Remi's War : Billionaire Arranged-Marriage Romance
Copyright © 2022 by V. F. Mason
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
* * *
Edited by Hot Tree Editing
Cover Design: Sommer Stein
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Model: Travis S.
To the power of love.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Santiago’s Conquest Excerpt
Acknowledgments
Also by V. F. Mason
Contact
Prologue
“We should be careful what we wish for.
Life has a tendency to give it to us when we no longer want it.”
Penelope
* * *
Penelope
A raspy breath escapes me when the organ music fills the space, vibrating the walls around me. I jerk a little, goose bumps breaking on my skin, awakening every hair on my body.
Loud thunder echoes in the night; the lightning brightening the sky is visible through the window as the clouds gather, ready to pour rain and soak the people hastily running inside.
Even nature itself weeps with me it seems, sharing my grief on the day that should be the happiest of my life, where love and hope should fill my heart.
Instead, it is a nightmare that no amount of pinching myself can tear me away from or change this horrendous reality eating at my soul, bite by agonizing bite, leaving painful, festering wounds behind.
Again, thunder shakes the sky, mixing with the music, adding to the fear slowly spreading through my veins, creating gory pictures in my head—one more terrifying than the next—about the outcomes my decision may bring to the future.
My trembling fingers wrap around the short veil laying on the vanity, and I roll my lips to trap the scream ready to emerge from my throat at the sight. According to some traditions, it symbolizes the bride’s happiness and purity.
Two things I no longer possess, because he staked his claim on me and dragged me to his hell.
Made out of the thinnest material and designed especially for me, one could rip the expensive tulle if they aren’t careful enough.
Nothing but the best for the monsters roaming the streets of Chicago and deeming themselves the kings of this world while getting off on their absolute power that makes so many people around them miserable.
Men who are destined to bring apocalypses to this earth if they so wish.
My hands tighten their hold around the veil, my fingers pressing into the material, and for a second, I contemplate throwing it away and stomping on it till it turns black, showing its true colors that might as well be cuffs imprisoning me in a rusty cell with all the routes of escape closed to me.
Just imagining the act brings satisfaction to my bruised soul. I’m ready to drop it and crush it under my blue shoes so the groom can choke at the sight.
However, at the last minute, I stop because every action has consequences in my world, and this time around, there is too much at stake to succumb to the madness creeping into me.
I lift it up, place it on my head, and attach the clips into my hair. I try to ignore the bite-like nips on my head from the metal pins pulling at my dark locks so harshly, and I wonder if I’ll have any hair left at the end of this nightmare.
Although it doesn’t matter, does it, on the grand scale of things?
Finishing, I focus on my refection in the mirror and blink at the hollowness in my sapphire eyes, which on most days shine like the brightest of stones but today signal the upcoming doom that will forever end my life as I know it and dump me in the fire of his creation.
The king of manipulation and obsession bordering on insanity.
A man who permanently resides in darkness and gathers all the lost souls around, feeding on their screams of pain.
A demon sent from hell to feast on my flesh until nothing is left.
Three knocks sound on the wooden door before someone opens it gently, and a woman’s soft voice mutes the thoughts grating on my nerves. A single tear streams down my cheek and falls on my white skirt. “We have to go now. Everyone’s waiting.” A pause and then she adds, “I’m really sorry it has come to this.”
Glancing in her direction, I notice guilt etching her features, her eyes filled with sorrow and compassion, making them enormous in her face.
Although her words hardly matter.
After all, she belongs to their family and as such forever stays on their side, no matter the horrible deeds they participate in.
An enemy is not an evil person or a villain seeking to feast on the vulnerable flesh; an enemy is someone who doesn’t mind sacrificing you or anyone else as long as it serves their selfish desires.
Swallowing past the bile in my throat and grabbing the nearby orchid bouquet, I rise from the vanity chair, which scrapes against the wooden floor. The woman winces a little as she notices that my makeup got ruined by my tears.
