THE TEST: Secret Society Dark Romance (4Horsemen Series Book 1)

by Elena Monroe

  Turning my face away from the rows of chairs covered in pink flowers and tulle, I whispered, “Now we’re even, motherfucker. Try to stay on script.”

  The harp hummed in the air while Justice walked down the aisle with Abigail; their arms were linked and both beaming. Justice had her pink hair braided to the side, the shoulders of her dress falling halfway down her arms, and the body of her dress hugged every inch of her.

  You’d never know how against the idea of a larger-than-life wedding she was. She looked perfectly at ease.

  Grimm waited until Justice stood in front of me to speak, “Within our four families, within our jobs, we were raised Catholic. I’m supposed to stand up here and simply repeat what the pope would if he was here: to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. Well, we aren’t going to be doing what’s expected. These two went against fate and defied every odd stacked against them. Don’t take my word for it… Justice, Vic… any vows?”

  With Justice’s hands still in mine, I didn’t expect my soon-to-be wife to speak when she did: “I love you, Vic, and choose you as my equal. I am devoted to you and will be united with you through all challenges that we may face again. It has gotten downright bad, messy, and uncontrollable, but that will never change that I'm the war and you're the Victory.”

  I didn’t care if I wasn’t supposed to kiss her yet. My hands cupped her face, making the large space between us fade into the background, and my lips pressed against hers.

  We weren’t traditional.

  We weren’t quietly going into the night.

  We were both fighting wars, but happy to be the spoils for each other.

  The reception in the garden with all of the lights and candles created a soft glow around Justice that made her seem holy.

  If you knew her, you’d see her smiling and laughing with no choice but to assume she was like any other bride, living out her fantasy; I knew her better.

  Right under that smile, I saw all of those overwhelming feelings trying to surface. Not because today wasn’t perfect, but because her parents weren’t here to give their blessing.

  She has basically adopted my parents as her own at this point, but nothing was going to fill the void that hers left behind.

  Not me.

  Not my parents.

  Not even today.

  I’ve come to terms with understanding that there are some voids you can’t fill, and all you can do is distract yourself from them until they shrink. Any amount of attention, and they’ll grow into bigger holes.

  Coming up behind her, I handed her a beer, something French and hard to pronounce. She was standing next to Abigail, even though she had stopped listening a few minutes back.

  I could pinpoint it down to the second.

  I held a small black box marked with a red Clave symbol that Khaos had dropped in my lap as a precursor to his wedding gift. When I peeked inside, it was a box filled with premade joints all in skinny individual Ziplock baggies with stickers on each as to how they were supposed to make us feel and when to smoke them.

  Anxiety of change.

  Depression after your first fight.

  After sex.

  When you find out you've gotten her pregnant.

  The Grove.

  And one marked tonight.

  Khaos was the master of unique gifts, and I had to admit I was impressed.

  Taking her hand, I had a plan to escape. There was a spot that I kept away from our wedding for this reason: the library. It was a maze, just like everything we overcame to get here. Walking her to the Grand Escalier, I showed her the paintings by Isidore Pils: The Triumph of Apollo, Minerva Fighting Brutality Watched by the Gods of Olympus, The Enchantment of Music Deploying its Charms, and The City of Paris Receiving the Plan of the New Opera.

  These four paintings were milestones in our life captured years ago.

  Her eyes watered after drifting from the ceiling’s paintings, and she whispered, “This is the happiest day of my life, so why am I so sad?”

  I knew she hated crying, and I knew she hated being looked at when she surfed these moments of weakness. I wrapped my arms around her waist—still in her very light pink mermaid wedding dress—and I whispered into her ear.

  “Let’s make a deal. If we need an out, all we have to do is say Paris, and we’ll drop everything and go. This will be our safe place.”

  Wrapping my arms around her tighter, she sunk into me, letting me hold her until it stopped hurting.

  She twisted around to face me, her cheek pressing into my dress shirt, when she whispered, “Paris.”

  “I’ve got something for us. It’s from Khaos and marked tonight.”

  She looked like a princess in her gown with her hidden boots underneath. She sat on the dirty steps, opening the lid of the box to find the one marked for tonight. Joining her on the stairs, I fell back, looking at our past painted above us for one last time before we moved into our future.

  Justice… wherever we end up when we’re dead, I hope someone tells your parents thank you for naming you for me. Justice is exactly what I needed.

  EPILOGUES

  JUSTICE

  One Year Later

  Being married to Vic was like being battle ready at all times, not slowing down to let your partner catch up, and never letting anyone tell you that love shouldn’t be a challenge.

  We want it to be a challenge.

  The fight for each other doesn’t end the day you admit you love someone, or even when the ring slips on your finger.

  Being married has only made our games develop into mini battles that we weren’t really keeping tally of (okay, maybe Vic was). Every Friday night after Vic clocks out of work (still working for the cult known as the Clave and still part of his fucked up boy band known as the Horsemen), he meets me at a new bar.

  I dress up as a different character in new outfits every time—still just as sassy and toeing the line of when I should wear panties, but it would really damper how quickly my husband devours me if I wore them like a good girl.

