I keep my eyes on the priest, unable to keep going. Marcus squeezes my hand again, not bold enough to hit me again right before I’m supposed to say my vows but when a zap travels up my leg and nearly paralyzes me, I cave like a little bitch,
My whole body crumbles and Marcus holds me up as I turn to look at him with tears swelling in my eyes, my voice coming out as barely a whisper. “I, Skylah Rochelle Valentine, take thee, Marcus Donald Mahony, to be my husband from this day forward.”
“For better, for worse, for richer or poorer.”
I let out a shaky breath. “For better, for worse, for richer or poorer.”
The priest continues, looking sick. “In sickness and in health. To love and to cherish. Till death do us part.”
Shit. How am I supposed to say that? a light zapping returns in my leg and I suck it up. I can get through this. “In sickness and in health. To love and to cherish. Till death do us part.”
“According to God’s holy ordinance and thereto, I pledge myself to you.”
Fuck.
“According to God’s holy ordinance and thereto, I pledge myself to you.”
Marcus grins wide. It’s too fucking late now.
He practically races through his vows and within seconds, he jams the massive diamond on my finger, practically putting his own on himself.
The priest nods, looking just to Marcus, his head hung in guilt. “You may kiss your wife.”
My eyes go wide. No. I can’t kiss another man. Please, don’t take this away from me too. Is it not enough that I’ve already lost Slade?
Marcus couldn’t give a shit about what I think, doesn’t care about the pleading in my eyes, doesn’t care that my soul is crushed. I’m supposed to be the man’s wife but I shouldn’t be fooled into thinking that’s going to change anything.
He grabs my face and slams his lips down on mine.
I’ve been lucky that he’s never actually kissed me before, only touched after begging him not to. He forces his tongue inside my mouth and I hold back vomit as my face scrunches in disgust. His hands move to my waist and squeeze hard, forcing me to participate.
I taste his stale cigarettes and my tears as they stream down my face and rush into my open mouth.
I sold my soul to the devil. How could I have done this?
My will to fight is gone, my life is gone, my friends and family…I doubt I’ll ever see them again.
Chapter 11
“NOOOOOO,” I hear screamed from outside the church, moments before a loud crash. I tear my face off Marcus and stare toward the back of the room along with every other guest in the church.
There was a strange familiarity in the voice, like a tortured desperation that reminds me so much of…
Shaylee barges through the doors, running full speed ahead with Damian right on her heels. I suck in a sharp, shocked breath, wide-eyed. Two guards race for them as Lucien stands in outrage.
No, no, no, no, no. If they get them, they’re going to hurt them.
“LEAVE HER ALONE,” I scream as a guard goes for Shay while Damian’s fist begins flying. He can handle himself, but Shay…I don’t know. She’s five foot nothing, weighs about as much as a feather, and can be tossed around like a ragdoll. She shouldn’t have come. This is too dangerous for her.
I start to run for her but an electric shock has me crumbling to the ground in agony.
She keeps running, full steam ahead and just when the guards are about to grab her, I realize that it’s not just Shay and Damian. It’s so much more.
My eyes bug out of my head, suddenly not caring about the electric charge pulsing through my body. Slade rushes out protectively in front of Shay, meeting the guards with his heavy, capable fist.
What am I seeing? He’s alive?
Joy spreads through me as heavy sobs pull from deep within.
He’s alive and not only that, he’s here for me.
Marcus races out in front of me, standing before me like some kind of protector, but we all know the truth, he’s not protecting his new wife from a threat. He’s protecting his property from being stolen back to its rightful owner.
I desperately try to look around him as the guests get to their feet, but not one of them jumps in to help either party.
I just need to put my eyes on Slade, just one more time.
He’s fucking alive. Really alive. I know I’m all shades of fucked-up right now but I know what I’m seeing. All six feet and two glorious inches of him, every strong bit of muscle, every hair on his head. It’s all here, imposing and fucking pissed.
He’s taking me home.
Slade holds off the guards with Damian, but it’s clear there’s something wrong. He looks like he’s in pain. He’s favoring one side and I wonder if it has something to do with being shot.