Rachel Dyken: Entice

Nixon

“You look pale.” I touched my girlfriend’s face and noticed that she had dark circles under her eyes. I knew that she hadn’t been sleeping for the past few weeks, ever since I’d miraculously come back to life. Things hadn’t been easy for her.

Losing Chase.

Gaining Mil.

Losing Phoenix.

Damn, but there had been a lot of loss, and now Chase and Mil getting married was just one more thing causing her stress. She’d never come out and said it — but when you’re in crazy, obsessive, I-will-die-for-you love, you know those things.

I noticed everything.

Like the way she tapped her foot when she was annoyed with me, or the soft moans that escaped her lips when I kissed her just below her neck, or the way she’d roll her eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking — or even just the way her breathing would change depending on her mood.

“It’s just weird.”

Thank God, at least she was talking.

“What is?” I played dumb. Hell, I knew exactly what was going on in that pretty little head of hers, damn it, and I didn’t like it. Freaking hated it.

Her eyes darted to her hands, and she shrugged and said, “Chase.”

Hearing his name on her lips still made me want to commit murder. I hated to admit how many times I’d imagined his face on the other side of my gun in the past few weeks. He still longed for her. I’d even told him to cut it out with the puppy dog eyes. I knew it wasn’t on purpose, but it was still irritating as hell. Up until Mil asked him for a favor, he’d been planning on leaving. Things were just easier without him being part of our weird triangle. And it wasn’t as if he was leaving the family, just moving to the other side of town so he didn’t have to see me and Trace go into the same bedroom at night, or eat breakfast across from us when her face was flush with pleasure.

If the positions had been switched, I probably would have run myself over with my car by now.

Either that or sailed to Europe and drowned my sorrows in enough wine to kill anyone who wasn’t Sicilian.

“What about him?” I kept my voice from sounding angry, though it came out as more of a hoarse whisper than anything. I fought like hell to keep my hand from squeezing the life out of hers — I was a great actor when it came to the job, but when it came to Trace? I struggled. I was weak. Her love made me both weak and strong.

“He’s getting married.” The way Tracey said married made my entire body tense, as if she was going to be that one psycho who stood up in the middle of the ceremony and yelled, “I object!”

“Right.” I nodded. I’d like to think I’d come a long way with the whole anger-management thing. At least now I could be decent and ask questions without pulling out my gun first. “Does that upset you?” Wow, I was borderline channeling a therapist with that deep-as-shit question. I inwardly groaned.

“Do you know anything?” Trace’s eyes pooled with tears. I lifted my hands in surrender.

“Trace, I—”

“I love you!” She all but shouted, causing people to look in our direction. I know I shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t help it; her expression was so confused.

“I love you too,” I said slowly, my smile fading as her eyes laced with more sadness. “So what is this about?”

Her nostrils flared just a bit as she lifted up her left hand.

I narrowed my eyes.

She pointed at her hand.

I kept staring. Did she cut herself or something? Hell, did she know I was packing and was pissed that I had a gun a few feet away from the priest? Or had Chase’s nuptials caused her to lose her mind?

She pointed at her ring finger.

And then, I felt like an absolute idiot. “Oh!”

“Shh!” Tex nudged me then kicked me in the calf. We were all standing side by side waiting to go in to the ceremony, but Chase and Mil had yet to return.

“You mean you’re…” I couldn’t find the words. When had that ever happened? I was born to talk my way out of any and every situation. If the President of the United States needed me to sweet-talk a terrorist, I wouldn’t even blink, but now? Nothing. Game over.

“She’s not pregnant, you idiot.” Mo hissed from behind me. “What I think she’s trying to say, you know, without actually saying it—”

“Thanks, Mo,” Trace grumbled.

“—is that she wants to get married.” Mo grinned triumphantly. “So… grow a pair and put a ring on it.”

Tex snickered behind me.

I lifted the back of my jacket to reveal both of my pistols.

The snickering stopped.

“Still the boss,” I said.

“Still an ass,” Mo sang.

“Or the devil,” Tex added. “However you want to put it.”

Trace gave me a sassy smile. “I was trying to be suggestive.”

“Suggestive, huh?” I licked my lips and looked at her chest. “You sure that’s what you meant?”

“I had a plan.” She grinned. “Suggestive first, seduction next—”

“Unplanned pregnancy to trap mob boss, third.” Tex coughed.

“I’m sorry.” Mo released his arm. “I can’t walk down the aisle with this ass hat. Change partners? Anyone? Anyone?” she called.

“Get in line.” I nudged my sister and looked behind her just in time to see Chase and Mil walk hand in hand toward the front of the line.

“I love you, baby.” I kissed Trace’s cheek. “We’ll talk later, alright?”

She nodded and let me go while I took my position with Chase at the front of the church. I was his best man. Thank God it wasn’t for his wedding with Trace. I would have had to be three sheets to the wind to stay good on that particular promise.

Mil

I watched each of the couples slowly walk down the aisle. The entire church was lit with candles. It was meant to be beautiful — special, but all I felt was sick to my stomach and trapped — as if I was screaming and drowning, yet no one was able to offer help. No life raft. No savior. Just… nothingness.

“Ready?” Luca Nicolasi held out his elbow. I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to yell no and run screaming out of the church — but I couldn’t be that girl. That choice was made for me. My dreams of a normal life? Stolen, just like my childhood. I pushed back the dark memories and regained control of my emotions. I was going to be okay. Everything was going to be fine.

“I’m ready,” I said, more confident than I felt, taking Luca’s arm with mine. Never would I have imagined that I’d be getting married at twenty, or that Luca, basically the most hated boss known to all the American mafia families, would be walking me down the aisle.

Well, at least I had evil on my side; that had to be good, right? Nobody would try to shoot me as I made my way toward Chase.

I took one step then another. People stood. Everyone was wearing black. Funny, because it really fit my mood. Forced smiles, undying loyalty, suspicion, riches — this was my life.

Every girl imagined marrying someone she loved — a prince or a knight in shining armor. Not the villain who has an A-plus in torturing information out of people, and not the one person who was the equivalent to the final nail-in-the-coffin called life. By marrying him, I was solidifying myself within the family. The only escape for me would be death — and I had a choking feeling it would be sooner rather than later. After all, it was only a matter of time before the truth about my family was discovered.

In that moment, I realized I wasn’t a bride on her wedding day — I was a prisoner on death row, and they’d just unlocked my cell. By saying yes I was securing my fate. The way I saw it, marrying Chase just prolonged the inevitable. Funny, because death wasn’t something brides usually contemplated while taking those final steps to the altar — but hell if I didn’t reek of it.