Vow of Obedience: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 6

  He’s a killer, I remind myself.

  I point to the door at the back of the bar, where the restrooms are.

  Geraint turns to look at it, and then at me. “Need to go?” He slips his arm around my waist and leans in. His mouth is very close to mine as he speaks, and I catch the scent of honey and vanilla from his whisky. “I’m gonna trust you on this one, baby. You’re going to keep being good for me, right?”

  A warm feeling slips down my body and pools in my belly. I nod, and he helps me down from my stool. I lean against him for a second. Just a split second, but long enough to remember what it felt like to be in his arms the other night.

  “You have two minutes. One second longer and I’ll tan your ass so hard, you’ll be redder than a traffic light.”

  I nod again, feeling my face heat slowly as he smiles at me.

  “All right. Off you go.”

  The restrooms are down a dark corridor with another door at the far end. I go into the ladies’ and it’s grim, with water and soggy toilet paper on the floor and graffiti all over the inside of the bathroom door. Jessa is a cumslut. Troy has a dong like a horse.

  I do my business and come back into the corridor, and the door at the far end opens. I hear crickets and feel warm night air, and realize it’s a back entrance to the bar. A figure is standing in the shadows, framed against the stars, and a gravelly voice speaks out of the darkness.

  “What have we got here? You’re the cutest little nun I ever did see. Come here, girlie. Been so long since I prayed.”

  I feel a shiver run down my spine. Something about this voice sounds cruel and sadistic. I don’t know whether to turn around and lock myself in a bathroom stall, or make a run for the bar. I desperately want to get back to Geraint so I hurry to the door. The man is too quick for me, though, lunging forward and grabbing a fistful of my dress from behind.

  Spinning me around and taking hold of my arms, he slams me against the wall. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  I smell stale liquor and Tex-Mex, and see black-and-gray stubble on an unshaved chin. My throat works, wanting to cry out for Geraint but not being able to. If I break my vow now, I’ll go to hell. Cora herself will rise out of the ground and pull me down into the fiery pit. This stranger will drag me down too and I’ll never see Geraint again.

  In the dim light, the man narrows his eyes at me. “Can’t speak? You dumb, girl?” He chuckles to himself and his hand begins to roam over my dress, squeezing rudely. Geraint’s only a dozen or so feet from me and yet he may as well be on the other side of the world. How long did I take in the bathroom? Won’t he be worried about me by now? The man gropes down my leg and up my skirt.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to disappear into prayer. Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed be thy name…

  There’s a roar, then the air pressure around me changes and the hands disappear. I stagger on unsteady legs and my eyes fly open to see Geraint, his dark eyes wild with fury and his hand around my assailant’s throat.

  “You fucking touching my girl?”

  The man makes angry choking sounds as he struggles to be freed of Geraint’s iron hold. “She ain’t nobody’s girl. See? Cute li’l habit. Let me go and I’ll share her with you.”

  Geraint pulls back and punches the man so hard I see blood spray in the darkness. He falls to the ground, clutching his nose and cursing Geraint at the top of his lungs.

  The owner of the bar appears in the doorway to the bar. “Hey! Take it outside.”

  “I’ll fucking take it outside.” Geraint grabs the man by the scruff of his shirt, drags him along the corridor to the back entrance, and kicks the door open. He’s so infuriated, I think he might kill the man.

  Out on the gravel, he pulls the man up by his hair. I know Geraint kills people for a living but that’s different to seeing someone beaten to death before your eyes. I grab hold of Geraint’s shirt but he shrugs me off.

  “Keep back, baby. I’ve got this shithead.”

  Despairing, I watch as Geraint sink his fist into the man’s face. Then he pulls out his knife.

  No.

  I get in between Geraint and the man who tried to assault me, my back to him and my eyes fastened on Geraint’s. If he’s going to hurt this man, then he’ll have to hurt me first.

