“Deep breaths, Isa. It’s going to be fine,” Lydia coos, fluffing over my dress. She’s so fucking wrong that it’s almost funny. Almost because I don’t find it amusing at all. Since moving in with Bryant, everything has been at full speed. Hard to believe that it was just a week ago when I got caught attempting to run. Yeah, that turned out really great. The only running I have done was the running of a cold bath after he spanked my ass so hard I couldn’t sit down for days.

“It’s not going to be okay, Lydia, because I don’t want to get fucking married.” I’ve never been very good at hiding my thoughts to Lydia. As much as she drives me nuts, there are parts of me that respects her too. I mean, she tolerates my father.

“Oh, sweetness.” Lydia pats my cheek, her cool leather-like palm skating over my plush cheek. “Marriage is overrated. You could have been worse off. Count your lucky stars.”

I pause. Over the years, I’ve known Lydia to take little jabs at her and Dad’s marriage. I don’t know their story or why they’re together, but I’ve known for some time that Lydia wasn’t happy. I mean, all you need to do is take one look at her and it’s obvious.

“Lydia?” I ask, straightening my dress while looking at myself in the mirror and tilting my head. “If you’re not happy with Dad, why don’t you leave?” She seems to ponder over my question until a few silent beats passing us.

“Sometimes we do things because we have to, Isa. Not because we want to.” There’s that connection. This is why, because I know that underneath that strong shell, she hides a lot of pain. Pain that maybe I won’t understand just yet, but I hope to in the future.

Breathing in and out deeply, and hearing her passive aggressive comment loud and clear, I exhale. “Okay.”

Pulling open the door to the master bedroom of Bryant’s apartment, I gather the train of my dress, lifting it up off the floor. “Deep breathing,” I whisper to myself in hopes to calm down. Lydia steps in front of me, taking the lead and I follow, walking toward the elevators. Once inside, we descend down a level, the doors opening to Jerry and around six MIB’s. Must be added security because of the day and all. I mean, I’m about to marry my worst enemy, I’m pretty sure the only threat to my life is from my husband-to-be.

“You look beautiful, Mrs. Johnson.” Jerry nods his head toward me. Something warm blossoms deep inside my chest and I smile sweetly at him. “Thanks, Jer.” The elevator continues down until eventually, we’re in the lobby, heading toward a large white stretch limo that’s sitting outside. I bypass all the stares that I’m getting out of the corner of my eyes, and walk through the front doors, out toward the awaiting car. The driver jumps out, popping open the back door, just as Jerry and the MIB’s pile into a couple SUV’s. One is in front of us and another behind us.

“Thank you.” I smile at our driver, sliding into the backseat as quickly as I can with Lydia climbing in behind me.

“Wait!” Brianna yells, coming down toward the limo. “Sorry I’m late,” she adds, slipping into the backseat and sitting opposite me. Typical Brianna fashion.

“Thanks for showing,” I sarcastically add, closing the door and leaning my head against the cool window. My idea of having a relaxing trip is now ruined, thanks to my sister. So much for ‘I’ll meet you all down there.’

“Are you mad?” Brianna asks, putting her earrings into her ears. “You know that I had a conference today, Isa. I made do the best I could and I mean, hey! I’m still here aren’t I? Even if I am missing my shoes, and in my defense, I had short notice to attend. I would have liked to lose a couple pounds—if you know what I mean.” No, I don’t, because my sister is a size freaking two.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I shake my head, choosing which part of her sentence I want to reply to. “How’d you manage to lose your shoe?” I chose the easiest one.

Brianna shrugs. “I’m me, that’s how.” She’s right, no explanation needed. As put together my sister is on the outside, she’s a klutz. A natural fucking disaster waiting to happen. The only difference between her and I is that she hides her category 5 cyclone ass better than I can. Even when we were kids, Brianna would be next to me through everything. She may appear to be perfect and well-polished, but she’s always been loyal to me, even when we were kids. I’d be getting into trouble, but she’d always be there in an attempt to save me. She always tried to butter our father up to go easy on me, but he never did.

“Isa,” she whispers, finally finished with her shoe and leaning over, flicking open the little bar fridge. She takes out the chilled bottle of champagne and two flutes before leaning back into her seat. I try to ignore her penetrating glare and look out the window, watching the passing trees whisk past as we head toward the Chapel in downtown New York City.

