Making the King: A dark forced marriage romance (The Cruz Kings MC)

Prologue

“Do you, Cara Rodríguez, take Rochus King as your lawfully wedded husband?”

Blinking, I look up from the floor and stare into the scared eyes of the spineless priest. Being here, wearing this dress, is making a mockery of my childhood.

The strapless dress is a complete replica of a dress I once saw on TV, and promptly told my bitch of a mother I wanted to get married in. Everything matches from the sweetheart neckline to the floor-length skirt. The bust is so tight my tits are threatening to spill out, not that it matters.

I’m not even sure why I’m dressed, and a part of me almost wishes I wasn’t. Better naked than tainting one of the few good memories I had of my childhood.

“Cara,” my dad prompts, digging the gun harder into my back. “Answer the priest.”

I want to laugh at the fact he’s threatening me with a gun. It just shows how little he really understands me if he thinks the gun is the bigger evil when I’m being married off to a stranger at sixteen.

For now, I have to play along and not give away that I’m not scared of him. But how can I be when he’s lorded this very day over me for so long? I don’t know when I stopped being scared, only that rage and a burning need to punish my parents for taking something from me is all I feel now. My childhood. My freewill. And at times, even my will to fucking live.

I run my hands down the skirt of the dress, smoothing an inconsequential wrinkle. The bottom of the skirt is covered in blood, but sadly, it’s not the blood of my enemies. It’s the blood of the couple who accidentally walked into the church half an hour ago. Needless to say, they won’t be telling anyone what they stumbled upon.

Tossing my waist-long, dark hair with purple streaks—that I only got to piss him off—over my bare shoulder, I sneer, “If I must,” answering the rhetorical question.

“Y-you have to say ‘I do’,” the priest says, his hands shaking so badly I absentmindedly wonder if he has arthritis or some shit.

“Why?” I challenge, my voice ringing out loud. “There’s a gun fucking pointed at my back, and another at yours,” I nod my head toward my twin brother, Mateo, who’s standing behind the priest. “So tell me, Mr. Priest man, why the hell does the wording matter?”

I quickly look away from my twin. I can’t fucking stand looking at the traitor I shared a womb with for eight months.

Next to me, my groom, Rochus King, coughs, and it sounds like he’s trying to cover up a laugh. “Can we just get on with it?” he asks, trying to take my hand. “I want to move on so we can get to the part where I can finally consummate this holy matrimony, or whatever the fuck you call it.”

I turn my head and look at him. If I force down my disgust, I can admit he’s somewhat lucky in the looks department. Not that it matters. I might be a child bride, but I’ll also make sure one of us is a widow before the night is over.

While my dad has a fucking boner for this marriage, it fills me with nothing but hatred. I knew it was coming, I’ve known that since I was twelve. That’s how old I was when my mom sat me down and explained my purpose in life.

That was the day my childhood ended. With a few choice words, she changed my carefree existence into one where I had to… let’s just say, knowing you’ll be sold to the highest bidder when you’re sixteen doesn’t exactly make it easy to continue your life.

Not long after that talk, my parents dragged me to my sister Julietta’s wedding because daddy dearest wanted me to know what was in store for me. It wasn’t a joyous day, and I hated seeing my beautiful sister marrying the forty-something year-old guy. He reeked of sweat and alcohol, and I can still recall the offensive stench.

I’ve been told that Rochus King is nineteen, which I guess I should be happy about. Then again, if I don’t take matters into my own hands, he might have a long life in front of him.

A snigger tries to burst free as I remember the vial inside me. The small see-through glass was brought to me by my sister, when she pretended to help me to the bathroom. According to her, it’s a very strong sedative that she uses on her husband at least once a week.

Seeing as I have no pockets or anything to hide the vial, I saw no other option than to shove it inside me. I suppose it’s almost poetic that the way to end my husband’s life is in my vagina, a place he’ll never touch. That’s what I told my sister during our rushed time together, and it felt good to see her tentative smile before her horrid husband dragged her away.

As soon as I was in place, next to Rocco, they left. But not before Julietta’s husband made sure to announce he’d only allowed my sister to come as a reward for her good behavior. Personally, I think he just wanted her to see me miserable.

I startle, realizing I’ve been lost in my head when Rochus whoops, “Fuck yeah I do.” He nudges me with his shoulder. “I mean, would you look at her? She’s worth every fucking cent.”

Swallowing down the disgust I feel at his words, I shoot him a smile I know is laced with innocence and not portraying my thoughts of how I want to make him scream in pain for buying me.

“D-do you have any vows?” the priest asks.

“No,” my dad says, sternly.

At the same time, I say, “Yes.”

“Cara,” my mom scolds, speaking up for the first time.

