11. Penn

Chapter 11

Penn

“ D amn, that worked faster than I thought,” I mutter as Reagan’s body goes limp in my arms. Gotta love chloroform for its efficiency. I keep one arm wrapped around her waist while I yank the mask off my face. Can’t be too careful with those fumes.

“Like catching a grungy fallen angel.” I tell my unconscious little obsession. I am truly about to kill two birds with one stone. Double points that I get to be the first one to get married, beating Lincoln and Iris to the altar. This is way better to lord over his head than him using his birthday being before mine. I can’t help it that the perfect sperm to make me took longer than his did. You can’t rush perfection.

At the end of the alley, a black Suburban idles, and I throw Reagan over my shoulder. She’s lighter than she looks, or maybe it’s just my adrenaline kicking in. No doubt my cousin Ramsey is impatiently drumming his fingers on the steering wheel because I ‘take too long’. Again, you can’t rush the process, but no one seems to understand that but me.

I stride down the alleyway until I reach the truck, and I open the backseat door, trying to make sure I don’t hit her in the head or something. I’d prefer my bride not to have a fucking goose knot, but shit happens. I lower her in, careful not to wake Sleeping Beauty. My fingers brush her long hair off her face and linger just a bit longer than necessary on the soft, relaxed skin of her face. No smirking, no scowling. She really is almost angelic.

“Jesus, Penn, could you take any longer?” he snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Show some respect, will ya? I’m your elder.”

“By what, three years? You ain’t no fucking elder, man.”

“Maybe you should put on your glasses, mini me. Clearly, I’m superior.” I grin as I climb into the front seat. “Now onward, Jeeves.”

“Fuck off, Penn,” Ramsey grumbles, but I can tell he’s holding back a laugh.

“Don’t talk to your favorite cousin like that. Such a crude mouth. What would your father say? Incest is not best even if you are sort of pretty looking.”

“Favorite? I tolerate you,” Ramsey shoots back, his blue eyes narrowing. “And barely. Why do you insist on saying shit to make me and others so damn uncomfortable?”

“Because I fucking can,” I laugh, savoring the way he’s all wound up. “Speaking of favorites, make a stop at Bloomin’ n Shroomin’.”

“Seriously? We’re in the middle of a fucking kidnapping, and you want to make a pit stop? What the fuck kind of business is this, anyway?” Ramsey’s voice rises an octave, incredulous.

“Charming little flower shop that also sells mushroom coffee. The owner owed me a favor, so I need to go collect.” I can’t help but let out a chuckle as Ramsey rolls his eyes, knowing that this detour has to be worth it.

“Fine, whatever,” he mutters, pulling up to the quaint little shop with an exasperated sigh. I hop out of the car, leaving Reagan slumped in the back seat, and return moments later with a long box wrapped in a bow and a bouquet of wedding flowers.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Penn,” Ramsey groans as I climb back into the car. “She’s unconscious! What the hell do you need flowers for?”

“Because bitches love flowers,” I retort with a wicked grin, patting the box that holds a veil. “Now move your ass back to the summer cottage, Jeeves.”

As we pull up to the Blackwood summer house, I hand the bouquet and veil box to Ramsey before scooping Reagan into my arms. The feel of her body against mine sends a shiver down my spine; I’m intoxicated by the scent of her, the curve of her hips pressed against my chest. But there’s no time to savor the moment.

“Come on, you hockey fuck,” I call over my shoulder as I carry Reagan inside. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Fuck you, Penn,” he replies, though I don’t miss the hint of amusement in his voice. “You seriously owe me for this.”

Once inside, I place Reagan on one of the chaise lounges while snatching the veil box from Ramsey. The black and red lace, adorned with bats instead of flowers, is as beautiful as the woman it’s meant for. I arrange it over her head, marveling at the sight before me.

“Can’t forget the bouquet,” I say, picking up the blood-red gladiolus flowers and placing them in Reagan’s limp hand. The bouquet looks like it belongs at a funeral more than a wedding. The petals are velvety soft, and their scent is sweet and a bit metallic. They’re perfect for my fucking hellfire. She looks like a twisted bride straight out of a Tim Burton fairytale; a vision that captivates me.