  “Jesus, fuck, Branwen! Get out of the way.”

  I shake my head, standing my ground. I’m not letting anyone else die because of me. Before, I would have run away and hid, but months of hiding and praying never fixed anything. I don’t know what’s lying in wait for me at Avallonis, but I’m going to face it once and for all.

  The running stops now.

  Geraint’s growl comes from the depths of the underworld. “Babygirl. Are you telling me no?”

  Geraint

  Branwen takes my hands in hers, closing over the hilt of the knife clenched in my fist. Behind her, I can see the drunk asshole weighing his options, dearly wanting to punch my teeth out but knowing all that’s standing in my way of ending him is Branwen.

  “Good job hiding behind a girl, pussy.” He spits blood on the ground and limps off into the darkness, favoring his right side as he goes.

  I sheath my knife, my chest heaving. Branwen could have been hurt. She could have been killed. I let her out of my sight for one second and nearly lost her. “You trying to get yourself killed? Why didn’t you call out for me?”

  Her eyes swim with tears. The adrenaline’s wearing off her now the danger’s passing and she crumples before my eyes. Without even thinking about it, I pull her into my arms and grip her so tightly, it’s like I’m trying to meld her body with mine.

  “There are bad fucking people out there, baby. You gotta speak up when you’re in trouble.”

  She shakes her head. Fuck. She won’t even speak to save her life. What’s she so afraid of at Avallonis, and what’s she running from? I need to know more than I need that fucking map. As she sobs in my arms, I want to drown the world in blood for her. Who do I need to kill to release her from this terror?

  She may not be able to talk, but I can. And fuck me if I’m going to stand silently by while she puts herself in danger.

  I pull back and glare at her, taking her upper arms in my hands and giving her a little shake. “You don’t go around putting yourself in danger for no fucking reason. While you’re with me, I’m responsible for you and I’m not having you dying on me.”

  Her eyes are large and unfocused and I don’t think she even hears me. She’s too far gone in her terror. I pick her up in my arms and carry her back to the hotel. I need her close to me, need to know she’s okay. Her arms come around me like they did that first night and she presses her face into my throat.

  “It’s all right, baby,” I murmur, over and over. “I’ve got you.”

  When I set her on her feet under the bare bulb in the room, I see there’s blood speckling her face and blouse. That fucker’s blood. I regret all over again that I never got her a change of clothes because she’s got nothing else to put on.

  “I’m sorry, baby. I’m going to make this up to you.”

  Kissing her cheeks, wiping the tears from her face, I undress her. I take my own clothes off too, and we get into the shower. The hot water pummels our bodies and she holds tight to me, her skin against mine. It does something to you, having a girl weak and vulnerable in your arms, crying out her misery. Wiping away her tears and then licking her sweet sex until she comes. I put her into that place where she’s free and safe, and I went with her. I want to take her there again, but it’s dangerous. I have to think of her as nothing more than a tool for my revenge, and there’s no way I should cross that line with her again.

  But when I imagine the alternative, letting her cry and feel wretched, I know I can’t do it. I grab a washcloth and wipe that asshole’s blood from her cheeks, and then I take her face in my hands.

  “Tell me. What the fuck was that earlier? Why did you stand in my way?” I see the figure of that drunk holding her ag
ainst the wall with his hands on her, and I want to storm right out of the motel room, hunt him down, and finish him off. Of course, Branwen says nothing.

  “I don’t know if you figured it out yet, but killing people is what I do. I may not have been hired to snuff that motherfucker but sometimes I work for free. Do you understand?”

  She nods.

  “And if I wanted to go after that guy now and finish him off, would you let me?”

  She shakes her head.

  I want to laugh at the idea of Branwen, who probably weighs less than a hundred pounds soaking wet, stopping me from doing anything I set my mind to. But I can see from her eyes she’s determined. I had that tenacity too, when I lived in the institution and my brother told me not to stick up for him. Like hell I wouldn’t. You gotta do what you think is right, no matter what.

