Vow of Obedience: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 9

  I stand over him, my chest heaving. “You’re the one who’s weak, because you’re alone. You’re going to die in the dirt. I was thinking about my brother and how much I love him. About the burial I’m going to give him, surrounded by my blood brothers. I’m going home, and I’m taking Branwen with me. I was thinking about anything and everything except you. Because you’re fucking nothing. Branwen. Get in the car and drive away.”

  She whimpers. “Daddy, I don’t want to leave you—”

  “Branwen, baby. Please.”

  On the ground, Lange’s eyes darken with hatred. That’s right, fucker. I’m her daddy now. She still hesitates, afraid for me, but this is going to be nasty and she doesn’t need to see it.

  “Do as you’re told. Get. In. The. Car. And. Drive. Away.” Every word is a bullet.

  I can hear her crying but she does as I say. There’s a wild rev of the engine, tires churning, and a shower of gravel, and then there’s no sound except for Lange’s labored breathing.

  I ease myself down on the ground next to him. There are birds chirping in the trees. Leaves rustling in the breeze. It’s almost peaceful. “You’re dying, Lange. Better make peace with your God.”

  “Makes peace with yours. You’re going to fucking hell for this.” The bloodstain is covering his shirt now and his face is chalk white.

  “Not for this. You weren’t going to die. I was just going to leave you here to make your way back to Avallonis, and take your daughter far, far away from you.”

  I might go to hell for other things I’ve done, and this won’t be the last time I spill blood.

  “I came here thinking that I wanted revenge but Branwen changed me, without even saying a word. That’s how powerful your daughter is, and you never fucking saw it.”

  “You’re in love with her,” he spits out, as if it’s the foulest thing he’s ever heard.

  I think of her sweet face. Her gentleness. Her standing firmly between me and a man I want to kill. Her praying with me for Trefor, knowing it’s exactly what I needed. “Yeah. I am. Your poison can never touch her again, and she’s going to be so happy with me.”

  “With you?” he sneers. “One of Arthur’s nobodies?”

  “With a man who loves her. Who knows what she needs. I’ll put her on her knees, over and over again, but I’ll lift her up again. I’ll always lift her up.”

  “Fuck off with her then. You deserve each other.”

  I know he means that as an insult, but I couldn’t agree more.

  Lange takes a long time to die. He doesn’t speak again and after about fifteen minutes, he falls unconscious. Finally, nearly thirty minutes after that, he bleeds out and dies.

  I leave him where he is on the ground, flies crawling over the wound on his belly, and walk back to the main road. My cell was in the car so when I find a pay phone, I call it. It rings and rings, and I feel my chest getting tighter with every second that ticks by. Where the hell is Branwen?

  Finally, the call’s picked up and I hear a voice thick with tears quaver, “Hello?”

  Relief pours through me. “Branwen, baby. You’re okay?”

  “Daddy, please come get me.”

  “Of course I will. I’m coming right now. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Where are you?”

  There’s a watery pause, and she says with despair, “At the house. At Avallonis.”

  Branwen

  Momma’s hysterical and won’t stop shouting questions at me. I don’t know what I’m saying and every one of her shrieks goes right through me.

  I killed my father. I picked up a gun and fired three shots into his back.

  “Where’s your daddy? Where did he go with that man? Who is he, Branwen?” We’re down at the gate, waiting for Geraint, and she has a shotgun under her arm.

  I’m not going to call him that anymore. Geraint’s the one who takes care of me. He’s the one who loves me. I watch the road, chewing my thumbnail, and then remember Geraint doesn’t like it when I do that, and stop.

  “What was he thinking?”

  I know what he was thinking. He thought I was on his side. That no matter what he’d done to me, I’d go so far as to take a bullet for him because I’ve always done what he said. Maybe I would have thought that once upon a time, but not anymore. Love is as merciful as it is punishing, but my father was only punishing. I don’t ever want to go back to those cold, black, empty nights when all I had was blood and silence to keep me company.

