Wedding Night in Hell

The night before I was supposed to walk down the aisle, they wheeled in a Jane Doe. The body was in terrible shape—badly decomposed, a real mess. I spent eight grueling hours putting her face back together, piece by piece.

When I finally stepped back to look at my work, my blood turned to ice.

It was James Roscente's mother. She'd been missing for two weeks.

My hands shook so hard I could barely hold my phone. I was just about to call James when the door burst open. Men in black swarmed in, and before I could scream, something clamped over my mouth and nose.

The world went dark. The last thing I saw was James's name glowing on my screen.

I woke up somewhere underground. The air was thick with sweat and shouting. Ropes dug into my wrists. My face throbbed. I tried to speak, but my voice was gone—drugged out of me, leaving my body limp and useless.

The crowd roared as the host grabbed the mic. "Who's ready for tonight's main event? Our very own stress-relief toy!"

A harsh spotlight hit me.

And there he was. James. Front and center.

His arms were wrapped around Olivia Laurent, kissing her like no one else was in the room. The audience ate it up.

"Hey James!" someone yelled. "Fiancée pulling another late night at the morgue?"

"No wonder you brought Olivia to your bachelor party!"

James finally pulled back, his lips still wet. He smirked. "Sophia likes dead bodies. I like Olivia's. Different strokes."

"Wedding's tomorrow—gotta make tonight count."

The host started announcing the "activities." The crowd went wild.

I tried to lock eyes with James. Beg him with my gaze. But he just glanced my way and scowled.

"Ugh. That thing's blinking at me. Disgusting."

He lifted his bidding paddle. "Two hundred thousand. I want a hundred slaps."

They called him up on stage. He didn't look at me once.

He pulled on a pair of reinforced gloves. Then he started hitting me.

Slap after slap, like a machine. My head snapped side to side. My ears rang. Blood and spit flew from my mouth, dripping dark onto the floor.

After twenty hits, he turned to Olivia, all sweetness and light. "Wanna try, baby? Seriously therapeutic."

"Don't worry—they're all debtors. Nobody cares if they break."

Olivia covered her mouth like she was shy, but her eyes were lit up with hunger. "You do it, James. I like watching."

She shot me a look—cold, gloating. It made my skin crawl.

I fought against the ropes, choking behind the tape on my mouth.

Olivia pointed right at me. "Look, she's into it."

James hit harder. I tried to turn my face away, but the host yanked my hair back, forcing me to look up.

"As our top bidder, Mr. Roscente, you've unlocked two premium activities."

He read off a list of fake crimes—made me sound like a monster. James's eyes went dark.

Those same hands that made me hangover soup just last night were now smeared with my blood.

His finger trailed down the menu and stopped at "Bone Correction."

"Let's go with this. Sophia's always studying bones. I've always wanted to try it on a live subject."

Electricity shot through my body. I convulsed. Then he raised a hammer and shattered my wrist.

The pain was unreal. I screamed like an animal.

James, these are the hands that stitched you up, held you together. Don't you remember?

The crowd went nuts.

One of his buddies laughed. "Hey man, that mole on her hand—looks just like your fiancée's!"

James stared. His face twisted. "You dare copy her?"

The hammer came down again. My knuckles exploded.

Olivia held up her phone, shoving the camera in my face. "James, the way she squirms… it reminds me of that cat of hers—Snowball?"

"I might've run it over today. You think she'll be upset?"