Black Wedding by Emma Luna
As soon as I start to wake up, my head feels so cloudy and groggy. It takes me a while to get my bearings as there is very little light in here. I try to think back to the last thing I remember, but I can’t. Thinking about anything other than what is in front of me hurts. I double-check that my body is intact before looking around to figure out how the hell I am getting out of this.
I look down at my body as my left ankle feels the sorest, after my head, obviously. I notice the beautiful gown I am in and how destroyed it is. That’s all it takes for the memories to hit me and the tears start to fall. I allow it for one minute, I can show weakness for one more minute, then I need to be strong after that.
Flashes of Liam and what should have been our happily ever after invade my mind, and my heart physically aches. I imagine him standing at the altar, looking handsome in his suit, waiting for me and wondering if I decided I just didn’t want to marry him. I’m hoping that he knows me well enough to not even consider that particular scenario.
The dress is tattered and ripped, the lace ruined, not to mention the mud and bloodstains that adorn what once was a beautiful ivory colour. Reaching up into my hair, I realise I am still wearing the tiara that Liam got me. Maybe it’s a sign that if that can survive being plunged into a dark sack, then I can survive being put in here. I discreetly check for my other jewellery and am shocked to find they are both still in place. They are not only family heirlooms, but they are also worth a fucking fortune, so I am surprised the kidnappers didn’t take it.
Then again, if the kidnappers were my family, they wouldn’t need to.
I pull my dress up slightly to reveal the source of my pain; a metal shackle has been clamped around my ankle. The metal is so tight and abrasive against my skin it has caused the flesh to tear and bleed. I try to reach down, but there is no point in me even looking at how the lock works. There’s no getting out of this without a key or a chainsaw, and I have neither.
Just as I am finally getting climatised, having just felt my two possibly broken ribs on my left side, the door groans open, and a flash of light opens up the shithole. I am in a large, cold, stone room. There are no windows, and the only door is a wrought iron one that sounds like it takes someone with muscles to get the damn thing open.
The light initially blinds my sore and disorientated eyes that are still sluggish and slow to react. My head pounds, and nausea rolls over my body. I must have been drugged, but unlike when I was kidnapped by Liam, I just know that I am in danger. I didn’t wake up in a bright room on a comfy bed this time, and these shackles tell me whoever has me, isn’t pissing about.
Straightening my spine to hold my head up high, I discreetly wipe the tears away from my eyes using the back of my already filthy hand, and try to ignore the make-up that rubs off onto my skin. I shoot fire at the asshole that just walked into the room. “What the fuck do you think you are playing at? Who are you?!” I shout, and the sadistic giggle that responds causes me to recoil.
“What? You don’t recognise me?” the voice snarls as he steps forward.
No longer blocking the light, I recoil in shock as it is someone I was not expecting.
“Art?” I ask incredulously. His responding cackle flips my stomach, worsening my nausea. I have been around a lot of men in my life, and more than the odd psychopath. Hell, I stayed at Desmond’s house just last month. So, I have a pretty excellent psychopath radar and can usually spot them from a mile away. The guy in front of me has just made my radar explode, and if someone told me he killed puppies in his spare time, I would not have been shocked. What I am confused by is that not only was Art on his last legs when I left him, he also was a harmless meth addict. The furthest you can get from a criminal mastermind.
“Oh sweetheart, don’t be such an fucking idiot. We both know you killed Art, so how can I be him?” the sadistic voice sings.
“You look exactly like him,” I mutter, just as much to myself as to this asshole.
“I think that might be an insult since my brother was a junkie meth head with blotchy skin, greasy hair, and very few rotten teeth. I’m Luther.”
I instantly jump on the most essential part of that sentence. “Art was your brother?”
“Yes, my twin, actually. I am the younger one by sixteen minutes. He had this beautiful, natural birth, whereas I got stuck when my mum pushed to give birth. The only way they could save my life was to cut my mother open and pull me out of the sunroof, as she says. She later summarised that she should have known I would be fucked up since I ripped her open in two places trying to barge my way out. I hardly think I can be blamed for her saggy cunt. All the pimps she fucks for meth probably has something to do with it, but she feels she has to find the reason why I am so fucked up,” he spits, no longer sounding carefree but still like a loose cannon.
