Page 8 of Bloody Wedding (The Order of the Owed #1)

I made her untouchable. I claimed her as mine before I was old enough to Claim her, and what did Desmond do? He tried to fucking date her.

And she let him .

Rage bubbles up inside of me. I tamp it down like I always do, nodding at Bas as he releases my hand.

The past can fucking stay there. I’ve spent years working toward my future, one plan at a time.

Good thing I’m a master planner.

The most important part of being one is knowing when to pivot. The Hummingbird was booked? Nicholas Reed flaked? It’s fine.

Adrian’s got this.

“Who’s inside?” I ask Bas.

I got him to agree to keep an eye on the church for me while I waited to hear something, anything from Reed. Since that meant he didn’t have to sit inside, a witness to another arranged marriage, Bas wasn’t hard to convince.

He knows exactly who I mean.

“Jack didn’t come. Neither did Stephen.” Stephen, Jack’s second, the man who is tapped to guide Dallas into taking over the Order when Jack finally steps down…

so, well, never . “Oliver is here, but that’s it for the old guard.

A bunch of seat-fillers. Loni, of course.

Her dad. And Desmond… he showed up fifteen minutes ago, the cocky bastard acting like he’s on top of the world. ”

Desmond broke the bro code. He knew that I wanted Loni. That I’ve always wanted Loni. Not only did he make a move on her in high school, but he thinks he can marry her now?

No fucking way.

“Dallas?” I ask.

Bas jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “Guarding the door, making sure the bride doesn’t flee.” He scoffs. “Loni really doesn’t want to get married today, but Jack’s given the order. If she doesn’t, Peter Dougherty is done.”

In his own way, Dallas is as much of a rebel as Sebastien.

We might be cousins, but we’re as close as brothers.

He called me as soon as Jack gave him the orders to deliver a wedding invitation to Loni, and he filled me in on what happened after that every step of the way.

With an encyclopedic knowledge of the Order’s rules long beaten into him, he’s the one who reminded me that a blood oath trumps everything in our world.

When it comes to Dallas, he’ll do anything to stick up his middle finger at his father.

Me? I couldn’t care less what Jack thinks. Dallas knows the laws. Me? I know where the bodies are buried, what kind of skeletons are in the closets of prominent Owed, and how to make the numbers speak to me.

In Harmony Heights, I am untouchable, and today? I’ll prove it.

More importantly, planners pivot.

Loni needs to walk out of here a married woman. I can’t let her marry Desmond, but look at me. I’m in a suit. I planned on convincing her to give me a second chance in two years… why not move up the timeline?

Suddenly, the church bells ring out. The muffled sounds of familiar organ music reaches us outside the closed doors.

I check my watch.

“They’re early,” I muse. “Someone must be antsy in there.”

Someone who wants to have this wedding over and done with before anyone can stop them.

Bas chuckles under his breath. “Desmond always was a bit premature. Ask any of the girls down at the Court. I’ve heard some shit about that little weasel.”

I’m not surprised about that. The Court—better known as The King's Court, an Order of the Owed’s gentleman’s club—is where members go to pick out one of the Used to enjoy.

Not me. It didn’t seem right, fucking one of the club girls when, one day, I’d have Loni as my wife.

I stuck to town girls, anyone who didn’t have any ties to the Order, during my early twenties.

Now? I’m too busy with work, the Order, and plotting my future to worry about getting laid.

Bas, though? He’s never been shy about his relationships with the Used.

Like me, like Dallas, he refused to Claim any of the Offering during the last eight Claiming ceremonies.

Unlike me and Dallas, as the second-born son of one of the founding families, he doesn’t have to.

That’s Alexandre’s job, and I always thought his wedding would be the first of our inner circle.

Nope. Looks like that honor will belong to me.

Just like Loni will.

I remove the Tomcat, check the magazine, then clap Bas on his shoulder. “You coming to watch the show?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. But I’ll be right out here to see what happens after.”