She takes out a handkerchief from her purse and steps toward me. “I can fix it up for you before—”
My splayed palm stops whatever she wants to say, and without answering her, I shake my head and adjust the veil on my face, partially hiding me from the prying gazes of the monsters who are ready to find all my exposed spots in order to strike me where it would hurt the most.
Although at this point, they should give up. They’ve already delivered so many blows to my fragile heart it bleeds with invisible blood, drop by drop, letting my life slowly fade away.
Giving myself one last glance, I hold my chin high and walk out of the room, my heels clicking on the marble as the woman trails after me.
She tries to shuffle my long train and help me carry some of the weight since the lacy, silky material is heavy, but I snap over my shoulder, “Don’t touch me.” She leads me toward slaughter because a man she considers a brother set his eyes on me and declared war on my family. Nothing but marriage to the monster can stop it.
Because he wouldn’t rest until he got his hands on me, and God knows how many people will fall when everyone chooses the path of revenge.
How could she even for a second think I would welcome her help or allow her to speed up the process just so she can breathe easily and not worry about the consequences that will inevitably follow?
She freezes, her hands fisting, and annoyance flashes on her face, hinting at the character she failed to show me so far by agreeing to anything the monsters have dished out.
Straightening up, she says, “Very well,” as she passes me by and walks toward the wide-open double doors leading to the church’s altar. The music becomes louder and louder with each step we take.
She motions with her hand
inside before entering, and I reach the opening in two short strides, pausing at the entrance.
Gulping for breath, I press the bouquet to my chest, and will all my self-control and bravery to push to the surface. I pray to everything that’s holy to send some kind of intervention and stop this madness—even though, deep in my soul, I know no one will come to save me.
Fate proved to me a long time ago it has no mercy or compassion, and all the begging only angers it more, making it send more deadly arrows my way.
No matter what happens, I’ll always be there. You just have to say the word, and I’ll slay all the dragons.
Father’s voice rings in my ears, urging me to run toward him and ask him to do what he promised, finding solace under his protection.
Even my father, though, cannot save me this time around, because doing as my heart wishes would mean subjecting him and all the people I love to so much suffering and death that I’d never be able to accept.
They gave me everything, so giving my life and future in exchange for their peace shouldn’t be such a hardship.
Or that’s the lie I tell myself while bitterness fills my mouth, and with a swift intake of air into my shrinking lungs, my legs move forward of their own accord.
The music stops for a second as the organist blinks at my presence, and then he resumes playing, his hands flawlessly hovering above the keys while my eyes roam around the space and widen at the picture before me.
The church they chose for the ceremony has expensive stained glass in the windows, and the ceiling is curved in an oval shape, which almost gives a fairy-tale-like experience, creating a magical atmosphere. I’m surprised angels haven’t descended from heaven to sing in tune with the music.
The golden marble glistens under the candlelight, pointing at the various expensive artwork displayed on the walls, matching the exquisite design.
Despite its beauty that can mesmerize a person into a constant state of awe, the place reeks of doom and hopelessness that nothing can hide.
Especially not the masks of deceit its occupants wear.
Slowly, I start to walk down the aisle while the men sitting on the benches 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 the evil monster who decided to claim me, even his family would have preferred not to unite us in the union that brings more trouble than good.
Raising my chin high, I speed up, passing by them all quickly, but tense as the familiar sound of guns’ safeties clicking rocks off the walls, 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 the man 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 all that indicates everyone’s patience is wearing thin.
The tension in the air rises to epic proportions.
I focus my attention back on the groom.
Three more steps and I stand in front of a 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 behind the church’s walls. Instead, he only adds to the misery by participating in their horrendous crimes.
“Dearly beloved—” he says, but the deep, husky voice laced with something wicked and forbidden cuts him off, sending shivers down my spine.
“No need for all that, Father Paul.”