  “He tried to hurt you. I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want him punished.”

  Branwen seems to struggle for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation she can give me without words. After a moment, she takes my hand and touches the inside edge of the finger on my right hand. The place where Trefor had a crucifix tattooed on his finger.

  “What’s this got to do with Trefor?” I snarl. “You think he wouldn’t have asked for help? If you’re in danger, you fucking call out for help. I’m right here. Why didn’t you call out for help?”

  She touches the spot again, more emphatically, and I feel my temper detonate. “You think because Trefor died, I can’t protect you?”

  I would have come for Trefor if he’d asked me. I would have been there in a second. I would never have left him to die alone.

  “You should have called out,” I growl again. “You should have been thinking of yourself, not what I was going to do to that asshole when I got my hands on him. I don’t care that your God doesn’t do revenge. ‘Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.’ That’s bullshit.”

  Branwen looks at me in surprise.

  “Didn’t think I could quote scripture? I know all about your God and your Bible. I know what you were praying for. Didn’t get it, did you? Didn’t get nothing until I put my hands on you and gave it to you myself.”

  I push my fingers into her hair and rub the back of her scalp, watching her mouth part. So tender and pliant, just how I like.

  “You know I’m right. What I did for you, baby, you’d like that again, wouldn’t you?”

  As if in a trance, she winds her arms around my neck, her body arched so sweetly against mine. The water is beading on her pretty tits and my cock is tight against her pussy. I make my own worship, for a congregation of two.

  But first, I have to make something very clear.

  I turn off the shower and wrap her in a towel, getting her all nice and warm and dry. Looking after her so sweetly before I tell her the truth.

  “An eye for an eye. I always liked the Old Testament better. Bloodier. More practical.” I hook a finger into the edge of the towel and pull her closer. “I’m going to kill your daddy, Branwen. You know that, don’t you? That’s why I’m going to Avallonis.”

  She doesn’t even blink. Where are her feelings? Is she a robot? “He wronged you. He frightened you. He was supposed to protect you above all other things. And did he do that? Did he do that, Branwen?”

  Her face creases and she turns away from me, sobbing, and I realize how wrong I am. She feels everything, so much, even if she’s trying not to. Even though she’s been praying for it all to go away.

  “He shouldn’t have done that, babygirl. He should have protected you, but he didn’t. So I’m going to do that instead.”

  Branwen

  I’m going to kill your daddy.

  Geraint’s words should strike anguish into my heart. I should try and stop him. I should grab his phone and text daddy and warn him. I should run away. I should have run days ago.

  I should have, but I don’t want to. I want to stay right here with Geraint. I didn’t touch his finger to remind him of Trefor because I think he let his brother die. I wanted to show him that more violence isn’t going to bring anyone back. Not Trefor, and not Cora. Geraint’s searching for something deeper, like I am. Salvation might be waiting for us at Avallonis, but it’s not the kind he imagines.

  Geraint’s hand caresses my cheek. “I helped that night, didn’t I, when I found you in Texas? I’ve shown you I can be trusted?”

  I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest, hoping he’ll feel how much I do trust him, how much I need him. In the eyes of the church, the world, Geraint is a bad person. But to me, he’ll always be the man who showed me mercy when no one and nothing else would. That makes him a saint in my eyes. An angel, no matter how dark his wings are.

  He picks me up and carries me through to the darkened bedroom. The towel falls away, leaving us naked before each other. The silver crucifixes gleam softly around each of our necks. The water has driven away everything bad and we stand before each other, purified.

  “You want me to make you feel the way you did the other night?” he whispers into my ear.

  I need what he did. I need that private ritual, just for us. Punishment and forgiveness. Over and over again.

  “Down on your knees, baby.”

  Slowly, I lower myself before him, one knee at a time, and gaze up at him in the half-light. The shadows slide across his handsome face. All those hours spent on my knees in church did nothing for my soul, but just the act of kneeling before Geraint and my heart already feels lighter.