“Isa?” Brianna repeats. I can see her trying to hand me my flute of champagne, so I take it, but keep my eyes locked on the passing world.

“What?” I answer softly, bringing the rim of my glass to my mouth and taking a sip.

“Is everything okay? Did Dad have something to do with this marriage?” she pries, leaning forward.

I swallow the bitter bubbles and shake my head. “No, Brianna. This is my doing—for once,” I lie. I hate lying to her, and usually, it’s useless because she always could tell when I was bullshitting, but because I have so much at stake here, I’m going to put on an Oscar-worthy performance.

“So Dad had absolutely nothing to do with this?” she repeats, her undertone saying she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying, as she throws herself back into her seat. Glaring at her as she takes a long pull of the champagne, I snap, just as she swallows. “So what if he did, Bri, what am I supposed to do about it? What have we ever been able to do about it?” So much for Oscar-worthy performance. That was terrible.

“Jesus.” Briana leans forward again, her soft chocolate eyes coming to mine. “He does doesn’t he?” She shakes her head, then leans closer. “This is marriage, Isa. This is a contract, binding your soul to someone else.”

I chuckle, taking another sip of my crisp champagne which is going down rather nicely. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s only soul binding if you’re in love with said person—which I’m not.”

“God!” she curses. “That’s even fucking worse!”

“How so?” I tilt my head. “The way I see it; I’ll never get hurt. Fuck love.”

“Isa…”

“Shut up, Bri.” I look back at her. “Okay? Just… shut up.”

“Okay. But answer one thing and answer it truthfully.”

I roll my eyes. “What?”

“Has this got anything to do with Brooke?”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Brooke!” I laughed, the effects of the alcohol swimming through my veins and warming my blood.

“I’m dead serious!” Brooke giggled, taking my hand in hers. “Come, let’s just do it for fun!”

“Fun?” I yanked my hand back.

“It’s a strip club, Isa! They’ll give us a job straight away and this way, we can make money doing something we’re good at!”

“You can, I’m not into the whole stripping thing…”

She winked at me. “Well, you can get drunk and watch me do the whole stripping thing, huh? How about that?” Mmm. She had a point.

“That sounds like a better plan.” I smirked at her, nudging my head toward the glass opening doors.

She hooked her arm in mine, then pushed open the door. I glanced around the dim setting, watching as the strobe lights flashed and the deep bass of some rock song electrified the atmosphere.

“Wait at the bar!” Brooke yelled into my ear over the music and I nodded, walking toward one of the leather bar stools.

“What can I get you?” The bartender asked me, but my eyes were still glued on Brooke and her retreating frame. It wasn’t until she slipped behind the stage curtain that I turned to face the bartender.

“Hi, ah, anything with vodka in it. Thanks.” His greying beard trailed down his chest, but not in a greasy way, more in a slick, silver fox way. His eyes were silver and his hair was styled back tidily. He must’ve been in his sixties? Or maybe late fifties, but he was handsome for an old guy, to say the least.

“Coming up, darlin’,” he winked, moving to the other side of the bar and pulling out a few more glasses. “You from around here?” He placed the glasses down and took out a bottle of vodka.

I shook my head. “No. Me and my friend are just passing through.”

“And this friend…” he asked, watching me skeptically while pouring our drinks. “She’s stripping while you pass through?”

I laughed, taking the glass from him. “Yeah, well we’re sort of just drifting through while we figure out what college we want to go to. Or if we even want to go to college.”

“Huh,” he murmured, tilting his head. “That’s interesting.”

“Not really,” I muttered back, swallowing my drink. I looked around the room again, noticing that there were only a few people scattered around the place. “Is it usually this quiet?”

The bartender dragged his eyes over my seated frame and then shook his head. “Not usually. But it’s Wednesday, that means that it’s private events only – usually.”

“Oh!” I straightened in my seat. “Are we not supposed to be here?”

He paused, the wrinkles around the corner of his eyes crinkling, illustrating his age. “Naaw, darlin’, you’re good.” I thank him and then turn in my chair, just in time to see Brooke sauntering down the catwalk stage to “Killing Strangers” by Marilyn Manson.

