Chapter 21

Vance

Despite being back in my own home, I feel like I'm in a foreign land. It feels like I don't belong here anymore. I now hate the familiar decor, like the oversized recliner standing in the corner of the room. It doesn't hold a candle to the leather chair in Isabella's house, especially when she sat on my lap. Everything just seems miserable here.

Without her.

As much as she drove me nuts—literally insane—being without her feels like I've had a limb forcibly removed from my body. One minute I had a happiness I've never felt, and the next, I was sitting in my quiet home, hating everything about it. And myself.

I look at the clock. The big, beautiful wedding is set for today, and it will fulfill all her dreams and her father's fucking wishes. The hands move toward four p.m., inching closer to the grand event at five-thirty. The seconds crawl along, torturing me.

Actually, I think I'd rather be physically tortured than sit here and deal with the mental anguish from knowing my girl is about to give herself to someone else.

My girl? She's not my girl.

I remind myself that a woman like Isabella wouldn't have let me sniff in her general direction before I got this gig. She doesn't want me. She only feels an insatiable lust for the man who was in close proximity. It could have been anyone.

I have to let her go.

I'm trying. I'm really trying. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have let her go to the wedding in the first place. I would have killed the man who came to take her to the massive mansion.

As stupid as that decision would have been, it took everything in me to keep from doing exactly that. I had to remind myself to keep my feet planted because I was one word away from digging my own grave. I should have killed him for silently standing in her living room while wearing sunglasses indoors like a moron. Or for standing in the home that had begun to feel like my home too.

She shot me a look before she went with him. I probably imagined it, but that look seemed as if she was fighting her own urges to run into my arms and never look back. I had to bite back everything I felt and give her a reassuring nod because I didn't know what would have happened if I didn't.

She had to go. She has to get married. But I can't stop these homicidal thoughts from racing through my mind.

I want to string up every man involved in this fiasco by the balls, starting with her father. I'd fight the entire fucking family if it meant I could keep her from marrying someone else. But that's not realistic. That's suicide.

I hope her father is happy. I hope everything is to his fucking liking. His perfect business model is falling into place, regardless of what Isabella wants or needs. And what she wants and needs isn't that fucker she's marrying.

My head drops to my fist. Memories of that girl wrap around my chest and squeeze, suffocating me. Her touch. The way she sounded when she laughed. When she was playful and coaxed some of that out of me as well.

I want that.

I need it.

And I can't fucking have it.

But what if I could?

My back stiffens, and I sit up again. What if I didn't go in with my guns blazing like some kind of low-budget Rambo? I could take out some of the men if I had to. Some, but not all. That's why it's suicide. This isn't a movie. But what if I snuck in, quiet as a fucking church mouse, and made sure she left with me?

The thoughts renew something inside me. I get up, change out of my pajamas, and put on a crisp pair of slacks and a pressed shirt. I don't fully suit up, but I throw my jacket over my shoulder and whip open my gun safe.

My faithful pistol begs to be chosen, so I slide it into my holster. But I'll need more than one. I tuck a second handgun down the back of my pants. Metal clinks together as I slip the 9mm magazines into my pocket.

I consider wearing armor, but if it gets to that point, I'm better off dead than in the hands of their families. I'd rather bleed out than allow them to decide my fate. Which—spoiler alert—would be much worse than dying.

I get in my car, which isn't nearly as flashy as the luxury cars that will surely fill the valet parking area at the event. I'll stick out like a sore thumb.

A smile creeps across my face at my own ingenuity when I get an idea. If I take Isabella's BMW, I'll blend in with the big money. As much as I'd never want to be like these fucks, I need to be like them today.

I crank up the radio to drown my bickering thoughts, but it doesn't do much good. The closer I get to Isabella's family home, the more my chest tightens. I fear I'm having a coronary as my heart thuds against my sternum like a galloping cavalry.

When I reach her side of the house, I enter using the spare key I made when I assumed Isabella would cause more problems than she ultimately did. I snatch her BMW keyring off the hook beside the door and head toward the garage.

The bright fluorescent lights spring to life as I enter the concrete showroom. And that's essentially what this garage is. The cars that take up this space are hardly driven. What a waste of fucking money.

I bypass the sporty options and head straight for the sleek BMW at the far end. I drop into the driver's seat, grip the steering wheel with one hand, and press the ignition with the other. Looking at the dashboard clock as I back out of the garage, I give myself one more chance to stop this insanity. Is it really worth the risk I plan to take?

Fuck yeah, it is. I press the gas a little harder.

She's worth the pending mayhem and the war I'll wage if we make it out of there alive. She's worth all of it. But I'm not sure I'm worth the same to her or if she'd betray her family to remain by my side. Will she give it all up for me? I don't have all that much to lose, but she has everything.

I guess we'll see, because I'm about to fuck around and find out.