haven’t been feeling well.” I brush my hair from my face. “I’m hot, I feel sick, but I am hungry at the same time, and I just – I just want sleep.” I groan like a teenager, my hands raised in the air and strained.

Mom’s face pales like she’s seen a ghost. It scares me.

“What?” I frown. Her throat bobs, and she shakes her head before silently leaving.

“Mom?!”

Angry with her aloofness, I shove myself away from the desk. I’m done sitting in this damn chair for the day. It’s not like I’m working anyways.

I head to my room and tuck myself into of my thick comforter before falling asleep.

* * *

The door suddenly swings open, and I fling upwards. The room is blurry, my eyes squinting in the direction of the noise.

Mom is standing in the doorway with a doctor we’ve seen inside the house from time to time. He’s more of an herbal healer than man-made medicine. His hair is long and down to his waist, his white shirt buttoned and tucked into his black slacks.

“Dr. Moore?”

He steps to me and doesn’t say anything. Raising his hand, he holds a small clear cup.

“Pee,” he clips.

I glance at my mother who is standing behind him, her face ashen.

“What the hell is this?”

“Do it, Simone. It’s important.” Her face serious, and body tense.

Sliding out of bed, I snatch the cup from him, and I head to my bathroom. Sitting down on the toilet, I angle the cup under me and pee in the cup half asleep. Placing the cup on the counter, I wipe and saunter back into my room.

“It’s all yours,” I state sarcastically.

Dr. Moore doesn’t say anything, he struts inside the bathroom with his black bag thrown over his shoulder.

“You want to tell me what is going on?” I cross my arms and tilt my head to the side. My mother purses her lips and lifts her chin but stays silent.

“Do you think I’m on drugs or something?” I half laugh, my stomach falls when it occurs to me I did cocaine that one night. Would that show up?

Minutes later Dr. Moore walks out of my bathroom and sighs.

“What is it, doctor,” Mother begs, her hands pressed together.

Lifting his head, he blinks a few times before finally speaking.

“Simone, you’re with child. I recommend—”

“That can’t be right,” I interrupt him. My stomach suddenly tightens, and my heart stammers for its rhythm in my chest.

“My tests are never wrong,” he corrects in an offended manner. I’m stunned, not sure what to say next.

Mother pulls out a 9-millimeter from her waistband and pulls the trigger, drilling a bullet right into the skull of our doctor. He slumps to the floor lifeless, skull and brain matter painting the wall behind him.

I stand from the bed, my mouth gaping open with a scream trapped in my throat. The room smells of flesh and blood, and I puke all over the floor.

“I can’t risk him having him tell someone,” Mother states with a strong tone.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, my breathing labored I can’t help but look at the man who has was been here to help me with the flu as a child. Nursed my mother back to health when she had a tumor removed. He’s been here since I can remember, and now he’s dead on my bedroom floor next to a pile of puke.

Mom turns on a shaky foot, her eyes quivering as they fall to my belly. I look down with her, the very thought that I am pregnant not registering. They wore condoms, how can this be?

Turning away, I rest my hand on my forehead and try to remember that night, but it’s all a fucking blur.

“Who’s the father?”

“I- I don’t know?” My voice strains.

“What do you mean, you don’t know!”

“I was with two men that night, Mom! The baby could be either of theirs!”

Her face doesn’t cast judgment, and it doesn’t show anger either. It wrinkles with worry.

“Run.” My mother’s words a mere whisper.

“What?” Tears run down my face, the dominos of my actions continuing to fall.

“Run Simone! Run to one of the men. If Veer finds out you are pregnant, he will kill you and that baby.” Her tone of voice is grave and solemn, making me suddenly frightened.

“I can’t leave you. If I do, Veer will just kill you and father. This is my fault, I have to stay.” I explain, but I don’t know any other way out of this. I have played and plotted every scenario on how to escape this marriage and I end up dead no matter what.

Mom erases the gap between us, placing a shaky hand on my flat stomach. To think a life resides inside of me is startling. “If you stay, your stubbornness will kill your baby. Your father and I will be fine, now go!”

“I don’t know how this could have—” I lose my breath, shock overtaking my brain.

“It’s what the Great Spirit wanted, or it wouldn’t have happened, Simone.” She resorts to her religion as an excuse as to why I’m pregnant. The Great Spirit is a deity that guides us in our everyday, and often intervenes in our everyday. Mother uses it as an excuse for everything. Father is a Christian and belies everything happens because it’s God’s plan.

As for me, I don’t know what to believe in.

“Mother—” I begin to protest her belief. Both of her hands grasp each of my shoulders, her face inches from mine.

“Grab the keys to the Range Rover, it hasn’t been bugged. Run, and never look back, baby.”

One hand cups the side of my face, her soft warm skin parental and endearing.

“Do it for the baby,” she whispers, encouraging me to run.

“Okay, Momma.” I give in, because I don’t want to marry Veer, and I don’t want to die either. I have to run, even if it makes me feel like a coward.

She pulls me close and kisses my forehead. Her lips press against my clammy skin for a second longer than normal. The power and silent love behind the action tearing me apart inside.

“So when life fades, as the fading sunset, my spirit may come to you without shame,” she recites parts of the Great Spirit Prayer against my skin. “Go. Go!” She waves me off, and I rush out of the room, and down the stairs. My feet pitter patter past the family motto etched into the floor. “All that I am, I carry with me.”

I ignore it and hurry into the garage to the new Range Rover. Climbing into the leather seat, I start the engine with a shaky hand, my heart beating so fast I don’t hear the engine turn over.

Pulling out of the driveway, I look in the rearview mirror at the mansion, leaving behind the only family I have. The only life I’ve ever known and may never see again.

Shit, I can’t remember the club Gatz was in. Pulling my phone out, I google Devil’s Dust Club, the one Kane’s was in. Praying something pops up.

It shows charity donations, pictures of parties, and then there’s a Facebook tag. I stop, clicking on the map. Looks like a groupie or something Facebooked about being at the club and tagged the location. Thank God.

Clearing the history, I toss the phone out the window and head in the direction of the Devil’s Den.