Page 17 of Possession

He drops his head and stares at the old wood before he shakes it. When he looks back up, his expression is tired.

Exhausted.

“You want her?”

“No fucking way!” Nic yells. “He’s not a Marino. He brainwashed Damian and—”

Boz ignores Nic and states, “I’ll take her.”

All the air escapes my body.

I slowly turn to the man who hasn’t taken his hand from me since we got out of the car.

But Boz doesn’t break eye contact with Damian’s father.

“No!” Nic bellows.

“Fine,” Alamandos mutters. “Let’s get this done.”

I don’t turn to look at Mr. Marino. I can’t take my eyes off the man who just said he’d take me, just to spite another man. The way he said it, I might as well be a day old, leftover wilted salad.

“Now?” I whisper.

“Father,” Alamandos bites. “Do it and get it over with. I need this day to be over. We have a funeral to plan.”

Boz shifts his stare to me. It’s empty and cold and sends a chill down my spine. I shake my head and want to protest for the millionth time today over my fate.

My future.

But I’m stuck.

Nic is dragged from the room, yelling obscenities and insults about the third man today I’m offered to as a bride. The guards pull him out of the room kicking and screaming that he didn’t steal from anyone—how he was set up.

The priest appears at our side holding a book.

“Wait—” I start but Boz’s hold on me finally loosens only for his large, warm hand to land on the side of my face.

His hold is firm, and his gaze is hot and intense as it seeps into me. His expression screamsShut up!but what comes out of his mouth is heavy and laced with finality.

“You’re mine now.”

4

MRS. TORRES

Brax

Turmoil.

You can get stuck in it, or you can create it.

I’ll choose the latter every time.

For two years, I’ve managed my turmoil like a well-oiled machine. I’ve treated it like a delicate and intricate war plan. When to strike. When to sit back. And when to let the plots you’ve laid play out like an action movie climax that just never ends.

Sometimes I have to tweak it. Sometimes I have to massage it. But I’m always the puppet master. If I lose control, it’ll eat me alive. I’ll get sucked into its tornado and never make it out.

If I have one fear, it’s that.

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