  Sitting at the end of the bar, I ordered a Manhattan and waited for him. Even with the diamond on my finger that was louder than I was comfortable with, I heard a voice from behind me that was nearly as deep as my husband’s: “Buy you a drink?”

  Lifting my glass without turning around, I showed off a still half-full glass. “Next one, sure.”

  Falling down to the stool next to me, he summoned the bartender and ordered another before I was even done with the drink still in my hand. He had the average amount of confidence for a guy in LA—being this forthright. It reminded me of the old me who let men act however they wanted, because in the end, I always got what I wanted too.

  Now my standards were pretty high.

  We all know what they say about glass ceilings.

  The idiot must have finally noticed the ring on the exact finger that yells married, when he asked me, “Married? I’m good at keeping secrets.”

  I wasn’t paying much attention to him, looking at the door behind him for Vic, but not passing up a free drink while I was at it. This was all a part of our games—living out each what if of how we could’ve met, while getting our fill of roleplay by meeting differently every Friday, like it’s the first time, falling for each other over and over again... like we weren’t already helplessly in love.

  Yes, helplessly. You couldn’t help shit around Vic. He was dominating and cocky, yet without his mask, he had a face of an angel.

  When I spotted him in his dress pants and button down rolled messily at the sleeves, I decided to kick our game into a real kind of competition, and I let my fingertips fall to the stranger’s knee. “Two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead. Don’t look now, but your competition has arrived.”

  Vic stood next to him, intimidating him. “Can I help you?” His jaw was tense, the way I knew it to be when he was irritated.

  The stranger be
tween us grinned, like he was thrilled to be under the pressure of another man with traditional good looks. “Fuck off. She’s taken,” he spat towards Vic, turning his attention back to me.

  Rolling my lips inward, I wagged my eyebrows, challenging him to keep winning me over the way he always did.

  He ignored my suitor and leaned down, whispering in my ear, “Get rid of him, or I’m going to rip a hole in your fishnets and fuck you on top of this bar.” His thumb held my chin up, forcing me to stare into his gaze, which was like staring into the sun.

  Running a finger up my fishnet stockings, I spoke in that way when your voice drops down and the most ordinary words become sexy. “See... I’m only married in France. The United States doesn’t honor marriages in another country...” I let my finger run up my inner thigh crossed over my other leg and watched the two men before me drool.

  Vic leaned down, catching my chin again, and said, “Paris.”

  It was our safe word. Whenever we needed to escape, take a break, be alone together, call a truce on our games, pause our mini battles… we would speak the word Paris. Once one of us said Paris, it would be a call to arms, to drop everything, and go to Paris.

  Neither of us had yet to use our peace treaty. We had gone a solid six months of staging these meetups and have gone through countless men hitting on me in bars, with Vic only ever having enough of my antics when I would tell them I’m only married in Paris.

  Hopping off of the bar stool, I shot back my drink. “Well, nice knowing ya.” Taking Vic’s arm, I let him lead me out of the bar to his off-white Porsche parked in the lot across the busy street.

  “Do I mark that a loss for you?” I bit down a smile and leaned against his hood, waiting for the comeback I had coming my way.

  Pushing into me, I felt his lips brush mine. “You can mark it on your shopping list for new fishnets.”

  With his hands on the back of my thighs, he lifted me up, carefully placing me down on the hood again, only this time my legs were open just enough for him to fit between. His fingers toyed with the fishnet design against my bare pussy, and I heard the snapping of the material.

  “Vic!” I wasn’t actually upset, and I continued to let my fingers unbutton his shirt, carefully keeping it all intact. “We’re in public…”

  His lips found my neck—my weakness. As his belt jingled, I knew very well it didn’t matter where we were; if Vic wanted something, he got it.

  In one brutal thrust, I felt every inch of him dominate me. His hands right behind my ass were planted on the hood, keeping me in place with no room for movement. His mouth found my ear again. “You’re signing those marriage papers for the US when I’m done ruining you. You’re mine everywhere, and I’m not letting you forget it.”

  I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle, since I had very clearly won this time. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I pulled him closer, biting his shirt, like it was some kind of gag to keep me from moaning out loud from his thrusts that were creating a friction against my every hot nerve.

  I could feel his lips tug into a grin while he fucked me on the hood of his car, making me his, like he did every Friday—only now we had paperwork after… and a trip to Paris.

  VIC

  Seven Years Later

  The twins started swimming at the same time as their mother. Justice decided she should learn too, but only when she felt threatened by our kids.

  We were a family surrounded by water, constantly moving against the waves, and that took skill—one Justice seemed to escape from having up until now.

  Adalina (noble) and Blaz (unwavering protector) were dirty blonde, strong willed, clever, and most of all, relentless with each other.

  She pushed him even inside the womb, and he’d push her right back. That’s how we landed on paring names that captured exactly how tough they are. They inherited a taste for winning, just like their dad, and a sense of fighting from their mom.

  Walking in with the twins, I felt like an Olympic coach ready to present my gold medalists to the pool of competitors. Dropping them off at the folding table, I checked them in, giving the women behind the desk a grin, knowing they had this wrapped up in a neat little bow. I eyed the pool of swimmers, and none of them had the focus or drive that my kids had.

