Page 5 of Possession

The SUV carrying my parents comes to an abrupt stop first, and ours follows. We’re parked in front of an old church. It stands tall and beautiful on the city street, with so many steps leading to its grand entry. I wonder how I’ll maneuver them in my spiked heels and tight dress. Sucking it in will have new meaning.

Boz turns to me. “Don’t move. We’ll get your parents in and seated, then it’s your turn.”

“But…” I hesitate as I look out the windshield. Men are standing guard around my parents as if they’ll make a break for it. I look back to the man named Boz who’s still casually palming a gun on his thick thigh.

His profile is intimidating as he studies our surroundings. But he’s the only one of Marino’s people who has spoken to me today, so I decide to take a chance. “What about my father? Isn’t he going to walk me down the aisle and give me away?”

I’ve never been angrier at my father as I am now, but being with him is better than going it alone.

Boz shows his first emotion that isn’t stoic or deadpan and looks back to me with a hiked brow. “Chica, he already gave you away.”

Shit. He’s right.

Time and options. I’m completely out of both.

I watch my mother cling to my father as they climb the stairs to what’s waiting for me inside.

I still haven’t officially met my fiancé.

He’s not famous—he’s notorious. He’s the legitimate face of the Marino family. I’ve heard my father talk about him for years. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since I was told I’d have to marry him in order to save my family.

Damian has never been married, but he’s rumored to have multiple children by just as many women. All illegitimate, and he doesn’t claim any of them publicly. Unlike his father, who unofficially rules most of Mexico and lives on the coast of the Baja Peninsula just south of the border, Damian lives in San Diego in Del Mar Heights.

He might run the legitimate side of his father’s business, but he’s also said to be ruthless and willing to do anything and everything to get what he wants. Many hushed words go hand in hand with my fiancé, including the biggies.

Torture.

Murder.

Rape.

Case in point, threatening death to an entire family to land himself an unwilling young bride such as myself.

The driver turns and aims his cold eyes on me. “Every Marino has been married in this church for the last century. The priest knows you’re not Catholic, but go with the flow. Repeat what he tells you to say and take communion like you’ve done it every week since you were eight. There are some important fucking people in there from all over the country. Act like you know what you’re doing, like you’re in fucking love, and ready to rip that dress off to jump Damian’s bones in front of his friends, the priest, and God. That’s what he expects. The sooner you learn to give him what he wants, the easier your life will be. Got it?”

The blood drains from my face.

“And don’t fucking pass out,” the driver warns. “That’ll make us late. Trust me, you do not want to piss off your husband-to-be on your wedding night.”

I can’t form words.

And I definitely can’t force my body to move.

The driver gets out and slams his door.

Boz looks back to me and aims his impossibly dark eyes on my blue ones before doing the same. “Let’s go.”

He opens my door and holds out a hand for me.

I don’t move a muscle and sit here buckled into my seat like a freak. “Am I really going to have to walk down the aisle by myself? I’ve never even met him.”

Boz looks me up and down, but not lewdly. I think he feels sorry for me. He reaches in and presses the button on my seatbelt. “Come on, Landyn. I’m not shitting you when I say the boss doesn’t like anyone to be late. I’m trying to do you a favor. Let’s get this done. Later, you can numb yourself from the inside out. Focus on that, and you’ll get through it.”

Get through it?

Holy shit.

This guy works for Damian, and even he realizes how horrible my life is about to be.

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