HARLEY: Flash Marriage

"Dad, let go of me." 

I glared at my father, who wouldn't let go of my wrist as he dragged me down the hall toward a brown double door. "Dad, let go! I'm not marrying that man, and—" 

"You will!" 

Amadeo yelled at me, his shoulders rising and falling in raging breathing. "That stupid boy you're seeing, I have paid him off, and you will never see him again! Now listen to me." He snatched me roughly by the chin, my cheeks puffing out on either side. "We and the Jones have made a deal, a company partnership, and this marriage will be sealing it once it's over, do you understand?" 

"I'll ruin this wedding!"

"Harley!!" 

"Why me? Why does it have to be me? What about my sisters?"

"What makes you think I would use my daughters?" 

"I'm your daughter too!"

"You are a bastard's child. I don't know how many times you need me to spell it out for you. I. Am. Not. Your. Father, and I will never be." His eyes held hostility as if he couldn't stand looking at me. What have I ever even done wrong to him? "Take this marriage as a way of paying me back for looking after you since you were a baby and raising you to be the woman you are today. How about that?" 

My eyes stung with the bits of tears that threatened to fall, and I searched his face thoroughly, hoping for a scrap of kindness in them, but there was none. "Why are you so cruel to me?" 

"Cruel?" He laughed. "Girl, if I were cruel to you, you would know. I would have let you die after your whore of a mother ran, but I didn't, did I? So, now will you go in there and behave yourself?" 

I drew in a deep breath to soothe the ache in my chest and without objecting, I let him drag me into the now open door, the interior of the church coming into view. 

There weren't many people inside, just simply bodyguards, and at the altar, a priest and a man I'd only met once in my life—someone I disliked from the very first day I laid eyes on him. 

My hands clenched beside me, and I could feel their watchful gazes, probably having to do with how rough I looked.

Once I was forced onto the altar to stand opposite him, Sylus Jones, the first son of the Jones family, my face darkened a fraction. I could see the judgment in his gaze as he ran his eyes over my appearance. Unlike me, he was perfect. His thick jet black hair was left in a neat low man bun, not a speck of dust on his three-piece suit. 

"What is this?" He looked at my father. 

My father tried forcing a smile. "Please forgive the whole thing, Mr. Jones. We had a rough time coming here." 

Sylus looked back at me and waved a finger to the priest. 

"Do you, Mr. Jones, take Harley Legan to be your lawfully wedded wife?" 

"I do."  

"And do you, Miss Harley Legan, take Mr. Sylus Jones to be your lawfully wedded husband?"  

I stared at my father, hatred burning deep within my soul. A bastard's child or not, that shouldn't make me so dispensable he didn't even think twice about selling me off to this man. But I wasn't going to make it easy for him either!

"Um…?" The priest looked between the two of us, confused and nervous by the heavy tension. "Miss. Harley?" 

If they thought I was going to agree so easily, then they were in for a disappointment, especially my father. There was no way I would willingly step into a life I didn't want and never would want. 

"I. Don't," and I emphasized those words, wanting to etch them into Sylus's brain, not once breaking eye contact with him. 

"What?" His voice, smoky and deep like a cold night, thrummed through my ears, and I watched his eyes narrow dangerously, my stupid body involuntarily taking a step back. But I still wasn't going to give him what he wanted. 

Not so easily!

"Do not test me."  

"Or what?" 

He frowned. What was that expression? I couldn't read him at all. It was as if he had a stone wall replace every emotion he had to give.

But his sharp green eyes looked right through me as if I were an open book. Dammit! They challenged me as if he was waiting for me to mess up, and what that earned from me was a grin, a nervous one.

Hell, he was intimidating.

Sylus Jones was dangerous, so dangerous, he was the spitting image of danger.

A step, another step until we were just an inch apart, and I could feel his oozing body heat. My eyes fought to rise and meet him, his 6'6 figure towering over my 5'6 self, reminding me just how small I was compared to him. 

He could crush me if he wanted to, yet no reaction, only his impassive gaze drawing closer and closer, drowning me, until I felt his hand wrap coldly around the back of my neck, forcing me closer. His face was right next to my ear, and I stood there, my lungs burning as I held my breath. In what? Anticipation? 

"Say, I do," he whispered.