Chapter1. Wedding crash

903 Words
The church smelled of roses and old wood. The choir’s last note had barely faded when Gwen’s chest tightened like a bird in a cage. She stood at the altar, lace and pearls clinging to her trembling frame, her hands clammy against the bouquet of white lilies. Her fiancé, Liam, towered beside her in a tailored black suit, all sharp edges and empty eyes. He looked perfect to the world — wealthy, refined, untouchable but Gwen knew the truth. His gaze didn’t soften when it fell on her. It was business. She was business. A pawn, not a bride. The priest’s voice rolled through the room, holy words that felt more like a verdict. “Do you, Gwen Hayes, take Liam Carter—” The doors of the church slammed open. The sound tore through the sacred silence like a thunderclap. Gasps echoed. Heads whipped around. And then came the growl — low, menacing, and too powerful to be anything ordinary. Motorcycles. The roar shook the stained glass windows, rattled the pews. Darkness spilled across the aisle as black clad men stormed in, their boots pounding, guns gleaming in the dim light. The congregation erupted in screams. Mothers shielded their children, men dove for cover, flowers scattered to the ground. And at the center of it all, Gwen froze. Her heart slammed against her ribs. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. One man dismounted from the bike at the doorway. He was tall, broad shoulders filling the archway, leather clinging to his body like a second skin. A pistol gleamed in his hand, steady as if it were an extension of him. His face was carved from stone, deadly and impossibly beautiful, a jaw built for war, eyes dark and cold, sweeping the room like a predator cataloguing prey. The biker. The devil himself. His gaze flicked once, sharp and calculating, searching for something. No — for someone. Gwen followed his eyes, panic clawing at her chest. His stare was too precise, too focused. Whoever he wanted wasn’t here. Which meant he would improvise. Suddenly, Liam yanked her in front of him, his arm locking around her waist, shoving her body between himself and the gun. Gwen gasped. “Liam!” she hissed, her voice breaking with fear. Her fiancé, her would-be husband had turned her into a shield. A coward’s move. A man’s betrayal. The biker smirked. It wasn’t humor. It was death curling at the edges of his mouth. He walked forward, every step heavy with command. His men followed, monsters in black leather, eyes hidden behind masks, rifles gleaming like they belonged in another world entirely. The room parted around him. People dropped to the floor. Some prayed, some sobbed. Gwen couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. And then he was there. In front of her. The distance between them dissolved, and she saw him up close, the deadly curve of his mouth, the scar slicing faintly along his jaw, the way his dark hair brushed against his temples. He was terrifying. And he was devastating. His eyes met hers. For one second, the world fell silent. Then his hand shot out, gripping her wrist like a steel cuff. Gwen screamed, thrashing, but he was too strong. In a single movement, he tore her from Liam’s grip. The bouquet hit the ground, petals scattering like fallen wings. “No!” Liam shouted, but the biker didn’t even glance at him. His target wasn’t here. His plan had shifted. And Gwen had just become his pawn. The next moment, her feet left the ground. She shrieked as he hauled her up, slinging her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing, lace gown tangling around her legs. The world tilted upside down, pews, faces, chandeliers spinning in her blurred vision. His leather jacket pressed against her cheek, warm and rough, smelling faintly of smoke and steel. “Put me down! Please, God, put me down!” He didn’t answer. Didn’t even flinch. Outside, chaos reigned. A black Ferrari purred at the curb, surrounded by a convoy of growling motorcycles. The biker carried her like a trophy, ignoring her fists pounding against his back. He yanked the car door open, shoved her inside without hesitation, his voice a low command that chilled her blood. “My name is Damien,” he said, each syllable carved in ice. “And you’re mine now.” The door slammed. Two of his men slid into the seats beside her, hulking figures, faces unreadable, their silence more terrifying than screams. The car engine hummed, powerful and smooth, as if waiting for the king’s command. Damien swung back onto his bike, black leather gleaming under the late sun. With a roar, he led the convoy forward, the Ferrari falling into formation behind him, a swarm of deadly machines eating up the road. Inside, Gwen pressed her back against the leather seat, shaking, breathless, her eyes wide with horror. She clutched at the lace around her neck, torn veil slipping from her hair. The life she knew, the wedding, the vows, the carefully scripted future had been obliterated in minutes. And all she had left was his name echoing in her skull, Damien. The man who had stolen her, The man who might kill her. The man who had looked into her eyes and claimed her without mercy. The devil had crashed her wedding. And she was his captive bride.
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