  Setting up camp on one of the benches next to the pool, I took a knee, prepping them: “Okay, so here is what’s going to happen-”

  Justice’s hand landed on my shoulder, looking down at me disapprovingly as she stole my thunder. “You know it’s not a swim meet, right? It’s swim lessons… you know, so people don’t die when they get in the water.”

  Popping up, I stood next to her, eyebrows bent, sullen as the other guys walked in. Daisy was a couple of years older and still didn’t know how to swim. It screamed how structureless that household was: no rules, no expectations, no accountability…

  Grimm and Abigail had a completely different way of parenting, and it showed in their polite, docile, yet very loveable child.

  Meanwhile, mine were hellbent on taking bets between themselves on who would do worse in the pool. Justice could silence me, but they would just pick up where I left off… my DNA kind of wins.

  I was weaponizing my children. The formative years were built to soak up as many skills and tools you could to help you overcome being an adult.

  I found new and different ways to fuck up my children that would be a fingerprint compared to the bruises my upbringing left me with.

  Justice always told them to keep their mind sharp, but I wanted them physically stronger.

  “As long as you have fun, that’s all that matters… Right Vic?” Her eyes were wide, giving me a look like she was lying out loud, then looking back at our kids, already thirsty for the win at a fake competition I was creating. “I’ll give you $100 to suck.”

  Blaz, my outspoken little asshole, pushed his hand out, palm up towards his mom. “Money talks. I need to see some proof before committing.”

  This was coming from a child who took handshakes as legally binding contracts and the real reason I avoided his hands at all costs.

  He didn’t think he had to answer to his mom.

  “Corruption is the mortal enemy of your soul.” Adalina’s eyes glared at Blaz in a way that kind of scared me. “I don’t want to win for the prize; I want to win, because I know I’m the best. Good luck with steroids when you’re older, loser.”

  Blaz sulked, but I knew better. He was absorbing the shit talking and was going to use it for fuel, quietly, unlike the carbon copy of Justice with her sights already set on becoming a lawyer.

  Real talk: I’m afraid of my kids. They had us by the balls and tits and made us feel like first place losers.

  “How does she know about steroids, Vic?” Justice looked to me, and I turned inward, already feeling the flames lick me with a punishing glare—similar to the one she had passed down. “Let’s go, mister. You aren’t sitting down here.”

  Khaos was making wild bird noises, trying to get my attention, with the stench of pot wafting lightly in the air. “I’m taking bets. Who’s got Daisy?”

  Bowen was laying down on the bleachers, sunglasses on, with his head on Eve’s lap, and he was completely uninterested. Being a mess wasn’t a vibe or monster on his back; it was a lifestyle that was hard to break all at once.

  Slumping down defeated next to Grimm, who was pulling Daisy’s hair into a small ponytail, she twisted towards me, “Are you in a time out too?” Her big brown eyes and freckles barely appeared across her nose and made her even more endearing.

  “Too? Who else is in a time out?” I asked her, holding up the small purple bow for Grimm.

  Twisting in Grimm’s hand again, she turned towards Bowen. “Uncle Bowy. He hasn’t said anything yet.”

  Leaning forward, elbows on my knees, while he secured the ponytail, I whispered to Daisy, “Maybe he just needs a hug…” Normally Bowen perked up when he was around the kids, but this was all a part of the lifestyle that was hard for
him to break.

  Unzipping her jacket and showing off a glittery swimsuit with a ballet skirt in the middle, she tiptoed over to Bowen, who popped up like Frankenstein and grabbed her in his arms, showering her with kisses.

  Daisy was the one you could do that with, no pushback. My kids? Emotionally stable, but PDA? Don’t even try it.

  Justice sat down next to me, and I reached behind us to grab the poster boards I had made. Her eyes went so wide that I debated if she was going to hurt me or if they’d pop right out.

  “Vic! It’s not a competition!”

  The swim class started, and my will to behave surfaced. When it came to my kids, I would push everything to the side. Lowering the poster down, I was defeated for the second time today, and I didn’t like it. I had to resort to cheering, which wasn’t nearly enough.

  A dad further down shouted in my direction, “Hey, asshole, why don’t you shut the fuck up?”

  I stood up in unison with the other guys, all ready to make one asshole a much bigger problem. We were all one foot in the real world and one still knee deep in the Clave.

  Defensive, untrusting, anger problems… all were qualities we couldn’t let go of if we wanted to survive a cult.

  He wasn’t intimidating, and we were dads right now, not cult badasses. I shouted back, “Don’t be jealous your kid is going to lose. Acceptance is key.”

  The other dad made a sour face, and his fists tightened so much I could see the discoloration from here. Grimm lifted his shirt just enough to show off the gun in his waistband, and the asshole finally sat down.

  We stayed standing, waiting for him to change his mind, giving him time to be reckless, and when he wasn’t, we sat back down. I didn’t expect him to retort to our obvious stance. However, he started booing my kids and giving me side eye, so I knew it was directed at me.