  “You said there was a man, Branwen?” Momma rounds on me, her face pale and set. I can see her wondering if she’s about to lose everything. The house. The money. She’s part of what my father does and she likes the money it brings in.

  I don’t answer her questions, but I ask her a few of my own, and she answers because she’s afraid. That man is coming back and when I tell her who he is, her face goes white.

  Forty-five minutes later, a dusty and blood-spattered Geraint comes jogging up the drive, sweaty and out of breath. He must have run all the way here.

  To me. My heart bursts open with happiness as his eyes meet mine. He came back for me.

  Momma hoists the shotgun up and points it at Geraint. “Stay right where you are.”

  “Momma, don’t.” She doesn’t pay me any heed. Her eyes are fastened on Geraint like she wants to blast him into next week.

  Geraint holds both his hands up, showing her he’s not armed. “I just want Branwen, ma’am, and then I’m leaving.”

  “Where’s my husband?”

  “Dead.”

  Momma cries out sharply and raises the shotgun.

  “Momma, no. You know he was a tyrant. You were afraid of him too.” I step in front of momma, shielding Geraint from the shotgun with my body. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me and I know that Geraint is furious with me, but I don’t care.

  This day is not ending with him dying, no matter what. He still has something he needs to do for Trefor.

  Momma stares at me, fear turning her face into a mask. The gun is pointed right at me and she doesn’t lower it.

  Geraint goes on in a forcefully level voice, addressing momma. “Ma’am. Put the gun down. I’m not armed. I don’t want anything from you, except Branwen.”

  I hear him take a step toward us, but stop when Momma takes a tighter grip on the shotgun.

  “Momma, he killed Cora. I know you don’t believe it but it’s true. I saw him do it. She didn’t deserve to die.”

  Her face flickers and I know I’m getting through to her. She liked Cora. She always said we looked so alike.

  “The Cavalieri Della Morte will leave you in peace to run things yourself. The way you want, without your husband.”

  Momma’s eyes narrow speculatively and she looks past me to Geraint. After a moment, she says, “You won’t send men to spy on us? You’ll leave me and my sons alone?”

  “I swear it.” Geraint’s voice is a little louder, as if he’s stepped closer to me. All I want to do is turn around and throw myself into his arms, but I don’t dare look away from momma, my eyes pleading with her.

  Slowly, she lowers the gun and steps back, afraid to get too close, because men, as she’s experienced, are liars.

  Geraint grabs me from behind and pulls me away, turning around so he’s shielding me from momma, the house, everything. “What the fuck was that? You think I wanted you to do that?”

  I look up at him frantically, needing to be sure he is really okay. “I had to do it. I couldn’t see you get hurt.”

  “I can’t fucking see you get hurt either,” he growls. “So don’t you ever do anything like that ever again.”

  He kisses me so hard it feels as if the heavens have opened and the angels are singing. My heart is singing too.

  “You called out for me, babygirl,” he whispers in my ear. “You broke your vow for me.”

  “No, I didn’t. I swore a new vow last night, remember?”

  Geraint smiles and smooths my hair back from my face. “So you did. Are you al
ways going to be obedient to me? Let me protect you from now on, and not the other way around?”

  “Always, daddy.”

  “Then I think it’s time for us to get the fuck out of here.”

  The smile fades from my face. “Not yet. I need to show you something first.” I turn to momma. “Will you let us do what needs to be done?”

  She looks up out of her reverie, her mind clearly on things other than me and Geraint. “What? Oh, yes. Fine.”

  I take him by the hand and lead him up around the fence and behind the property. It’s a long walk and he holds my hand tightly the whole time.

  Down among the trees, I point at a patch of dirt, recently disturbed. “Momma told me where.”

  For a moment, Geraint doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. Then, slowly, he falls to his knees. This is where Trefor is buried. He’s silent for a long time, looking at the unmarked grave.

  “He can’t stay here. Not in the shadow of Avallonis. I need to bring him home.” A moment later, he stands up and wraps me in his arms. “Thank you for what you did for me last night. You showed me what he needed.”