My head was a little hazy from my drink, and the lack of food throughout the day probably didn’t help, but I continued to watch as Brooke slowly wrapped her body around the beat of the song and all eyes in the room shot straight to her. I smirked, knowing full well what she was doing. Aside from being seductive and sultry, Brooke was the most exotic girl I had ever seen. With chocolate brown wavy hair, bright blue eyes, a tight body, and a tan most girls would die for, she was gorgeous. She looked toward me, body rolling against the poll and come-hithered her fingers. I was about to shake my head when the buzz from the alcohol shot straight to my brain and relaxed my frantic thoughts. I grinned, sliding off my stool and walked toward the front of the stage.

“Get it, darlin’,” one of the guys at the tables in front of us catcalled.

Looking over my shoulder at him, I winked and snatched the joint he had pressed to his lips, bringing it to my own. I took a long inhale of the harsh smoke, removing my leather jacket and tossing it across the room before blowing out a thick white cloud. Taking off my shirt, I popped the button off my jeans and shimmied out of them slowly, a smirk riding on my lips. Placing the joint back in my mouth, I kicked my jeans to the side and slid my butt up onto the stage. Smiling at the young guys in the front dressed in suits, I flicked the joint back toward them, the ash erupting over the impact of it hitting him, before gripping onto the pole and winging it. Whatever I remember watching on TV as a kid when it came to dancing, I used this night. In my drunken, stoned haze, nothing mattered. But truly, nothing mattered since that night in the tent. Somehow, all of that had made me numb. Taking someone’s life wasn’t something to be proud of, but when a man doesn’t know how to take no for an answer, whether it’s his kink or not, then he deserved what he got. At least, that’s what I tell myself when it begins to be too much. Since then, living life in the fast lane with Brooke, a bottle of whiskey, a few lines of coke, and a strip club, seemed like the more pleasurable route to my destruction.

Brooke removed her bra and flung it across the room toward an older guy that had been looking at her like she was a big juicy steak and he was starved. She made her way down to him, jumping off the stage while still moving to the music. Wrapping her legs around his lap, she started grinding against him. I chanced a look at his friend beside him just as his eyes connected with mine. He nudged his head, pulling out hundred-dollar bills from his pocket. Smirking, I leaped down off the stage, turned my back toward him, and ground my ass into his lap.

“Hey, baby, wanna let me have a touch and I’ll triple your tips?” He groaned hoarsely into the side of my neck. He smelled of stale beer and cheap cigarettes.

“Triple, huh? And touch where?” I spun around, wrapped my legs around his waist and took a seat on his lap, grinding myself over the bulge that was coming through the front of his pants. Money, think money. My head was drifting around to the music when a dark shadowed figure caught my attention. I couldn’t see from where I was what it was because not only was this object in the shadows, but their face was covered by a long hoodie. There’s one thing I did know, though. Based on the structure of the figure and the long hair, it was definitely female.

Bringing my attention back to the task at hand, he smiled, the wrinkles on his face curving around his teeth. “Anywhere I want.” He grabbed one of my tits and squeezed through my bra. I didn’t mind. After all, we needed the money. After I left home, my dad and Lydia disowned me. They never understood Brooke, but they never understood many people. If you couldn’t serve a purpose to my father or my family, then there’s no way they’d make time for you. Brooke had nothing to offer, and I figured that’s why they always had a very distasteful opinion on her.

I first met Brooke one night when I almost crashed my car into the town’s bridge. I skidded to a halt, tears streaming down my face, in full panic mode because I was drunk and was also hell-bent on thinking someone was following me. Brooke had said there was no one following me, so I eventually calmed down. I put it down to all my emotions running high from catching my then-boyfriend cheating on me at the party I had just come from, and the alcohol running through my system. Brooke had showed up as I was having a full-blown panic attack in my car that was up on the footpath to the bridge. I’ve often wondered why my family don’t speak to her or even acknowledged her when she was around, and I’ve always thought that maybe they assumed we dated because of how Brooke was and how close our friendship was. Wrong. Brooke and I enjoy dick too much to switch teams, but we’re comfortable enough around each other to experiment with other people together.

I ran my hands down the old dude’s sides until they stopped at a cold metal barrel. “Oh?” I smiled, attention perked.

“Just protection, darlin’, nothing to worry your pretty little self about.”