Luther steps forward, his dark and unnerving eyes now completely visible, and he looks very unstable. He stares at me with deep loathing, and despite being completely unprovoked, he raises his hand and, using the back of it, slaps me across my face.
The power behind the action is immense, and it instantly knocks me from my kneeling position flat onto the floor. The crack of skin on skin rebounds around the room. The pain seems to bounce all around my already aching head. As his hand swept across my face, he must have caught my nose because I can feel the blood gushing from it. I want to reach up to stem the flow, but I hurt so much; even just getting into a sitting position enough to bring my hand up to stop the blood flow is too much. Besides, there’s nothing to stop Luther from kicking the shit out of me, and at least in this position, I can still try to protect my major organs.
It sounds stupid, given the dress is already more than ruined, but as I watch the blood drip down and touch the fabric, my heart aches. This was the dress I chose for Liam. Our ceremony should be done, we should be officially married. Maybe he even liked it so much that he helped me out of this dress and ravished me before ceremony number two. Instead, I’m sitting here, curled up into a ball, trying not to die, and crying about stains on my dress. Will Liam know to come and find me?
Falling into my happy place, daydreaming about what today could have been, I must have missed whatever Luther was trying to tell me. A hard kick to my abdomen gets my attention.
Screaming out in pain, I roll myself up into a ball to try and protect myself. Luther is obviously not happy with that, and he kicks me again, three times in quick succession against my back. I scream loudly, sobbing and begging for him to stop. The last one connected with my possible broken rib, and the pain is so intense that my breath catches, and I struggle to breathe fully. Whenever I try to fill my lungs completely, there’s a stabbing pain in my chest that stops me. I am reduced to taking short, shallow breaths as I attempt to breathe through the pain.
Realising Luther is trying to talk to me again, I try to block out the pain to focus on his nasty words. Anything to avoid being beaten more.
“Not so tough are you now, little mafia bitch. In what world did you ever think you could rule?” he taunts, and I just lay there, listening to him. “Then again, you’re not really going to rule, are you? Everyone knows Liam Doughty is just fucking you so he can take your crown. Did you know he is double-crossing you? Pretending to like you, fucking you, probably making you fall in love with him. All so that he can get what he wants from you in the end. Desmond Doughty has waited patiently for London, and he wants it. Sadly for him, so do we,” he chuckles, and my heart feels like it’s about to snap.
My mind is whirling as Luther’s words penetrate that part of the brain we all have but try to ignore. He is playing on my insecurities, making me believe I am alone and that Liam doesn’t really care about me. There’s a big part of me that wants to tell him to fuck off. The part that is so sure Liam really cares for me, and with each happy memory, that feeling is confirmed.
But then there’s the negative part of my brain. No matter how much I try to silence it, the insecurities and the vulnerable side always somehow manage to sound louder than the happy side. This picks apart all my happy memories, looking for actions or words Liam may have used that affirm Luther’s statement. I already know that Desmond has no issue forcing his sons to marry women to get what he wants. He is forcing Finn to do it as we speak, but that doesn’t mean he is doing the same with Liam, does it?
Why is it so easy for me to ignore everything Liam has ever said to me? Every sweet gesture or sexy touch get’s replaced by false memories. Why do the memories fall into oblivion just at the mention that he could be using me? I want to trust him. I want to believe he really does care about me, but right now, all I feel is despair.
I’m pulled out of my anguish when I feel Luther roughly grab me by the back of the head, his fingers gripping my hair so tightly that my scalp feels as though it’s on fire. He yanks back so quickly it feels like he is going to pull my hair out, and his grip is so tight that he can easily manhandle me back into the kneeling position I was in before he punched me.
Every movement causes more pain to ripple through my body. Breathing is challenging, and it feels like I am breathing in glass every time I inhale. My heart is racing, and I can feel the beat whooshing through my veins. I use my arms as best I can to cradle them around my body to protect my already damaged ribs and stomach. I’m not sure I can take many more blows, but I sure as shit am going to go down fighting.
“How do you know I’m not using Liam? Keep your enemies close and all that,” I say, my voice deepened due to the pain.
Luther looks confused, like out of all the conversations he envisaged, maybe even practised us having, this was not one of them.
“Fuck that. Stop trying to mess with me, bitch!” he yells as he slaps me across the face again.