  “When you’re down there on your knees before me, you offer me all your guilt and sorrow. I know all of it, see all of it, and I’ll take it all away from you to do with as I see fit.”

  He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls me between his knees. His penis is thick and long and just a few inches in front of my face. I put out my tongue and taste him, and he’s salty-sweet in my mouth. I lick him again, slowly, exploring him, and he groans.

  “If you’re worried, babygirl, you leave that up to me. Daddy knows best. When you finally speak, that’s what I want you to call me, do you hear? I’m your lover, your priest, and your dom, all at once.”

  I suck on him slowly. Yes, that’s a perfect name for him. Daddy. Geraint hooks an arm around my hips and hauls me up onto the bed. I’m face down on the blankets, my head in his lap, and I take him into my mouth again. Geraint palms my ass and golden stars shoot through me. He feels so good in my mouth, hot and velvety soft.

  He raises his hand and I know what’s coming. Make me hurt. Punish me because I’m yours, and then raise me up in your arms, stronger than before.

  When he spanks me, I cry out around his cock. The strokes of his hand are firm and fierce and desire races through me as my flesh heats. I deserve every little piece of pain, and I’m bearing it for him. For Geraint, who holds both cruelty and mercy in his hands.

  When my ass is on fire, he pulls me up into his arms and takes my face between his hands. “You’re going to do just what daddy says, aren’t you?”

  I gaze back at him, letting him see the answer in my eyes. I want only to answer to him, he who gives me what I need and what I crave.

  This is true mercy. I need it. And he needs it too.

  Geraint

  Branwen rubs her middle finger, and then she places her hand over my heart. She’s trying to say something about Trefor, but I can’t feel angry with her now, not when she’s pleading with me with her eyes.

  “What is it, baby?”

  She gets down on her knees before me again, her hands clasped in prayer. I don’t understand what she’s doing. Then she nods at the floor in front of her and I realize she wants me to come down there with her. She wants me to pray with her.

  “Baby, you know I’m not a believer.”

  Branwen just waits patiently, her face a pretty oval. Sighing, I get down on my knees in front of her. I press my palms together, something I haven’t done since I was a kid and Trefor and I would go to church twice a week
because that’s what happened at our institution. I would say the words and sing the songs, but I was just going through the motions. Beside me, Trefor would be having a very different experience. I’d sneak looks at him sometimes and see his lips moving silently, wondering what secret world he found behind his closed eyes, feeling jealous he was able to go there and leave me behind.

  “One of us has got to pray now,” I prompt her, hoping this will be the time she finally speaks. But she doesn’t. “You want me to do it? I don’t think I even remember the words.”

  Branwen just watches me, her palms pressed together. My sweet, naked, little angel who knows I’m lying.

  “All right, all right. I remember the prayer. Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name.” I say it flatly, so she gets that I think this is a waste of time.

  Branwen gives me the tiniest of smiles. She’s supposed to bow her head and close her eyes but she doesn’t, and neither do I. We just gaze at each other. The words rise up from a long-ago place, each one leading on to the next in an inexorable chain. “Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven.”

  I can hear Trefor at my side, murmuring the words. His voice as it was when he was a child. I can feel him beside me too, small and serious. My little brother. I could reach out and wrap my arms around him, he seems that vivid.

  “Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those—” I take a shaky breath, my throat tight. “As we forgive those who trespass against us.”

  Adelmo Lange’s daughter gazes into my eyes, an expression so gentle she’s like the Madonna herself.

  “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

  A gaze so sweet, it’s as if she forgives me.

  Forgives me.

  For letting Trefor die. For leaving him behind all those years ago and never coming back. For being too scared of the pain and loneliness of that institution to face it again, even for the brother who needed me. Who wanted to be just like me, even though it was me who should have tried more to be like him.