Page 6 of Possession

Boz grabs my hand, and instead of trying to pull away, I grip it like it’s my last lifeline.

Because it is.

“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t make me do this. Let me go.”

He shakes his head. “Sorry. I don’t want to get dead.”

Lord. How many lives is one girl expected to save by marrying the devil himself?

I have no choice but to climb out of the car. At this point, I need to try not to make my fiancé wait longer than necessary, since it’s been insinuated more than once that I’ll pay for it later. I can’t think about what that means.

On shaky heels, I maneuver my way up the stairs clinging to a man named Boz. The big doors creak when they open, and we enter the vestibule. A bouquet that weighs more than a gallon of milk is shoved into my hands. It’s dozens of red roses the color of blood and wrapped in the color theme of the day—black. As if on cue, an organ bellows throughout the old church.

I have no idea what piece it is other than the anthem to my demise.

Boz dips his face to the side of mine. He’s probably eight inches taller than me. His low, gruff voice vibrates down my spine as his breath tickles my ear. “Keep your wits about you. Good luck.”

He tries to pull away, but my grip on him tightens. “Please, don’t leave me by myself.”

“I’m the best man. Damian is waiting.”

I pull in a shallow breath, and just like that, he’s gone.

Before I have the chance to exhale or run, the doors leading to the sanctuary part.

Every pew is filled, and guests line the walls. And exactly like I thought, this may as well be my funeral rather than my wedding day. Besides the priest, there’s nothing but a sea of black in front of me.

Why are there so many people? And why are they all wearing black?

This has got to give “shotgun wedding” a new meaning. Everyone really came out of the woodwork on short notice to see Damian tie the knot.

Or to get an eye full of the victim in this charade.

Me.

Standing at the end of the long aisle, is an ostentatious wedding party. Young women who I’ve never seen before are dressed in long evening gowns, the color of the night.

When my eyes land on the perpetrator himself, I take him in for the first time in the flesh. He’s not much taller than me. Acne scars pebble his cheeks above his facial hair, and the button on his tux strains around his belly. I guess when you’re as powerful and wealthy as him, you can let yourself go in your mid-forties.

Damian’s glare cuts through the vast space and slices me wide.

I’m frozen to my spot.

His evil eyes narrow as the organ hits a low note. The man who just told me to keep my wits about me steps in beside his boss. Boz towers over Damian and looks more like a guard than a best man.

But my gaze flicks back to the man who will be my husband as he flexes his fingers before making a fist.

Shit, shit, shit.

2

RED

Landyn

Iswallow over the boulder in my throat as my sweaty palms fight to keep hold of the bouquet.

It’s worse than I imagined.

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