This time I manage to keep my kneeling position, but the pain is still just as bad. My brain feels like it is being knocked around in my skull, almost like it is reverberating off the sides, just waiting for it to happen enough times that it becomes mush, almost like I put my brain in a blender. The pain feels like a raging thunderstorm is taking place in my skull.
Using the hand not cradling my sore ribs, I bring it up to my cheek, slowly trying to massage the painful and most likely red area. As I lick the lower lip, desperately trying to get rid of the dryness, I taste the very recognisable flavour of iron. His hit must have caught my lip. Sure enough, when I probe it using my finger, I find a cut on the lower corner leaking blood. But given the fact I’m covered in dry blood, sweat, tears, and the wedding make-up I had on when I got here, a little bit of new blood is barely fucking noticeable. I’m glad there isn’t a mirror nearby because I sure as fuck don’t want to see what I look like right now.
“Who do you work for, Luther? Who organised this?” I mutter, needing to know desperately who it is.
I’m almost sure that Jimmy knew this attack was going to happen, but what I need to know is if he looked the other way, or did he help organise this attack on me? Is my father involved, or has Jimmy gone rogue? Either way, everything I have ever believed has been a lie. Jimmy was like a father figure to me, and he led me to think he wanted me to rule, that he would stand by my side. Yet when I needed him the most, he turned away. Everything that happens to me right now is because of him, and I will never forgive that.
“What makes you think that I’m not the leader of this little party. You wouldn’t be insulting me now, would you, little bitch?” he sings, kneeling down so that he is eye level with me.
Using the hand still fisted into my hair, he pulls my head back so I’m looking straight at him. No matter how hard I try, he doesn’t allow me to look away. Instead, he stares at me with that demented glare, his eyes roaming all over my body. His look of contempt and disgust is still there, but he also now has this hunger that scares me more than anything. As he licks his lips, looking at me like a juicy steak that he is about to demolish, I start to quiver in fear.
I can cope with a lot, suffer and withstand any pain he throws my way, but if it becomes sexual, that’s something I am not sure I can recover from mentally. So I have to keep fighting. I have to believe that Liam will come and save me. But more than that, I have to have faith that I can save myself.
“You are not a leader, Luther. You are given instructions, and you follow them. Now tell me, who is in charge?!” I shout angrily, ignoring the pounding it causes in my head.
“Fuck you, bitch,” he says with another punch to my stomach.
I try to bend over as I cry out, desperate to protect my exposed abdomen, but I need my arms to steady myself. I need to place my arms out to stop myself from falling, as he will have more of an advantage over me then. No point protecting what is already damaged now anyway. I can’t help the tears that continue to flow. No matter how hard I try to stop them, they flow freely.
He reaches out with his other hand and rips the two spaghetti straps holding my beautifully blemished dress up. With nothing to stop them from falling, the front of the dress flops down. Luckily my perky tits act as a shelf, preventing the fabric from falling and exposing them. Given the sneer on Luther’s face, he is not happy they aren’t visible.
His hand advances slowly, and I know I only have a minute to stop him from exposing me. Once my tits are out, it’s a slippery slope, one I’m not sure I can ever come back from. So, just before his hand can connect with the fabric, I pull back and punch him as hard as possible on the nose.
Luther recoils in pain as a delicious crunch causes his nose to explode, blood flying everywhere. I made sure that my hit was at the exact angle needed to fracture the nasal bone across the bridge of his nose. With any luck, I will have deviated the septum or fractured the cartilage too. Both of those will cause lasting effects.
When Luther finally stops literally rolling about in pain, he stands to tower over me. His murderous expression is covered in blood, making him look even more dangerous. He looks like he wants to kill me, which is not great, but at least he doesn’t want to take my clothes off anymore. Instead, he continues to yell expletives at me, telling me what a bitch I am and how much he plans on ruining my life. Apparently, he’s going to rip me a new asshole.
I know I should be scared, and I definitely am not looking forward to more pain, but that punch reminded me that I can fight back. Until the stupid fuckers realise they need to tie me up entirely, I will do everything I can to fight them.
Luther looks like he is about to advance again, and I tense my muscles and hold my breath, awaiting the impact. Ironically it’s a skill Jimmy taught me, a better way to absorb a blow. I push all thoughts of that traitorous scumbag out of my head and focus on Luther.
