“Marks,” I warn in a low whisper. Don’t die, don’t die, I chant over and over in my head.
“I’m cracked, but I’ll make it.” Crap. I’m not sure I believe that, but I keep my mouth shut. If anyone can, she can, though. “I’m going in.” I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t say that’s a terrible idea because what the hell do I know? I’m dead!
“Heal off!” I warn again.
“Not this time, motherfucker.” Marks’ voice is filled with glee before two quick shots strike the target. The body drops. “I’m a big clip that!” Marks shouts, making me pull my headset away from my ear for a second. “Get rekt.” Marks lets out an evil laugh that has me letting out a small one. “Take your L.”
I think Marks enjoys shit-talking more than playing the game. I’m not a giant fan of the game, but she always talks me into playing with her. She carries me. I don’t know why I ever doubted her. The girl is a killer shot, hence the nickname Marks. She never misses her mark.
A knock sounds at my door a few seconds before it opens partially, my dad poking his head in. I pull my headphones off.
“Can your mom and I talk to you for a minute?”
“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He gives me a nod; his mouth forms a tight line, making me think something is wrong. I slip my headset back on.
“My parents want to talk. I’ll hit you up later?”
“I’ll be here,” Marks singsongs as I flip off my PlayStation.
Marks and I have been friends for a few years now. We met in an online book club. Both of us loved the same books, so we were always recommending ones to each other. Our friendship blossomed from there. We can be so opposite at times but also the same.
I place my headset on the dresser before pulling on a sweater. Dread forms in my stomach because this isn’t normal. If Mom or Dad wanted to talk to me about anything or let me know something, they’d simply come into my room and sit down. The fact that they asked me to come and talk to both of them means this is bigger than normal.
Our talks like this seem to always be connected to the Marino family. The first time my parents ever had a conversation this serious with me was when I was in high school. That time I’d been informed that we were moving. So I’m guessing this is something of that magnitude.
No one wants to hear that they are moving in the middle of high school, but it turned out better than I expected. We moved out of our small apartment into a cute home on the Marino estate, but everyone refers to this place as “the farm”. It does have a farmy feel to it with all the land around us, but we’re not far from the city.
There are a handful of small houses on the farm, a few barns, and sheds. Then there is the main house, which is massive. That is where the Marino family stays when they are in town. Mr. and Mrs. Marino used to stay here more often, but over the past couple of years have traveled more and spent a lot of time in Europe.
They have four adult children. Three are men, and the other is a daughter about my age, but she is also never around much; she’s mostly off at school. It’s the three brothers that are most often here. War being the oldest of them.
He is in charge, slowly taking over for his father. That’s the vibe I get, anyway, and vibes are all you can get when it comes to them because you’re not supposed to ask. Hell, you shouldn’t even be paying attention. Mind your own business is the motto around here when it comes to the Marinos. That was instilled in me from the start by my parents.
It didn’t take long for me to put together that the Marino family might not live by the letter of the law. Which means my dad must not either. He does, after all, work for them. Our lives have shifted dramatically since we came to live on the farm. Mostly for the good. We no longer go without, and there is no more counting every penny.
When I enter the living room, my mom and dad are on the couch, my mom whisper-yelling at my dad. She cuts off when she sees me, giving me a warm smile. This must be bad. It’s not often, if ever, that I see them fight.
I’m guessing this isn’t about the trip I asked to take the other day. I want to go visit Marks. There is no way I could ask if she could visit here. Everyone has to pass through the gate to enter the farm. This place is a fortress. Let’s just say the Marinos don’t like strangers coming and going.
“What’s going on?” I brush one of my unruly curls out of my face.
My mom stands, coming over to me. The only thing my mom and I have in common when it comes to appearance is that we’re both short. My mom is on the tiny side all around with blond, straight, short hair. She presses a kiss to my cheek.
“Have a seat, sweetheart.” Oh God. That feeling of uneasiness I had ramps up even more. I almost feel sick with nerves.
“Is one of you dying?!” I blurt out. Mom’s eyes soften.
