Page 175 of The Wrong Brother

“Wait—”

That’s all he gets.

My body chooses for me.

Fight.

My knee comes up hard and fast, slamming into the side of his. I feel the impact on bone and muscle. I hear the sharp grunt he can’t quite suppress as his leg buckles.

His fingers loosen just enough.

I rip free. Chaos erupts behind me as my father swears in Spanish and his men surge forward.

One grabs for my arm, and I duck under it, slamming my elbow back into his nose, hearing the crack. Another tries to block the aisle, and I shove a pew into his knees, wood screeching against tile as he stumbles.

“Ryder!” my father shouts.

“Go to hell!” I fire back, my voice breaking. “You’re nothing but Kazimir Baranov’s lapdog!”

I sprint down the aisle past the empty pews toward the doors that suddenly feel miles away. My heart hammers so hard it hurts.

This is how it happens, I think wildly. This is how girls disappear into marriages and contracts and never belong to themselves again.

Not me.

Never me.

I slam into the heavy doors with both hands and shove them open. Cold night air crashes over me as I burst out onto the street and run like my life depends on it.

Because tonight, it does.

Chapter 2

Live

I don’t raise my voice. If I did, the whole church would shake with it. Instead, I stand at the front of the aisle and watch the doors slam open hard enough to rattle the old wood. I let the quiet settle into my bones like a blade being drawn slowly from a sheath.

She’s gone.

She didn’t hesitate or look back, just tore out into the night like something feral and cornered. For a split second, I almost smiled.

Of course she was going to fight.

Any woman who calmly accepted what we just dropped on her wouldn’t be worth marrying.

My shoulders loosen with the truth: that part of me had been dreading this. I’ve never wanted to be married, much less married to a meek woman who is nothing more than a pawn.

As much as I hate to admit it, Ryder Moreno has crossed my mind more than once in some private moments. But I’ve never thought her to be a pawn. Just a mystery.

Behind me, Hinto explodes.

“What the hell was that?” he shouts, his accent thickening as his control slips. He gestures wildly at the doors, at the aisle, at his men, kicking one who is still down. “She was supposed to agree. She understands duty. She understands family.”

I turn slowly.

His men are scrambling; some rushing after her, others looking to him for orders. The Justice looks like she wants to crawl under the altar and disappear, but she closes the folder discreetly.

Sloppy, emotional, loud. It’s exactly why his organization has always irritated me. It’s exactly why I told Kazimir that we shouldn’t get in any deeper with Hinto Moreno.