Page 32 of The Devil

I count the men, six in the church. More outside, I’m sure.

I look at Jet. Not that he needs them. He alone is an entire army in his determination.

“Jet, please. I’ll get your watch back to you. I shouldn’t have taken it, I know that. I know. I…” He just stares down at me patient as ever.

“Is the idea of marrying me so awful?” he asks, then leans closer. “I mean, you were begging me to fu— pardon me, father,” he says, glancing at Father Abernathy momentarily before turning back to me. “To make love to you. Now you’ll get your wish although not exactly as you imagined. And I’ll take my pound of flesh for your betrayal.”

“Cassian will kill you.”

“I don’t think so.”

“If you force me to do this, to marry you…” My brain cannot process the words. “If you force me to do this, you’ll be betraying him.”

He chuckles, takes hold of my arm and turns me so we’re both facing the altar. “We should get going. Don’t want to keep Father Abernathy longer than we need to. Kneel, Amal.”

I look from Father Abernathy, the soldiers in my periphery, to Jet. I glance at the doors.

“Jet.” I’m not sure what I want. What I’m saying. What I’m thinking.

“It’s no use fighting me, Amal. This is happening.”

“It can’t. You can’t. You don’t understand.”

He touches me, fingers soft on the side of my face. “Poor Little Virgin. It’s you who doesn’t understand. You’re scared. I understand. And I will keep my promise to you. But it’ll be different than I intended, considering. Now kneel.” There’s no hesitation in his words. He’s so certain he’ll be obeyed. It must feel good to always be in control. Always know.

I’m not sure if I drop down onto the kneeler or if Jet’s hand the back of my neck that forces me down. I don’t know anymore. Because I’m tired. Because maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’ll be better to just let go and do what he says.

Because I am scared. I have been scared every hour of every day for the last four years.

Jet kneels beside me and I look over at him. He holds out his hand opening his palm.

I look down at it to find my rosary. I guess he picked it up when he picked me up.

“Put your hands together,” he tells me in so low a voice I feel the rumble of it.

My hands shake as I bring them together in prayer and Jet binds them with my rosary. We stay like that for a long moment just looking at each other and I wonder if what happened between us that last time in his bedroom is playing like a movie in his head too.

“Begin,” he tells Father Abernathy, never shifting his gaze from mine.

“Amal?” Father Abernathy asks.

I drag my gaze from Jet’s, but I know I’m only able to because he allows it. I meet Father Abernathy’s kind gaze and nod.

Jet snorts like it’s funny I think any of this is up to me. Up to Father Abernathy. Up to anyone but him.

Father Abernathy begins and Jet and I stare at each other.

“Get to the vows,” Jet tells him when it goes on too long for his liking. “I’m anxious to get my bride to bed.”

Father Abernathy clears his throat. “Amal Lombardi, do you take this man as your husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in heath, to love until death⁠—”

“And obey,” Jet cuts in, glancing at the priest. “Don’t forget obey, Father.”

Father Abernathy looks sorry, but he repeats Jet’s words. “And obey. Until death do you part.”

I draw a tight breath in, my chest constricting, my stomach in knots. “I do.”

“Good girl,” Jet taunts me, then looks at the priest, eyebrows raised.