Page 77 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Although, that romantic boy died at the age of eighteen when the truth about my past came to light and turned the world on its axis. Everything I said after that was an act so no one would know. Even my best friends who supported me through it all.

Sometimes our past and our secrets are so hideous and painful we prefer to keep them locked away in our dark and tortured souls, for sharing them might bring disaster to those around us.

Father Paul clears his throat, and I come back to the conversation at hand. “Life is full of unexpected surprises, Father.” I wink at him. “I decided to keep the tradition going.”

His lips thin, and he crosses his arms, his mantle flapping backward at the action while he raises his chin stubbornly at me. “I will not consecrate this wedding.” A beat passes, and he adds, “It’s wrong.”

Arson chuckles behind us and whistles. “Looks like even the priest himself won’t bless this union. Still have a chance to change your mind, Remi.”

Without turning to him, I give him the middle finger, which earns me more laughter. I grit my teeth with annoyance at Father Paul’s refusal. “I didn’t see you object much when Santiago dragged Briseis here two months ago.”

His cheeks heat up, and he opens and closes his mouth several times as if searching for the right words to object. I raise my brow, urging him on. “Well? Or do you require a generous donation to the church in order for you to do it? Name the price, Father, and you shall receive it.”

This is a total dick move on my part, and Uncle Lucian will probably kick my ass once he learns about it, but I cannot be nice right now.

The beast inside me demands I stake my claim on Penelope so no one will ever think they have a right to take her away from me.

She’s mine, and in a way, our whole lives have brought us to this moment to join us in a holy union in order to get our mutual payback.

Even if she has no idea what really happened all those years ago.

“Remi, son, you know that—”

“Don’t call me son.”

The tension around us rises. The hunter in me snaps awake and is ready to sink his claws in the priest so he will learn his place and a lesson: to never go against my wishes.

Only one man on earth has called me son, and I despise him so much the word alone stirs anger in me as his despicable voice echoes in my ear.

“You’re my son, Remi. So fucking clean up my mess and stop crying unless you want me to crack your skull.”

“You will consecrate this wedding. Willing or not, Father Paul.”

The priest tugs on his collar, fear crossing his face, and he even steps back from me as if not sure what I might do to him next.

Santiago places his hand on my shoulder, and with steel coating his voice as he warns me to rein in my desires, says, “Déjamelo a mí.” And grins at the priest with his signature cruel and sadistic smile that makes Father Paul shift uncomfortably and then frown. “Hablemos, Padre.” With this, he grips the priest’s elbow gently and pulls him to the side, already whispering something in his ear, which only makes the priest frown more.

We are truly complete assholes who thrive in darkness, welcoming the pain and suffering of those around us as it numbs the voices in our head, lullabying us toward darkness and calling our names every single day.

The need for nicotine hits me hard as the voices inside me become louder and louder, not letting me rest. I spin around on my heel, strolling outside, and inhale a breath of fresh air before grabbing a cigarette and putting it in my mouth.

A lighter flicks next to me, the orange and blue of the flame mingling together, and I see Florian holding it for me with Octavius right behind him.

Lighting up, I take a greedy pull and then exhale smoke all around us as Florian flips the lighter through his fingers.

“A little harsh, Remi,” Octavius says, swinging the tequila bottle in his hand. “Father Paul is family,” says the man who despises the church and everything associated with it. He can’t even be in one without alcohol involved; otherwise, flashbacks come to him in various ways, one more horrific than the other.

He was the one who walked in on the church killer during one of his massacres. That’s why Isla wants him. That killer wiped away her entire family more than ten years ago.

I bet she wouldn’t stalk Octavius if she knew the whole truth though.

“I will send him a basket sometime.”

“I heard he loves cheese,” Florian leans his back against the wall. “What’s going on, Remi?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“For the past year, you’ve spent more time in New York than in Chicago. Displayed patience you are simply incapable of on most days.” Octavius takes a large sip and then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “But tonight—”

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