Before he has a chance to land another blow, another guy runs into the room. He is young, his baby face with little patches of acne makes him look a lot younger than he probably is. I would guess late teens. He looks flustered and a little confused as he stares between Luther and me. He quickly catches up with what has been happening, and although he looks pissed, he also looks a bit scared of Luther.
“What the fuck, man? I thought the plan was that we just leave her in here until we deal with Doughty. You weren’t supposed to hurt her,” the youngster states, and when Luther turns his murderous glare on him, it’s not surprising when he recoils.
“I don’t remember agreeing to anything like that. She fucking murdered my brother! Of course, I am going to punish her” Luther shouts.
“Your brother was a rat. He got what he deserved!” I shout.
Upon reflection, taunting a psychopath with a murderous glint in his eye probably wasn’t my best move, but I am never one for keeping quiet when I should. Instantly, Luther launches at me, his fist raining down multiple blows all down my body. The pain is excruciating, and he is hitting me in so many places that I have no idea where to block. I try to curl up with my arms covering my face and my legs protecting my stomach, but this just leads to Luther raining blows down on my side and back. My ribs feel like they are cracking further, and my kidneys are about to explode. My voice begins to go hoarse from all the yelling and screaming. I plead with him to get off me, but he is too far gone in such a murderous haze.
If the young lad hadn’t been in the room and hadn’t been able to pull Luther off me eventually, I probably would be dead. It took three guys in total to be able to pull him away from me, and still, he was snarling and spitting like a feral animal. As I lay here in a ball, watching him being dragged away, I try to catch my breath and hope I can heal from this damage.
My breathing is ragged, and the pain in my chest when I try to inhale is excruciating. I feel as though I can’t properly catch my breath. Using short, shallow breaths, I get enough oxygen to function for now. Given the amount of pain I’m in all over, and the blows I just received, I would put money on me having internal bleeding. If I don’t get out soon, I am going to die here.
They drag Luther out, and the young boy stays behind. He looks very uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot as he looks over my broken body.
“What’s your name?” My voice is raspy, and it hurts to speak. I try to catch my breath, but the pain is unbearable. My breathing sounds wheezy, almost like it is creaking. I know I am not getting enough oxygen as my vision is starting to waver, and those telltale spots have begun to appear. I try to blink them away, but that just makes me dizzier.
“Vinnie Marcushio,” he whispers, and I want to laugh, but my body betrays me. There’s no way this is the criminal mastermind behind all the threats.
“Who is behind this, Vinnie? I know you hate Liam, and Luther hates me, but I know neither of you are the brains behind this. Tell me. I’m going to die here, so you may as well.” At the mention of my death, his eyes got as wide as saucepans, and he looks genuinely terrified.
“No, you can’t die...you can’t. That’s not a part of the plan,” the youngster mumbles, looking around frantically.
“What is the plan?” I pant as I lay there on the floor. I can’t even pull myself to sit upright.
“Vernon is going to be pissed,” Vinnie mutters, and he is pacing around the small room. He doesn’t look at me when he talks; I’m not even convinced he replied to me.
“Vinnie!” I shout as loudly as I can to get his attention, and struggle to catch my breath, which only leads to a dry hacking cough that causes even more pain all over my body. “Listen to me, please. I need to know who is responsible for this,” I plead, tears flowing down my cheek as I try unsuccessfully to sit up.
Seeing me struggling, Vinnie holds out his hand to me. I allow him to pull me up, crying out in pain when the movement makes my body feel as though it’s on fire.
“Your dad. He doesn’t want you to lead. He convinced me to be the face of this shitshow, or he would take his revenge on me. I stole money from my father, but it turned out it was Vernon’s money. That’s what got my father killed. It was me. But your dad found out the truth and blackmailed me into doing this to work off my debt. Things started going to shit when he brought the crazy twins on board,” he replies, and I shake my head as much as the pain will allow. I’m so confused.
“Wait...what do you mean he brought both twins on board?” I ask.