I don’t need to look at her to know she’s scared, and I can’t say I blame her. If I step out of line, my dad will make her pay for my transgressions. Maybe I should feel bad about that, but I don’t. It’s not my fault she married the devil, allowing him to sell her daughters. That’s all on her, and as far as I’m concerned, she’s as bad as he is.

Rochus smirks at me and nods. “Let’s hear your vows.”

Squaring my shoulders, I recite the practiced words. “I promise to give you everything you deserve. From today, and until our last day together.”

There. It’s vague, yet completely true. I’ll fucking give Rochus what he deserves, and one way or another, it’ll be tonight. When he wants to consummate the marriage, as he so eloquently put it.

Fucking pig.

As fucked up as it is, I’m glad my dad kept me a virgin. I guess he learned his lesson with Julietta. My fucked up parents didn’t even try to mask their disappointment when my sister was sold for less than they expected, all because they started whoring her out at twelve. So, they went to great lengths to keep me a virgin, always making sure I knew it was so they could sell me for more at their creepy black market auction.

“Get on with it,” my dad demands.

“Y-yes, of course,” the priest stammers. “Do you umm… do you have rings?”

I look expectantly at the guy who bought me. I fully expect him to say I’m not worth it and move on, but to my surprise he fishes a black velvet box from his pocket. When he opens it, my eyes widen as the two gold bands come into view.

“Of course I fucking do,” he says, smiling widely.

Taking my hand, he slides the gleaming ring onto my ring finger and winks at me. Then he hands me the other one, and I roll my eyes as I shove it onto his digit.

The priest clears his throat. “Rochus King, you may now kiss your bride.”

Fuck. Me.

I don’t want this man’s lips on me. Though I’ve never been kissed, I’ve been forced to watch the men with Julietta enough times to know it’s nothing like in the movies. The slobbering, foul smelling pigs she’s had to…

“Do you mind?” Rochus asks, and I look up in confusion.

Surely he wasn’t talking to me, was he? Because I mind a fucking lot. No, of course, he isn’t asking me. If you’re fucked up enough to buy a child bride, you don’t ask permission.

“Mind what?” my dad barks, sounding as though he’s being inconvenienced by the question.

Rochus sighs. “I don’t want to kiss my wife at gunpoint. So, I ask again. Do you fucking mind?”

No one talks to my dad with so much disrespect, so I’m fully expecting him to punch Rochus. But he doesn’t. To my astonishment, I feel the gun being removed from my back. Without meaning to, I straighten my spine, like I’m testing that the pressure is really gone.

Before I can contemplate doing anything, Rochus places his hands on my hips and turns me toward him. My gray eyes fly to his. They’re the color of chocolate, and there’s something hidden in the depths. Something that makes me feel…

“Relax,” he breathes.

I don’t get the chance to retort. Rochus’ lips on mine silence me.

It’s not the disgusting and brutal kisses I’ve seen my sister be subjected to. In fact, it’s soft and slow. He isn’t using his tongue, only pressing his lips to mine.

Rochus’ hands move from my hips, slowly trailing up to my head. He winds his fingers through my locks, and I take his lead, moving mine to his shoulders. Before I know it, I instinctively open my mouth, but to my surprise, he doesn’t deepen the kiss.

This is nothing like I was expecting it to be, and I’m completely caught off guard. Forceful and disgusting, that’s what I’d prepared myself for. After seeing what my sister’s husband did to her, I wouldn’t even have been surprised if Rochus bent me over a pew and fucked me right here. But this…

“That’s enough for now,” Rochus murmurs. Just as I’m about to rethink my opinion of him, he lets go of my hair and slaps my ass. “The rest will come once we’re out of here. Don’t wanna desecrate this holy place, do we?”

I almost throw up in my mouth as he turns around and winks conspiratorially at my dad, who laughs boisterously.

“When the last payment goes through, you can fuck her bloody for all I care.”

The lack of care for my well being no longer shocks me. All it does is cement the fact that one day I want to dance on this fucker’s grave.

As soon as the words leave my dad’s mouth, the door slams open and a dark-haired guy struts through. When he reaches the couple lying in a pool of their own blood, he jumps over them and does a fucking twirl.

What the actual fuck?

“Did someone ask for money?” he asks, nodding first at Rochus and then my dad. Walking straight up to me, he takes my hand and kisses the back of it. “Congratulations, Mrs. King.”

My lips part and I want to hurl insults at him, yet no words come to mind. I can only stand there, gaping, as he pulls out his phone and shows the screen to my dad.

“There you go, Carlos. Cara no longer belongs to you.”

For some reason, those words hit me, making me feel lighter. I no longer belong to the man who’s put me and my sister through hell while doting on our brother. Where I resemble our bitch mom, Mateo’s the spitting image of our dad—and just as vile and cruel as him.

But now… I’m free. From my dad, at least. And soon, if everything goes according to plan, from my husband as well.

“So we’re all good?” Rochus asks, arching an eyebrow.