I go to reach for the gun but he stopped me with a firm grip of his hand. “Pretty little girls shouldn’t play with big ugly guns.”

“Aw, that’s cute.” I winked at him, letting it go. NERD “Lapdance” came on so I continued giving the man his excitement while letting his fingers roam where ever they may—which occasionally ended in him shoving Benjamin Franklin’s down the front of my bra—I laughed, hooking my fingers behind his neck and swinging myself backward.

Looking to the side, I watched as Brooke bent over between the guy who she was with legs, lean forward, and snort a line of crank off the inside of his thigh. In one quick motion, she then flicked her wrist from behind her back and quickly pulled out a Swiss army knife. The room started spinning and I tilted my head just as she raised the knife to the man’s throat, slicing deep across his jugular vein and blood started spurting out everywhere. The man I was sitting on, pounced off his seat, reaching for his semi-automatic, but I was faster. Snatching it quickly, I raised it up to him and cocked it. “Don’t fucking move!”

Brooke stood over the dead man’s body, her breathing heavy, her chest rising and falling and blood dripping off her silken skin.

“Brooke?” I whispered out urgently, not knowing what the fuck just happened or what my next move should be. “What the fuck is going on?” Brooke looked over her shoulder to the young guys who were seated at the front of the stage and then flicked her gaze to the old man behind the bar. I kept my sole focus on the guy in front of me, though, not wanting to give him the opportunity to see a weakness. Never held a gun in my entire life, so I was totally winging this whole ordeal, but I was going with it. “Brooke!” I snapped at her.

“Honey, put the gun down. He ain’t got shit he can do.” The old guy from the bar walked toward Brooke and I, but I didn’t lower the weapon. My hands shook, and my lips trembled slightly, but I remained in the same position.

“Isa, lower the gun,” Brooke answered softly, reaching into the pockets of the dead guy and taking out all his money, shoving it into her pocket.

“Someone needs to tell me what the fuck is going on and they need to tell me right now! Or I’m not lowering shit.” My breathing was ragged and all senses had been tightened by the adrenaline.

Old guy from the bar pulled out a seat opposite me, putting a cigarette between his lips. “Brooke?” he questioned, and then his eyes moved to the corner where the shadow once stood. His eyes changed, then he grinned, with a shrug of his shoulders. “That man there,” he pointed down to the dead body on the floor. “Had been raping Brooke.” He stopped, his left eye slightly twitching. I looked back to the man who was standing in front of me, afraid that he may jump on me, or hell, kill me. “Since she was a little girl.” He flicked open his Zippo and took a long inhale of the nicotine. “Brooke?” He blew out a cloud of smoke. “She’s my daughter, but her mother was seeing two people at the same time. Long story short, she was raised here and not… by me.”

“But…” I whispered. “I never knew…” That was the best I could muster at this time.

“Give me the gun, darlin’, and walk out of here.” I looked to Brooke and she smiled softly, nodding her head. I flung the gun toward him and he swung it around his finger until the barrel was resting on his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and the other Russian—or English man— who I had at gunpoint, dropped to the ground in a bloody mess.

“I’ll call you, Dad,” Brooke muttered softly.

“You call me, darlin’, you know where I am.”

I looked at the other two guys who were sitting at the front of the stage, both had to be in their mid-twenties. Cocking my head, one of them grinned at me, his white teeth coming into display devilishly.

“Come on” Brooke interrupted my staring, so I followed her, picking up my clothes on the way out all the while feeling both of the young guy’s glare at the back of my head. Once we had our clothes, I looked at Brooke just before we hit the front doors. “Who are those guys and why didn’t you tell me this was your plan all along?”

“Those guys are my dad’s minions.” She didn’t stop walking.

“Brooke!” I yelled out to her, gripping onto her arm as she made her way toward the car. She stopped and turned to face me. “And who is your dad? And who is your mom?”

She smiled weakly. “He owns a cartel that runs most of the eastern side of America, and my mom? She...” Her eyes drifted off into the distance sadly. “She’s difficult.” Then she walked back to her side of the car with a complete smile back on her face. “You ready to continue our road trip of mass destruction?”

“Yeah.” I shook my head, attempting to wrap my head around everything I just witnessed. “Yeah, but no more killing people. We’re going to be leaving a trail in our wake soon.”