“So, Art owes Vernon a lot of money after he smoked meth he was supposed to sell. To pay off his debt, he had to pretend to be a rat, to place all the blame on me. I’m an obvious choice since Liam killed my father. Plus, it shifts the focus away from him and keeps you distracted. He wanted you and Liam to fight and fall out. He never intends on giving London over to you. He wants the whole business for himself. When Luther found out you killed Art, he went crazy. Jimmy assured him that he would stop you before it went that far. Nobody knew you had it in you to slit his fucking throat. You’re a beast,” he jokes, looking at me in a mixture of admiration and sadness.
As his words register, I realise the true extent of their betrayal. “I never slit Art’s throat. When I left him, he had wounds to the arteries in his legs, and he would have died from them without prompt medical attention. But I can fucking assure you I didn’t slit his throat. I marked him as a rat. I wanted people to know I don’t fuck about. That message would not have gotten around if I had killed him. Dead people can’t talk about their fears,” I explain, and this time it’s Vinnie’s turn to look confused.
“So you didn’t kill Art?” he asks, and forgetting about the pain, I shake my head in denial. I soon regret it as it feels like my bruised brain is bouncing around like a football. I try to remain as still as possible.
“No, he was alive when Liam and I left him with Jimmy. If anybody killed him, it was Jimmy. I’m guessing that was the plan all along. To send Luther into a murderous rage, desperate for revenge, the same as you are for your dad. I take it the plan is to keep me here, lure Liam here, and then kill him?” I ask, and he nods.
“Your father says that if Liam is killed, you will not want to try and rule anymore. So he plans to try and suppress you in any way he can. Although he did clarify that if it came to it, the best solution would be to kill you and make it look like Liam killed you. That way, he has an excuse to go to war with Desmond. Desmond is his real threat; he is convinced Liam is working against you,” he explains, and the tears start to fall.
“I know my father is ruthless and power-hungry, but I really thought he loved me. I had no idea he would be willing to sacrifice me for power if it came to that.” I’m not really talking to Vinnie at this point, just musing out loud and in general. My heart is breaking now that I know the truth. This whole time the real enemy has been my own father.
Vinnie mumbles something that looks like an apology as he shifts around uncomfortably again. He is just a kid, messed up in adult stuff. He should be out enjoying life.
“What’s gonna happen next, Vinnie?” I ask, my vision starting to go hazy from all the talking and the shallow breaths.
“Jimmy and Vernon are luring Liam here as we speak. Once he is dead, then they will come and make it look like they are rescuing you. You are not supposed to know any of this. If they think you know, they will slaughter us all. So please...please don’t say anything. I need to know I didn’t make the wrong decision in telling you. I just want to get out of all this shit. I made a stupid mistake, and now it’s messing up my life,” he cries, and I can’t help but feel so incredibly sorry for him. Now I know he is the scapegoat and not my natural enemy. All I see is a scared little boy. He is no criminal mastermind.
“I promise, I won’t say a word, but I do want just one favour,” I say, and he looks at me suspiciously. “If you do everything you can to help me and Liam get out of this alive, not only will I free you of whatever debt you owe my Family, I will secure you for life. You want a job; it’s yours; you want money, it’s yours. But only if we both survive.”
Vinnie looks conflicted, but then his face turns to a small smile. “I don’t know how much I can help, but I will do whatever I can. You have my word. What can I do? I can’t even make a phone call or use the internet. The paranoid fuckers took my phone.”
“Are we near anywhere that has CCTV?” I ask, and Vinnie nods.
“There’s a supermarket down the street,” he explains, and a big smile spreads across my bruised and battered face.
“You see that tiara over there. Take that and very deliberately hold it up in front of a CCTV camera in the middle of the store. Make sure it’s visible along with your face. If you can hold up a sign with any information on it, then do that as much as you can, but make it clear,then pull the fire alarm. Leave the tiara outside the house we are in, somewhere that might be visible to an outsider but not to the people here. Can you do that?” I ask, the plan forming in my mind.
“I will try. If they catch me, they will kill me.” His voice sounds small and lost, but he’s not wrong. Sadly, the moment my father dragged him into this mess, his life was at risk. I, at least, am giving him a chance to live.
“Then don’t get caught, kid,” I add with a smile. He laughs before leaving the room.
Pulling the door closed behind him, I am once again plunged back into darkness, only the pain overtaking my body to keep my company. Everything in me, every bit of training I have endured, tells me that going to sleep right now is a bad idea, but I can’t help it. The darkness creeps in, and I fall into oblivion.