“No, not today,” she reassures me, so I go and sit down on the loveseat.
“This isn’t about me going to see Marks either, is it?”
“No, honey,” my dad says with a small sigh. “This is about War.”
“Is he okay?” I almost come out of my seat, but I manage to keep it together. The first time I ever saw War, I’d fallen right on my ass. Literally, I tripped over my own stupid feet.
His real name is Warren, but everyone calls him War. He’s an impossible man to miss. He easily towers over most people with a broad, thick frame. I know he has at least a foot on me. That’s not saying much. I’m barely five foot five. But what stands out to me the most about him is his striking blue eyes.
They are such a contrast to his inky black hair, olive skin, and all-black suits that fit like they were tailored specifically for him, which I’m sure they are. Then there are the tattoos. I can’t even get started on those and how they peek out the top of his buttoned-up shirt, wrap around his neck, and show when he rolls his sleeves up. There have been many nights I’ve dreamed about seeing the rest of them. What it would be like to trace my fingers along them.
‘He’s fine,’ my dad says, but his tone is off. Does he not want him to be okay?
I’m guessing my crush on War was easy for my parents to spot. I’d still been a teen, so I must have been easy to read. My dad had told me to stay away from War, that he wasn’t someone I should try to befriend or get close to. Plus, there was his age. He was at least ten years older than me.
It wasn’t difficult to do as my dad told me. War didn’t linger when I was in the main house. If I even said hi to him, I’d only get a grunt of a response. Every now and then, he’d cut me with a glare, but there had been a couple of times I thought he was watching me. I swear I felt his eyes on me, but he always kept his distance. There’s a high likelihood I imagined him paying attention to me because of the crazy crush I had on him.
‘We owe the Marino family,’ my mom says.
‘Like money?’ A pit forms in my stomach. I ball my hands into fists in my lap. There have been a few times I saw some bloody men being dragged from the main house. I ducked my head and never spoke of it.
‘No,’ my dad responds, my mom shaking her head.
“I’m truly sorry, sweetheart.” That warm smile my mom gave me when I entered the room has faded away. I wish they would get to the point already. Waiting for them to spring whatever news they have on me is like torture.
“I didn’t know this is what would have been asked of me.” Dad closes his eyes as if in pain. I have never seen him this way. My dad is a big guy that can handle himself. I recall when I was younger, he’d work late nights as security at bars.
“Dad,” I press. “Tell me. You’re freaking me out.”
“This isn’t how I thought this would go.” Mom’s shoulders drop.
“The Marinos have come to collect the debt I owe them,” my dad finally says. “They have requested your hand in marriage to War.” I stare at my dad, not sure I heard him correctly. Did he just say I’m expected to marry War?
“Requested. Really?” My mom pops up from her chair. “I doubt that was a request, Corbin.” She starts to pace back and forth.
“You want me to marry War?” I ask out loud, more to myself and also in confusion. I reach down to pinch my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming. Nope. I’m wide awake.
“Do I want that? No,” my dad responds. Right, I was supposed to stay away from him.
“Can’t it be one of the other brothers?” Mom turns back to face Dad. “Z or Ronan.” I don’t want to marry Z or Ronan. Both my parents glance over at me for a second. If I had to pick between the two of them, though, I’d choose Ronan.
“I asked.” My dad’s tone is defeated. I unclench my hands, fighting a smile that wants to take over. They are miserable over this, and I want to jump up and do one of those victory dances Marks does on the corpses of the people she kills in-game. My parents are acting like this is a nightmare situation for me, but to me it’s my very own fairy tale come true.
‘When?’ I ask, hoping it’s sooner rather than later.
This is insane. I’ve found myself transported to a realm where arranged marriages exist, yet it doesn’t seem that far-fetched. I remember War’s sister once discussing the possibility of having an arranged marriage in the future, similar to how her parents were married.
That wasn’t the world I knew, but then again, my whole world has changed since I came to live here. I guess I’m a part of this world too… now, so it seems, more than ever.