Brooke laughed, sliding into the driver’s seat. “Promise, no more dead bodies.”

Bringing myself out of my memory lapse, I look toward my sister and smile. “No. Nothing to do with Brooke.”

“Are you sure?” Brianna asks, doing that annoying thing with her eyebrow when she knows I’m lying.

“Positive. Now can I just get this wedding over with, please? I feel like my life hasn’t even started yet but I’m over it already.” I sink back into my chair.

We pull up to a white chapel, and I note how it looks exactly as it did in the brochures. I didn’t get much time to plan, and it didn’t mean that great of a deal to me at the time, so it was merely me choosing out of the eight venues the wedding planner picked out for me.

Jen is waiting for me at the curb in her bridesmaid’s dress, and seeing her should make me happy, but it makes me sad. Sad because I still haven’t heard from Devon, and I’ve become so lost without him. I’ve never thought of myself to rely on anyone in my entire life, not my father or my sister, but without even realizing, I did rely on Devon. Emotionally, sexually, and just as a friend in general. One thing I have learned through this rough patch is that friends can break your heart just like any relationship can.

Jen opens my door and widens her arms. “Oh my God, Isa, you look so stunning.” I get out of the car with Brianna holding my train behind me. I feel terrible because amongst all the chaos that has happened in my life, I’ve lost touch with Jen. It’s as though we both just took different paths in life, hers being having kids and marrying her high school sweetheart at a young age, and me, well, me being the hot mess that I am. Somehow, even though we love each other dearly, those little differences in life can be big things when it comes to friendship.

“Can you get out? I don’t want to be stuck in here all day,” Lydia mutters impatiently from inside the limo.

I pull Jen into a hug, and then step back. “You look beautiful too, Jen, Brianna did really well with your guy’s dresses.” I gave Brianna three options to choose from in regards to the bridesmaid dresses, and what did she do? She chose one thing of each option and then customized it. Andrea, the wedding planner, was not a fan of Bri.

“Thank you. My kids are probably running circles around David right now.” She looks toward the church, and we both giggle. She’s right, all though I do love her two kids very much, they’re little mini tornados.

“Okay, are we ready?” Brianna grins, brushing her own dress down.

Jen smiles before nodding. “As ready as we will ever be.”

The white doors spread open and I step inside just as our guests get to their feet. This whole thing is like a car wreck of a movie. I feel like a fraud, standing at where the aisle begins. Every step I take down the long wooden pathway, one hundred things rush through my brain—all of which have a lot to do with running. But considering my track record with running, I’m thinking I better not.

Looking up, I slowly bring my eyes to the altar, and they don’t flinch away from Bryant. I know he has two men as his groomsmen, probably guys from that day—probably the same guys that helped practically kidnap me when I was in his house, or maybe, they’re paid actors. The latter makes a lot of sense, and both options aren’t very romantic. Figures. Good thing I’m not a scrapbook wedding enthusiast because this would absolutely shit on any and all expectations.

Bryant is dressed in a razor-sharp, perfectly tailored suit. The little black bow tie that is hooked around his neck catches my eye, mainly because I’ve never seen him in a bowtie, he’s almost always wearing a tie. I bring my eyes back to his and I watch as he runs his own down my body, slowly. Yet, even though this is my wedding day, and although I know that it’s not the traditional wedding—not even remotely, a part of me does feel a tinge of guilt, or discomfort, knowing how fake the whole set up is. But as Bryant takes my hand with a cocky grin, I notice something. On my side of the church sits Lydia, my father, a couple of my aunts whom I haven’t seen in years, my cousin Trish—who is a nutcase—her husband and three kids, and a few distant cousins, but when I look to Bryant’s side, it’s full. Way fuller than my side. I didn’t realize it, but he has a massive family. I don’t know what I was expecting, actually, no, I know that I was expecting a lot smaller. Not saying people with smaller families are snobbish, but Bryant just comes off as someone who wouldn’t have a large family. I’m guessing the woman standing at the front with a wide smile on her face is his mom. She has soft brown curls, warm chocolate eyes and a smile that could light up this entire church.

Bryant narrows his eyes on me, interrupting my gawking. “What’s wrong?”

I perch my eyebrow. “Want the list?”

Bryant chuckles then looks back toward the priest. “Begin.”