Brutal vows, p.12
Brutal Vows, page 12
In an anguished, theatrical burst, he cries, “I’d rather die than live without her!”
Jesus Christ, these kids are a Shakespearean tragedy waiting to happen.
“Keep this up, and you will die. I don’t know what else to say.”
“You can say you’ll help us!”
“Okay, enough. You seem like a good kid. I don’t want you to get hurt. So this stops. Now. If you really do love Lili, you have to end this. It’s making her miserable.” My voice hardens. “It’s putting her in danger, too.”
Into his fraught silence, I say, “Or do you think men like my brother and her fiancé won’t care if they find out she isn’t a virgin? Because let me tell you, Juan Pablo, you won’t be the only one to pay a price. And what they’ll do to her…death would be preferable.”
When I disconnect, my hands are shaking.
I stand, set the phone on the floor, then stomp it under my heel as hard as I can. It splinters into pieces.
I open the door and look at Lili, standing there with her hands over her mouth and her eyes filled with tears.
“It’s over, Lili. This is the end. You’ll never speak to Juan Pablo again. And because of what happened today, your father has moved up the wedding. You’re marrying Quinn in a week. I’m sorry.”
There’s nothing left to say, so I pull her into my arms and hold her tight as she sobs.
I’m not sure whose heart is more broken, hers or mine.
14
Spider
I don’t sleep at all that night. Hypervigilant, I prowl the dark halls of the house, checking and re-checking rooms I’ve already cleared a dozen times.
Gianni and Leo’s men are lurking around the grounds and patrolling the perimeters, but it gives me no peace of mind.
Every bit of that I might have had flew straight out the window when Caruso told me what the intruders said to Reyna. I knew it was one of his enemies who set it up—we’ve all got them.
But when the enemies are more interested in taking your daughter than killing you, that’s a whole different problem.
So here I am again for the second time this year, pacing hallways and gnashing my teeth over a female under my protection who’s a target for kidnapping.
Only this time, it’s not the target I’m worried about.
I should be. Lili’s going to be my bloody wife. She’s a lovely girl, and she’s going to make a lovely wife. But the moment Caruso said he believed the armed intruders were here for Lili, I could think of nothing else but the safety of her aunt.
Reyna.
Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence, who makes my blood boil and my dick hard and speaks to me with the kind of disrespect no man would dare to, because it would get him killed.
Reyna who hates me.
Reyna who challenges me.
Reyna who has the guts of a Viking and the body of a fertility goddess and the attitude of a feral cat.
I shouldn’t be worried about her. If anyone ever did kidnap that woman, he’d regret it within the hour. He’d throw her back through the front window with an apology note and speed away as fast as he could.
If she didn’t drive a dagger through his heart first.
She’s a witch! Demon spawn of the devil!
But she shot a man for me. She had my back—literally—and killed a man.
Why did she do that if she hates me so much? She could’ve simply let me get killed and dusted off her hands. Good riddance to a man she insults at every opportunity and only ever calls by his last name.
And lies to like it’s her favorite hobby.
A man who made her look like she wanted to puke when she saw him without his shirt.
But why was she so concerned about my wound? Why would she care if it got infected? Why would she offer to stitch me up?
Why would she insist on stitching me up, then take such care as she did, biting her lip in concentration?
And why, oh fucking why, can’t I stop thinking about her?
We don’t even like each other, for fuck’s sake!
No. That’s not true. I do actually like her. Despite her sharp edges that could cleanly shear off a limb, I like how smart she is. How quick-witted. How funny, though I’m usually the punchline of the joke. I like the way she lobs an insult like a tennis drive, then hits me again when I lob one back.
I like how protective she is of Lili. How tender she is with her. Like a mama bear with her cub.
It means she’s not all razor blades and barbed wire. Somewhere underneath all that armor she wears beats a soft heart.
A soft heart that learned how to hide from a cruel hand.
I meant what I said when I told her I’d like to kill her dead husband. I’d even be happy to exhume his rotten corpse and have a go at that.
I also meant what I said when I told her I never wanted to see her after the wedding. That was the God’s honest truth.
Because every second I spend in that woman’s company is a reminder of all the reasons I agreed to an arranged marriage in the first place.
Christ. I wish a few dozen more of those intruders would show up.
I’m going to need to shoot a lot more people before all this is over.