“Do you always have to be so dramatic?” Ramsey asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m sorry, but do you or do you not have a good fucking time when I’m involved in shit? What’s that? I can’t hear your disagreement with that statement because you know it’s fucking true. You’re welcome for me taking you under my wing and making you my little mini me. It will serve you well.” I cant my head to the side and just smirk at my not so little cousin.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. You’re gonna have her running the second she wakes up,” Ramsey says, but there’s no real malice in his voice. Just a resigned acceptance of our fucked-up reality.

“Alright, Minister Baby Blackwood,” I say with a grin, “time to make this shit official.”

Ramsey shoots me a look that’s equal parts annoyance and amusement. “You’re fucking insane, you know that?” he mutters as he clears his throat, preparing for the most unorthodox wedding ceremony known to man.

“It should have been my middle name instead of bitch ass Robert, but here we are, cuz,” I reply with a wink. “Now get on with it.”

“Fine.” Ramsey takes a deep breath before beginning in an exaggerated, overly dramatic voice. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the unholy union of Penn the Psycho, and Reagan the Unconscious.”

I roll my eyes at his snark, but let him continue. “Do you, Penn, take Reagan to be your lawfully wedded wife, even though she’s passed the fuck out and has no idea what’s happening?”

“Damn right I do,” I respond without hesitation, the anticipation building inside me like a tightly coiled spring.

“Great,” Ramsey deadpans. “And do you, Reagan…oh, wait, never mind. You can’t answer because you’re comatose.” Despite the mockery in his tone, I feel a strange sense of satisfaction at the thought of claiming her as mine.

“By the power vested in me by absolutely fucking nobody,” Ramsey continues, “I now pronounce you psycho and wife. You may now kiss your bride, or whatever.”

“About fucking time,” I grumble, leaning down to press a possessive kiss against the top of Reagan’s veil. My heart races at the contact, knowing that this fucked up little plan of mine is now sealed. I slide the black and titanium wedding band onto her finger, pushing it snugly into place.

“Congratulations, you sick bastard,” Ramsey smirks before turning to leave.

“Thanks, Rams,” I call after him, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Make sure that marriage certificate gets filed correctly, hmm?”

“You act like I’m a fucking amateur,” he adds with an eye roll.

With a final shake of his head, my cousin departs, leaving me alone with my new bride. I scoop Reagan up in my arms, her body limp and vulnerable against me. It sends a shiver down my spine as I carry her to the bedroom, laying her down on the black silk sheets that seem to swallow her whole.

The syringe on my nightstand gleams in the dim light, and I waste no time in grabbing it. Gently moving Reagan’s head to the side, I insert the needle into the back of her neck, injecting a small tracker beneath her skin. It’s a necessary precaution, I tell myself—one that will ensure she remains by my side, willingly or not.

As the reality of the situation sinks in, my chest swells with a twisted sense of pride. She’s mine now, bound to me in ways I never thought would happen.

My fucking wife.

The words echo in my head like a mantra, filling me with a possessive satisfaction that borders on madness. I sit beside her, running a finger along the curve of her jaw, memorizing every detail of her face. The black lace veil, now slightly askew, frames her like a halo.

I lean back, my eyes never leaving her still form. I want to see her awake, to witness the fire in her eyes when she realizes what I’ve done. Part of me craves the challenge she’ll surely present. It’s almost disappointing how peaceful she looks lying there.

I rise, feeling an itch under my skin, too keyed up to even consider sleep. I strip out of my clothes, tossing them aside carelessly, then pull on a plain black t-shirt and some sweatpants. I slip my feet into my fuzzy bat slippers before grabbing my controller from the TV stand.

Walking back to the bed I sit with my back against the headboard next to my sleeping bride. Damn should have hired a wedding photographer to capture our first date. I laugh before turning my attention back to the video game intro credits.

As I play the game, slashing and stealing my way through the various levels, I can’t help but to think that marriage ain’t so fucking bad. I mean, with the right fucking person, it’s almost…nice. I think that’s the word.

But then again, I don’t know shit, considering the way I grew up, and the complicated relationship I have with the people who birthed me. I mean I’m not exactly forthcoming about the fact that I killed my own mother five years ago.

Terrible thing trying to take advantage of children. Sometimes they go fucking feral and turn on you. Josephine Deveraux learned that the hard way.

A smile splits my face as I think about how I took the trash out with her. Pedophiles have no fucking business being alive and it was no love lost between her and I.

Glancing down at my left hand where my own matching wedding band rests, I can’t help but wonder how the fuck this is all going to play out.