I'm glad that chapter made as much sense as it did there was suppose to be a chapter in between the last one and that one. But I'm impatient and decided to skip the romance for action.

Sorry, but typing out Anna-Marie constantly is a pain. And I hate calling Rogue that. Which is why I had the absolute ingenious idea to type the story in first person.

But there's something else I want to clear up. I meant what I put in the summary section literally. And number two. This is book one of two, possibly three thought I doubt it.

Chapter Six

I looked up with a start as something, literally ran into the side of the car. "What the?" Etienne said, before a fist hammered itself against the windowpane.

"Open up!" Aria screamed. She looked like hell. Her hair was a mess and her dress was torn and dirtied. And blood was trickling down from her knee. As soon as the rumble of the tumblers switching position was over, she leapt into the car, slamming the door behind her. Her chest heaved from exertion. She tilted her head against the back of the car seat trying to take in air. "GO!" She screamed.

I obeyed. Driving like crazy for a few moments until I slowed and pulled over to the side of the road. I turned to face Aria in the back seat. She was still breathing quickly but I don't think driving at one hundred miles per hour is ever a good way to help someone catch her breath.

"Where's Anna-Marie?" I asked.

"Where are your shoes?" Etienne asked. I glared at him. "What?"

"Anna . . ." she trailed off. "Two guys . . . grabbed us . . .don't know 'bout her."

Etienne and I exchanged looks. Etienne and I swore in unison, the ringing of my cell phone adding melody to it. I pulled it out of my coat pocket and flipped it open.

"Hello?"

"Listen, LeBeau," the unfortunately familiar voice of Julien Ripper floated out over the other end. "All of us at de assassin's guild is quite hurt dat we weren' invited t' da wedding."

"We were hopin' t'avoid an incident."

"Or jus' keep y'r wife out of it," Julien taunted then his voice darkened with threat. "She's still alive, LeBeau, but not for long. We assassins got some t'ings dat we wan' de t'ieves t' d' f'r us. If you don', den y' don' got a wife n'more."

With that he cut the connection and I was holding a dead line. I flicked the phone off and sat back in the seat.

Aria popped her head in between the seats. "So," she started lightly. "There something you want to tell me, Et, Remy?" She grabbed our ears with her thumb and forefinger and yanked his head closer to hers. "Hmmm, boys?" She looked at us expectantly.

"Aria, let go of my ear."

"Not until I get some answers," She replied, knocking our heads together. "So, if you ever want to be able to use 'my ears' in a sentence ever again, you'll start. Now." I looked to Etienne; she was after all his wife.

"Chere," Etienne started and then sighed.

Aria let go of our ears. A good thing too, since I was fairly certain my left ear was longer than my right by then. "I'm no stranger to organized crime, so spit it out!"

"What?" Etienne exclaimed, twisting around to face his bride.

Aria patted him on the head. "Mob's not dead, yet, hon. And I'm not angry, just wish some had told me sooner. So I would know when my life is in danger."

"Sorry?" Etienne tried. Aria rolled her eyes and shook her head, falling against the seat.

Silence stretched as we all sat there. And then Aria leaned up against the seat again and asked the question on everyone's mind. "So, now what?"

I pushed the door open to the library. Jean-Luc glanced up from his desk. "Remy? What's da matta?" He asked, concern wrinkling his forehead. He took a sweeping look at us, and I could practically see him make the decision not to comment. Not yet at any rate.

"De Rippers kidnapped Anna-Marie." I blurted without preamble. "Dey wan' us t'help in exchange for her."

Jean-Luc collapsed further into chair as if he had let go every single muscle to sit limply. "Dey just don' quit," he grumbled, as he stared up at the vaulted ceiling. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Betta aler' de other t'ieves." He pushed himself up. "Dis won' go well." For the first time I could remember, my father looked old and harried. I took a step back out of his way.

I sat next to my father and sat there, silently. The arguments had raged on over what to do about Anna Marie. I was getting rather sick of hearing them talk over my wife like she was some kind of knick-knack with some value but not enough to actually matter in the long run.

I was tired and short of patience, so when someone short out called Anna Marie expandable, I leapt to my feet. "Dis is a person , my wife, may I add." Eyes turned to me and I got to my feet and stormed out of the room.

I stalked to our room. It was my fault, I should have gone after her then. I shouldn't have taken the tickets. So many should have's, shouldn't's, but it was all too late. Rubbing my temples, I kicked a pile of my dirty clothes out of my way and fell into a chair.

I was too full of raw anger and energy to sit still too long. I pushed all the books from their shelves and slammed my fist into the wall. I undressed for a shower hoping it would calm me down.

I lingered over my shower, letting the cold water trail down my body, pretending they were fingers rather than water. It didn't make me feel any better.

I turned off the water and toweled off quickly, grabbing my pajamas, a pair of boxers.

I reached for my toothbrush, but took Anna Marie's instead. I looked at it. It was green, just like her eyes. I stared at it for a long moment, before I let it drop back into the cup with a thunk.

I didn't brush my teeth, instead going straight to bed. As I lay there, I felt an overwhelming emptiness surrounding me. The bed was too big with out Anna Marie. For a long while, I tossed and turned, laying this way and that, trying to get comfortable, but nothing worked.

So very long time I lay there, staring up at the ceiling before dropping off into sleep. Sleep was no better than wakefulness. It haunted me.

Do you, Remy LeBeau, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife . . .

She ran. Feet slapped against the ground, making light whisking noises that were nearly drowned out by the heavy pounding of boots that were closely following her.

To have and to hold . . .

She was running out of breath. Heat seared at her lungs. The muscle in her calves burned from exertion.

In sickness and in health . . .

The sounds of heavier feet, in more substantial shoes had faded and she paused to gather her wits and sense of direction.

For richer or poorer

She bent nearly doubled over, when a heavy hand descended on her waist pulling her back into shadows.

For as long as you both shall live.

I woke in drenched in a cold sweat. That was it. I knew now that I had to find Anna-Marie