Dad takes his phone out of his pocket and taps on the screen. “Yep,” he confirms with a nod. “The bitch is yours. Pleasure doing business with you, Rochus and Cain.”

Rochus pulls me to his side and throws his arm around my shoulder. “Do you want to say goodbye to your family?” he asks.

“Yes,” I snap, sarcastically. “There’s nothing I want more than a tear-filled goodbye with the people who just fucking sold me. Estúpido.” I didn’t mean to voice the Spanish insult, but I don’t regret it.

“I want to say goodbye to my daughter,” my mom cries out.

Bitch even sounds like she means it.

“Let’s go,” I say to Rochus, completely ignoring her.

“No, Cara. Please. I want to hug you one last time.”

I remain unmoved by her words. It’s too little and much too fucking late.

“We should get going,” Cain says, staring pointedly at the door he entered through. “Like, right fucking now.” He adds the last part so low only me and Rochus can hear him.

Rochus nods and rushes me toward the exit. I can barely keep up with him, almost stumbling in the stupid high heels I was forced to wear.

As soon as we’re outside, we come face-to-face with a group of masked strangers. Each one of them is wearing black from head to toe, the only thing standing out is the red diamond on their shoulders.

“Ready?” one of the men asks, and when Rochus nods, the stranger waves the others ahead.

“What’s going on?” I ask, but I don’t get an answer.

Without another word, the masked strangers, including my new husband, storm the church. It only takes seconds before gunshots ring out, and despite my mantra of staying strong, I lean against the church with my heart in my chest.

Who the hell are these people? And more importantly, why am I staying out here? I don’t care if they’re slaughtering my family, only that I’m left behind.

Resolutely, I sneak back inside, ignoring the men calling out for me to leave. I flip a few of them off, but other than that, I keep my focus ahead. Luckily for me, their attention is on the scene unfolding in front of them.

My dad’s kneeling at the altar, and his right-hand man lies lifeless next to him. I knew Henry was lurking around somewhere. Years of being my dad’s daughter have taught me that he never goes anywhere without his backup.

“Please,” my dad begs, pathetically holding his hands up like in a prayer. “W-whatever you want.”

Hearing my dad beg like this has excitement coursing through me as I move closer until I’m next to Rochus,

“You,” my dad spits, no longer pleading for his life. “You did this, you useless cunt.”

“Careful,” Rochus warns. “You did this to yourself.”

He kicks my dad square in the chest, sending him into the blood surrounding Henry’s body.

“I want to kill him,” I announce, my voice steady and devoid of all emotion.

“W-what?” Rochus asks, eyeing me like he isn’t sure he heard me correctly.

“He’s my fucking dad, and I want to be the one to end his miserable existence,” I say, hating that I have to repeat myself.

I don’t care who this Rochus is, or that he’s now my husband. He’s clearly not on my dad’s team, and that’s perfect for me. I’ll even consider not lacing his drink with the sedative if he gives me this.

Before Rochus can make up his mind, my mom is unceremoniously pushed to the floor next to my dad.

“Mija,” she sobs, looking up at me.

The endearment makes me flinch. She used to call me mija, meaning dear or darling, when I was a child. But she lost the right to call me anything like that years ago.

“Shut up,” I hiss.

The noise in the background fades away as I look into the eyes of the woman who gave birth to me, and also ripped away any semblance of safety and happiness I might ever have had.

“You’re as bad as he is.”

I don’t know I’m moving until I find myself ripping the gun from Rochus’ hand. As soon as it’s in my hand, I point it at my crying, pathetic mother.

“Cara!” Rochus warns.

Tuning him out, I bare my teeth. “Death is too good for you,” I snarl, my hatred for her coating my words.

I’m absently aware that more people arrive, and a scuffle breaks out close to us. I know I should look, but I can’t. I’m too transfixed by my dad kneeling on the floor, and the evil glint in his eye that’s always present.

The sound of gunshots ricochets off the walls, and there’s a thud from a body hitting the floor. People are shouting, and…

As soon as the sound registers, I make a snap decision. I only have seconds, and I use them to point the gun at my dad.

“May you rot in hell,” I scream.

As soon as I make the decision to pull the trigger, all the other sounds in the church assault my ears. The roaring of police, and the demand for me to put down the gun. But I can’t. Not until my dad is dead.

“Drop your fucking gun.”

My hands shake as I clutch it harder.

“Drop the fucking gun and get on your knees with your hands above your head.”

Tears stream down my face, blurring my vision.

“No,” I whisper.

“Do it!” Rochus hisses.

Then he steps in front of me, putting himself between me and the police, holding his arms out to his side. I don’t know if it’s to shield me or to show them he’s unarmed. Either way, I know an opportunity when I see one.

I look into the cold, dead eyes of my dad, the man I once loved. It seems so long ago that I hardly remember what it was like.

Then I pull the trigger, sealing my fate.