Page 66 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

At least they don’t speak French; otherwise, these monsters would go ballistic if they learned they have the wrong girl.

“I don’t wish to marry you,” I try again, straightening up, and despite my sister being a sadist, I still don’t want to hurt her.

Although, at this point, I should just think about saving my own ass, because clearly Amalia is hardly a safer or better choice; she’d kill me too. “Please. I’m sure you would prefer a willing bride.”

Sometimes, monsters crave consent too, because the darkness in them loves to believe someone willingly chose them.

Delusional, delusional people.

Who would willingly subject themselves to living with them?

Dark creatures might fall in love—I don’t doubt that.

Their love though is so rotten and hurtful that it will inevitably slowly destroy the object of their fascination, for their nature cannot help but crave to sustain the hunger ruling their psyche.

“I prefer a bride I want, and who I want is you,” he replies as I groan inwardly but then still when he adds, “However, I won’t take a woman by force.” I step back as he advances on me until my ass collides with the table, rattling it, and he cages me in, placing his hands on either side of me, our lips inches apart and his scent tickling my nostrils. “If you do not wish to marry me, you don't have to, ma chérie.”

Relief instantly washes over me, heavy breath escaping me, although confusion swirls inside my mind. Why did he organize all this then, if he’s still giving me an out? And why confess to his crimes?

Then again, Amalia would hardly run to the cops, considering her own likes. What a mess!

I need to jump on a plane at the nearest opportunity and never step foot in Chicago again. This thought unsettles me though, because what about all these people?

Maybe I should focus on my own survival rather than trying to bring justice to this corrupted world ruled by deceiving and powerful creatures.

“Great. I’ll go then.” He doesn’t budge a muscle. “I do not wish to marry you.”

He leans closer, his breath fanning my cheek as thousands of tickling sensations wash over me while his powerful form presses harder into me, contrasting with my soft curves. “Is that your final choice?” His lips graze my shoulder as he trails them upward to my neck, where he nips gently, and I push at him, wanting to free myself, but it’s useless. “Keep in mind your refusal would mean war. I will kill every single one of them for deceiving me. And all of them are married—some have kids.”

I freeze, closing my eyes and refusing to listen to him or let it get into my head.

These men are psychotic. Why should I care about their families?

However, being a child who lost her parents young, I do not wish such pain on anyone, let alone innocent kids who probably have no idea what their parents do.

“Then there are our families. Everyone will become collateral damage.” He sucks on my flesh, and I gasp, fisting his shirt again, hating his every touch and word. They speak to my compassionate nature, and it should be dead and in hell.

Otherwise, how can you survive it?

He whispers right into my ear, “So, so many deaths. Are you ready for them all?” I bite on my lip, stilling the cry of despair threatening to erupt from my throat. He slaps the table with his hands, and I jerk, still keeping my eyes shut. “Answer me. What is it going to be, ma chérie? Marriage… or a massacre?”

The question hangs in the air between us. He gives me the out I so wish for, and yet his conditions are horrendous.

This man and his friends would—for a fact—start a massacre and make me indirectly responsible for all the mess they create.

My father once told me that compassion is one of our greatest virtues and we should display it whenever we have a chance, because life is not kind to everyone. According to him, being selfish is not a sin, but we should be mindful of how our actions impact those around us and then do our best to minimize damage.

I never much agreed with whatever he said, because it sounded as if we should mold our lives to others’ wishes, which in turn would inspire resentment.

Right now, two personalities fight within me—the selfish part that tells me to pick myself and let all these psychos deal with one another, since this was never about me anyway.

Sooner or later, Remi would have declared a war over my twin.

But the other part… the one that was raised by a father who spent his days helping those less fortunate, the father who took me in when he didn’t have to, the father who always preached about doing the right thing, as it’s the only thing making us stand out among the cruelty in this world…

That part begs me to do as he says and subject myself to a marriage, even a temporary one, with a monster.

Massacre would mean so many people becoming collateral damage in their twisted game, and in this marriage… I’d be the only one who suffers.

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