Page 83 of Remi's War (Four Dark Horsemen 2)

Especially not the masks of deceit its occupants wear.

Slowly, I start to walk down the aisle while the men, who’d been sitting in the pews, stand, their hawklike stares trained on me, and I can physically feel their gazes sliding down my form, expecting rebellion from me at any moment.

Or maybe hoping?

Because despite supporting Remi, who decided to claim me, even his family would have preferred we not unite in this union that brings more trouble than good.

Raising my chin high, I speed up, passing them all by quickly, but tense at the familiar sound of guns’ safeties clicking, and the men on either side of me aim their weapons at each other; the only thing keeping them from killing each other is me, standing in the middle.

And if I just tip the scale to anyone’s side, they won’t hesitate to shoot.

All while Remi, waiting at the end of the aisle, watches me intently. His brown eyes scan me up and down. Such deep satisfaction fills them as his mouth curves into a sinister smile, showing his true nature that even his dark three-piece suit can’t hide.

A barbarian who wrecked my world.

Breathing heavily, I walk faster, noticing the swirling energy around us that indicates everyone’s patience is wearing thin.

I focus my attention back on the groom.

Three more steps and I stand in front of the priest who flips the Holy Bible open, smiling at me, although his hands tremble slightly as he sweeps his gaze over the room.

Bitter laughter sticks in my throat. A priest should protect all those in need within the church’s walls; instead, he adds to the misery by participating in their horrendous crimes.

“Dearly beloved—” But a deep, husky voice laced with something wicked and forbidden cuts him off, sending shivers down my spine.

“No need for all this, Father Paul.” A gasp slips past my lips when Remi’s arm wraps around my waist, my chest bumping against his as he lifts the veil, my nails itching to claw the smug smile from his handsome face. “Move to the most important part. Ask the bride the question, and it will be enough. After all”—he leans closer, and his masculine scent mixed with tobacco washes over me—“we have an audience watching us. It’s impolite to keep them waiting.”

“I hate you,” I say under my breath, loud enough for his ears only, while Father Paul nods, clearing his throat but not before glancing toward me as if trying to reassure me.

At this rate, the priest is more a worker of the devil rather than God, considering he allows forced marriages to happen left and fucking right.

The groom chuckles and puts his hand on my cheek; shivers of disgust surge through me as his thumb brushes over my skin, wiping away a tear. “Hate is such a strong word, darling.” Warning coats his next words while his thumb presses into my chin, sending prickles of pain. “Use it wisely in my company.” He leans even closer, his breath fanning my cheek as my heart beats so wildly in my chest I’m afraid it might jump out and the monster will take it hostage, not letting me breathe without his permission. “Besides, you wouldn’t want your family’s blood to smear the walls of this church, would you?” An odd note laces his voice, almost amusement at the word “family,” and by how he drills his stare into me, I know he’s gauging my reaction.

Gazing at him right now, I wonder if Odysseus himself decided to grace earth with his presence and chose me as his willing victim only because he refused to doom himself to eternal loneliness.

Only, to believe that would be a mistake on my part.

For he belongs to a dark brotherhood that brings an apocalypse to whoever they see fit as long as it serves their amusement and wishes, ignoring anyone and anything else.

Men for whom compassion, mercy, and sanity do not exist, because they thrive in the chaos they create.

“Do you, Penelope Psyche Walsh, take Remi Odysseus Reyes as your husband and promise to love him till death do you part?”

With love sneaking into every cracked part of my heart toward my family and vicious hate tasting like poison on my tongue toward the groom, I reply, “I do.”

With these two simple words, I forever seal my fate.

Because the sinner who now owns me will never let me go.

And the most ironic part of it all?

I’m not the one he truly wanted.

But then the name the priest uttered registers in my mind, and I gasp in shock, realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.

Penelope.

He knows.

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