A gasp slips past my lips when his arm wraps around my waist, my chest bumping against his as he lifts the veil from my face, my nails itching to claw the smug smile from his handsome face.
“Move to the most important part. After all”—he leans closer, his masculine scent mixed with tobacco washing 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.
The groom chuckles and puts his hand on my cheek; shivers of disgust flash through me as his thumb brushes over my skin, wiping away the tear. “Hate is such a strong word, ma chérie.” Warning coats his next words while his thumb presses into my chin, sending prickles of pain through my skull. “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?”
Gazing at him right now, I wonder if he chose me as his willing victim only because my beauty spoke to him, and he refused to doom himself to eternal loneliness in his underworld.
Only to believe that would be a mistake on my part.
For he belongs to a dark brotherhood that brings catastrophes 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 akin to venom on my tongue toward the groom, I reply, “I do.”
With two simple words, I forever seal my fate.
And the most ironic part of it all?
I’m not the one he truly wants.
Chapter One
“Obsessions are dangerous addictions.
Maybe that’s why I love to indulge in them.”
Remi
Chicago, Illinois
A week earlier
* * *
Remi
A whimper echoes in the darkness, piercing through the loud classical music blasting from the speakers.
My mouth curves in a sadistic grin as I enter my dungeon.
The unfortunate creatures who end up trapped inside it associate it with hell on earth, where evilness rules and all pleadings fall on deaf ears, because their fear and flesh are too tempting to resist to the monster reigning in it.
I find such comparisons hilarious and misleading even though none of them live long enough to speak about their tortures.
After all, the devil will express way more mercy and compassion than I ever will.
Clapping my hands two times, I open my arms wide when the projector lights hanging on the ceiling turn on one by one with loud snaps, brightening the entire space in all its majestic and hideous glory.
Ah, does a greater beauty exist in this world?
The rectangular-shaped dungeon is enormous, spreading horizontally and showcasing the mazelike perimeter where one might easily get lost and find no way of escape, their exhausted bodies leaving bloody imprints on the perfectly polished parquet. Some prey love to think I’ll let them go, when in fact their running around this place while whimpering in despair serves as amusement to the willing onlookers in the viewing area located right in the middle.
The area is separated by four glass-like walls where two leather couches stand, brought here straight from France, and a small bar with countless bottles of expensive whiskey reside.
Various tables made out of the finest oak glisten in the light, bringing attention to the beauties occupying them—from rare poisons that have the ability to kill someone with one drop, to steel blades dr
awing blood with just a slight nip.
People might think I’m a cruel bastard who thrives among the gore he creates around him and has no compassion toward those he hurts… and they’re right.
Empathy, mercy, remorse.
They do not exist inside this place where my mind, which screams at me every single day while flashing unwanted memories I wish to forget, temporarily finds peace.
A man whimpers again and tries to speak through the tape stuck over his mouth, and I shift my focus to the left to a tall metal pole stand where the man is attached, several ropes wrapped around his body so tight, they’ve rubbed the skin and drawn blood.
He breathes heavily, gulping air into his lungs while the blood slides down his forehead from the beating he received prior to arriving here.
Several deep bruises mar his skin, only intensifying my amusement. I slowly walk toward him, making sure my heavy boots alert him to my every step. I don’t speak, knowing my silence is one thing they all hate.
Because the unknown scares people and prey alike far more than the evilness lurking in the shadows, ready to claim any soul and never let go.
For if you are smeared in darkness, nothing and no one will be able to clean you of it.
He scrunches his eyes under the harsh light, blinking two times before focusing his gaze on me, and his face brightens. An emotion I’m all too familiar with crosses it, as it always sparks nothing but rage within my soul.
Hope.
Sadly for him, hope has the tendency to crush like the finest of crystals under the harsh reality that’s life.
Because sometimes no one gives a fuck about you or the nightmares fate have dumped you in, even divine intervention itself.