  He leads me back to the car and takes my face in his hands. “I’m no saint, Branwen. I’m not even a believer. I’ve done things that your God will send me to hell for. I won’t be joining you in your pretty heaven.”

  “Yes, you will. Because if you get sent to hell, I’ll come down and get you.”

  He grins at me. “You’re my light in the darkness, babygirl. Keep burning bright for me?”

  “Always.”

  He looks me over, at my T-shirt and denim shorts. “Let’s go and get you some new fucking clothes. It’s a long drive back to New Orleans and I want my baby arriving in style.”

  Epilogue

  Geraint

  TREFOR CALLUM REESE. GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN.

  I’m the last one at the graveside. All the other Cavalieri have paid their respects and shaken my hand. All but Arthur. He’s not fucking happy with me.

  “It was a beautiful service,” Branwen says softly at my side, holding my hand. She’s looks so fucking beautiful in the dappled sunshine, her hair dark and loose, hanging down her back.

  It took us five days to get back to HQ. A few hours south of Napa, I called a funeral director I know, who isn’t too fussy about death certificates and record keeping if you pay through the nose, and I had him go get Trefor’s body, and bring him back to New Orleans. Now he’s buried at headquarters, in a peaceful spot on the grounds beneath the trees. Where he can always be close to me.

  I see Arthur standing on the stone steps leading up to the house, his brows drawn together as he casts his eyes around the grounds. He spots Branwen and I, and his scowl deepens.

  “Excuse me, babygirl. I’ll go talk to him.”

  Hands deep in my pockets, as if I don’t have a care in the world now my brother has been laid to rest, I stroll toward Arthur, pretending he’s not glaring at me with a ferocious gaze.

  “Arthur,” I say pleasantly, nodding at him.

  He cuts right to the chase. “How do you know you can trust her?”

  Because she’s a Lange. Because of what Adelmo Lange did to my brother. Because of what she might do to us for her family. But Branwen’s not going to do anything for them anymore. We’re her family now. I am.

  “I trust her with my life,” I say firmly. “I love her.”

  Arthur’s lip curls slightly at this, as if he’s never heard of something so pathetic. “She’s really fucking young. Kids can be stupid.”

  “She’s not a kid. She’s got a will of iron underneath that pretty face. She stood between life and death on more than one occasion.”

  He looks past me and calls out to her. “Branwen. Come here.”

  I shoot him a filthy look for talking to my woman like that. Branwen glances at me, and stays where she is. Good girl.

  “Please,” Arthur adds in a grunt, casting a dark look at me.

  I hold out my hand to Branwen and she comes forward and takes it.

  Arthur glares at her, long and hard. “Geraint’s one of my best men, and I’m very demanding of my men. I don’t want bitching and crying from you when I have to send him on jobs.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answers.

  “Arthur,” I growl in warning. “You don’t talk to my woman that way, and you don’t order her around. You take orders only from me, baby. Remember?”

  She smiles up at me, not in the least frightened of Arthur. It’s as if he’s not there. “Yes, daddy. I remember.”

  Arthur’s eyebrows lift in surprise.

  Grinning, I plant a kiss on her head. “Good girl.”

  I can see my boss still isn’t happy about this, and he turns to me with a scowl. “You might have killed her daddy and put yourself in his place, but she’s still a Lange.”

  I look at Branwen’s fingers laced with mine. “When Branwen and I were traveling across the country, she swore a vow. Of obedience, to me. Not you. To me. I trust her, and that’s got to be good enough for you. If it’s not, we’ll be on our way.”

  Arthur glares at me for a moment longer, and then turns away, muttering, “I don’t know what the fuck’s got into some of you lately. Fucking soft.”

  I grin at his back. Someday, someone’s going to make that hard, old bastard soften up a little too. How I’ll fucking laugh.