Fair enough. I have a level of protection; both my lineage, and my Claim. Bas? He’s started enough shit over the years that Jack is just itching for a reason to kick him out of the Order. And while Dallas and I would never allow that to happen, that’s one fight that Bas does studiously avoid.

“Wish me luck.”

“As if you’ll need it.” Bas’s lips split into a grin. “Make those hours at the shooting range count, buddy.”

“Hey. Anything worth doing is worth doing right.”

Especially when forever is on the line.

With the pistol in my hand, I flash Bas a grin of my own, then start for the stairs that lead up to the church’s doors.

I’ve spent far too many mindlessly boring hours inside of St. Catherine’s.

The big wooden doors open right up to the back of the church, with confessionals and the holy water stand on one side, the votive candle rack on the other.

Pews stretch out in front, lined up against a single aisle that leads to the altar.

A sculpture of Jesus Christ on a cross is posted on the wall, watching over the pulpit. The organist is hidden away somewhere, leaving the ghostly music to filter around the entire church.

As I approach the doors, the music gets louder. Instead of the hymns I’d grown up on, the wedding march comes to a close. Somewhere inside of St. Catherine’s, my Loni has just walked down the aisle to Desmond St. James.

That realization has me moving on autopilot. I don’t even think about it. I just go .

Throwing open the door, stalking right through with the Tomcat in my hand, my gaze goes straight to the altar.

There’s Father Francis, wearing his white vestments and embroidered stole.

Desmond is in a suit, bored, looking like he’s simply attending just another business meeting instead of gazing raptly at the stunning vision across from him.

Like I do now.

Shit.

My heart skips a beat.

My fingers tighten on the handle of the gun.

My jaw flexes.

Loni …

I’ve seen her in photographs. I’ve seen her in surveillance camera footage.

I’ve watched her live a life from states away so I know what she looks like.

I haven’t been rubbing one out to the memory of a seventeen-year-old girl all these years.

I’ve become more and more addicted to the woman that she’s grown into.

And all of that pales is comparison to seeing Loni Dougherty like this.

Her face expertly made up to hide her adorable freckles, soft hazel eyes gleaming in barely masked distress, her lithe body meticulously tailored inside of a satin dress with lace embellishments and a sheer bit of fabric covering one shoulder.

Her strawberry blonde hair is twisted up and out of her face, pinned back by a diamond piece, showing off the column of her slender throat as she swallows nervously.

Standing there, in a wedding dress meant for another man, she looks like a princess.

A motherfucking princess.

My princess.

Desmond St. James’s fate was sealed the moment he tried to Claim Loni. As soon as I knew that she was walking out of St. Catherine’s a married woman, so was hers.

I clear my throat as I stalk down the aisle, heading right for them.

Her head snaps over at me. A moment later, so does Desmond’s.

His expression becomes terrified. I swear to God, I see a flash of relief on Loni’s before she shuts that down.

It doesn’t matter. I saw it, and knowing that I did, I smile.

“I hope I’m not too late,” I announce to everyone gathered inside of the church.

Mumbles, whispers, and a general confusion passes over those assembled—but the instant I lift the gun, a hush falls.

And my smile becomes a determined thinning of my lips as I stalk toward the bride. It takes everything in me to rip my gaze from Loni’s loveliness, but I want to see Desmond’s fear. I want him to see the gun and know that, if he’d stayed away from her, this wouldn’t have had to happen.

More than anything, he needs to understand that he brought this all on himself.

So maybe my lips curve a little at the ends, a satisfied smirk, as he holds up his hands, begging, pleading, calling my name the instant before my finger tugs the trigger. It’s too late. Besides, I’m not the one he should’ve been apologizing to?—

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

—oh, no. That’s the stunning beauty whose pristine wedding dress gets dotted with red as the three bullets slam into him with quick succession, spraying his blood all over her before he drops to the aisle—and all hell fucking breaks loose.

Ah, well. I’ve always known how to make an entrance when necessary.