Page 65 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

“Ma chérie.” Remi’s hand slides to my cheek, cupping it gently, and when I twist away from the touch, he grips my chin hard, his thumb digging into me and sending pain throughout me. “Is this the way to greet your future husband and his family?”

His words remind me of my situation, although my mind thinks only about escape, because my twin can’t possibly know about all this and still want me to marry him—right?

“I’m not going to marry you,” I say, and a grin shapes his mouth, his brown eyes glinting with darkness and danger as he pushes me forward and grips my shoulders, forcing me to face his friends. They just stare at me with boredom written all over their features.

Especially Octavius, the man who just swings a chain on his finger while sipping whiskey, barely paying me any attention.

Remi sucks a breath through his teeth. “Chérie, you’ve already given me your word.” I fist my hands, holding myself back from punching them all for treating people like their personal toys and then playing off this scene as if the truth doesn't matter. “After all, we have an arranged marriage.” He leans closer, his breath tickling my skin as goose bumps break on my flesh, and he whispers, “Our union assures the safety of our families, right… Amalia?”

Despite everything, I wince at the harshly spoken name on his tongue and jerk in his hold, wishing to separate myself from him so he won’t call me by her name.

I should just write Doormat on my forehead, so everyone knows what an idiot Penelope Walsh is.

“But before we can do that, you need to know what kind of family you’re actually marrying into.”

This man is delusional if he thinks I will marry him after all this crap. He is a murderer, along with his friends. He belongs behind bars!

Rolling my lips, I keep all my thoughts to myself and desperately search for appropriate words in this situation.

Time.

I need to win time, and then someone will come to the rescue.

“I… I don’t want to get married anymore. Please let me go.” My voice is barely audible while my eyes roam around the place, studying my environment and weeping inside after not seeing any emergency doors. Darkness covers anything in the distance, and the three men with hawklike stares focus their attention on me, as if silently warning me to obey their commands and wishes.

Otherwise, my life has no value to them; after all, they always get what they want.

And whoever stands in their way is destroyed.

“I won’t tell anyone about… about…” I take a deep breath as Remi’s hands fall to my waist, and he pulls me more firmly against him, his hips bumping into me while I’m rigid in his arms. “I won’t tell about all these men.” Lying was never one of my strongest suits, but I hope they believe me. “Just let me go and—”

“Ah, ma chérie.” He bites my neck. “I thought you’d appreciate us comparing notes before the wedding.” My brows furrow at this while the other men nod. “I’m showing you my crimes. Every despicable detail. So you can share some of yours.” What is he talking about? A horrible thought dances on the edge of my mind, but I push it away, refusing to acknowledge it even for a second. “Although I've heard you’re even crueler than me.” His hold on me tightens, sending prickles of pain through my system. “Your victims always die a slow and agonizing death, screaming until they tear their own throats.”

No.

No. No. No.

Amalia… my twin… is just like them?

My heart might resist the information; however, my mind flashes proof one after another of his statement, from this whole marriage to how she threatened to punish me should anything ever happen to her family.

And with clarity, I understand why she never wanted to meet me and was so angry I slept with Remi.

They are murderers, dark souls who hide their deeds well, since those who know about their actions probably don’t live long enough to tell their tale.

“We do indulge in tortures of course. It’s our passion, for nothing is better in this world than the cries and suffering of your victims begging to spare their lives while blood pours from their wounds.”

I cover my mouth, the deep desire to vomit all over the floor hitting me at the pleasure coating his statement, as if he’s just commenting about his hobbies. “See? We fit each other perfectly.” He fists my dress, resting his chin on my shoulder, while Santiago and Florian tap their tequila shots before gulping them swiftly. “Maybe that should be my wedding gift to you. A victim strapped to the pole here so you could play with him. Or them. Depending on your mood.”

Devastation and hate mix together inside my soul, blanketed by fear and horror, and I finally find the strength to rip his hand away from me as I step to the side, palming my head and trembling all over. His words playing in my mind over and over again sound more sinister and hopeless with each repetition.

“This cannot be my reality,” I whisper, closing my eyes and wishing for all this just to be a nightmare.

What are the odds of meeting a murderer and falling for him and then your twin ending up being a monster too?

I freeze when I realize I've spoken out loud in French, because I tend to do that when I’m nervous, and look at the men.

Their expressions don’t change as Remi walks to the table and grabs a thick rope, wrapping it around his hand.

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