  Branwen and I take a walk in the grounds of the mansion, getting her acquainted with her new home. There’s a chapel and Branwen goes in and crosses herself, reminding me of the little almost-nun she used to be.

  I watch her, smiling, thinking how happy she looks now. Every time she speaks to me, I hear her beautiful voice.

  I take her up to my room in the mansion, a large space with an old-fashioned four poster bed. I’m hungry to touch her, because there’s been so little time since we returned from our trip. Arthur saw to that. But I’ve got all the time in the world now.

  I unzip her dress and let it fall to the ground, and then pull her warm body against my own, her back against my chest. She’s still wearing her high heels and black lingerie, and my cock surges just looking at her. My little nun has turned into my little minx.

  “Are you daddy’s good girl?” I ask, stroking a finger along her jaw.

  “Yes, daddy,” she whispers, grinding her ass against my cock.

  “I knew you were.” I slip my fingers down to her sex and find she’s slippery for me, and I stroke lovingly through her folds, making her shudder and cry out in my arms. “I want to hear you make some noise, babygirl.”

  Her cries are throaty and plaintive as I work her clit. She grows hot and restless in my arms, saying my name, calling me daddy. It’s the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

  Reaching behind her, she unzips my trousers and I pull her panties to one side. I can’t wait much longer. I need to be inside her again. Bending her over the mattress, I spread her legs open and sink inside of her, feeling her squeeze every inch of me. I go on rubbing her clit as I fuck her hard, her hands braced against the bed and her back arched to meet my thrusts.

  “Yes, fuck me, daddy, please,” she pants.

  When she comes, she cries out loudly, unashamed, and the sound of her is enough to tip me over the edge. I withdraw and give her pert ass a spank. “Good fucking girl.”

  She slides down onto the bed, fully sated. I join her, and she cuddles herself against me, smiling happily. I think of a time she didn’t smile so easily, and I realize I still don’t know the full story. We’ve had too much else to talk about. Happy things. I’ve only wanted to make her smile.

  But now, I need to know. “What happened that night, babygirl? The night I found you running.”

  Her face immediately dims, and she picks at the fabric of my shirt. “Let’s not talk about it, now. Today is about you and Trefor.”

  “It’s about you and me. Tell me, please. I want us to leave all our grief behind us. I want us to start again together.”

  And so, she tells m
e. About hitchhiking across the states, not really knowing where she was going but paranoid her father’s men were on her tail. About ending up in San Antonio and being alone and afraid. “And so, I just started running.”

  “Right into my arms.” I tighten them around her. “I love you, baby.”

  She reaches up to my loosened collar and touches the silver chain around my neck. I still wear the crucifix. I always will, for Trefor, and for my mother.

  “Yes, right into your arms. Which is where I mean to stay, forever. I love you too, daddy.”

  A Sneak Peek at Martyris

  Prologue

  My hands are heavy.

  The gloves that weigh them down are made of light, but sturdy iron metal and are caked with blood. I don't know how I'm supposed to go home and act like everything is okay when the adrenaline is still coursing through my veins.

  This was one of the easier marks; a bastard that Arthur branded a turncoat, and because of that, he wanted him to suffer. That's why he assigned me to this bastard. My methods are much different than those of my brothers in the Cavalieri Della Morte. I like to take my time and make these moments count because when Arthur asks for me specifically to take down someone that's wronged him, he expects them to suffer.

  I sit back against the old and dusty brick wall behind me, turning my eyes to the ceiling. This building has long since been abandoned and it was easy to get him to follow me. I told him that Arthur forgave his transgression, requested a private audience with him to make amends, and when he turned his back to me, I pulled my gloves out of the backpack I had strapped over my shoulder and ripped him to shreds.

  Talons are the best way to describe what these specially made weapons look like. And if I want to prolong the process, there are spikes affixed to the knuckles. Sometimes, I like to interrogate the condemned. It's more for my own sanity than to listen to them beg for mercy. While I'm never one to turn away from an assignment once it's given, I have to be sure that the person whose life I'm personally going to end deserves it.