15
Rey
When I rise early in the morning and head to the kitchen to make breakfast for the men, I find Quinn already there, standing in the middle of the room like he’s been waiting in that spot for centuries.
Surprised, I stop short in the doorway and look at him.
His eyes are bloodshot. His hair’s a mess. He’s wearing the same shirt he had on yesterday, the one with the rip through the shoulder and bloodstains down the sleeve.
He looks strung out. Dangerously wired. As if he was up all night mainlining cocaine.
“Good morning,” I say cautiously.
His gaze drags over me like a rake over hot coals. His voice comes out rough. “You all right?”
“Yes. Why, did something happen while I was asleep?”
He shakes his head, then shoves a hand through his hair. He stares at me for a moment, then turns away abruptly and starts to pace back and forth in front of the island with his hands propped on his hips and his brows drawn down.
This is normally where I’d make a smart remark about his calm and cheery personality, but there’s something different about him today. His thunderclouds have a heavier aspect. He’s all charged nerves and crackling tension, and it makes me worried.
I take a few hesitant steps into the kitchen. “Quinn?”
He makes a sharp cutting motion with his hand and growls.
I put my hands up. “Okay.”
Ignoring him, I set the oven to preheat. Then I head to the fridge and start pulling things out. Next, I hit the pantry. I put everything on the counter by the stove, start a pot of coffee, and begin to chop veggies and prep for the meal.
Behind me, Quinn paces back and forth. Every so often, he huffs, sounding like a bull pawing the ground before it charges.
I fight the almost overpowering urge to turn around and give him a hug.
He drops heavily into a chair, exhales in a gust, then groans. The sound is low and full of misery.
When I turn to look at him, he’s got his elbows propped on the kitchen table. His eyes are closed and his head is gripped in his hands, his hair sticking through his fingers.
Without saying a word, I pour coffee into a big mug, add a teaspoon of sugar, and set the mug in front of him. Then I go back to cooking and ignore him again.
After a while, he says in a low voice, “How did you know I take my coffee black with sugar?”
Beating eggs in a mixing bowl, I smile to myself. “You seem like a man who likes a little sweetness, but doesn’t want anyone to know it.”
Grouchy as hell, he snaps, “Aye? Any other witty observations you’d like to share?”
“Drink your coffee. It’s too early to argue.”
For the next ten minutes, we don’t speak. With words, anyway. He sits and throws lightning bolts at my back, which I deflect with a calm that only seems to incense him more.
I can tell he’s spoiling for a fight, but I won’t give it to him.
Twice, he jolts up from the table and refills his mug from the coffeepot, only to return to the table, fling himself into a chair again, and recommence brooding.
After he lets out his third loud grumble in as many minutes, I’ve had enough.
I stop what I’m doing, cross to the table, pull up a chair beside him, and say quietly, “What is it? I’m worried about you.”
Stunned, he blinks at me.
“I’m serious, Quinn. I want to know what’s wrong. Please tell me.”
He blinks again. “Did…did you just say please?”
“Cut the bullshit. What’s happened?”
When he only sits there staring at me like I just landed from outer space, I prompt, “Did you argue with Gianni? Did you find out something about those men? Has there been a change of plans?”
“The wedding’s still on, if that’s what you mean,” he says crossly.
I gaze at him for a moment, then sigh. “I’m sorry I’ve been so negative about that. I’m sure you can understand why, but…well, I was thinking that I’ve been really hard on you. Unfairly hard. After what you did yesterday…”
“What did I do?”
He says it as if he really has no recollection that he went full John Wick mode and hunted down and killed the men who blew a hole in the side of the house and wanted to kidnap Lili.
“You protected us. All of us. And you saved my life.”
He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His burning gaze never leaves my face. He says gruffly, “You saved mine.”
“Probably not. I mean, that guy was a terrible shot. You would’ve blown a hole in his forehead before he could’ve gotten off another round. If it were me shooting you in the back, you’d be dead. Not that I would shoot you, because I’ve decided I don’t hate you anymore, but you know what I’m saying.”
When I smile at him, he exhales a small, astonished laugh.
“Just like that, you don’t hate me anymore?”
I make a screwy face. “Let’s say I’ve downgraded it to intense dislike and leave it at that.”
“And all it took was a few murders,” he says, looking dazed. “Had I only known that sooner.”
“Ha. But seriously, all joking aside. Are you okay?”
He stares at me for a long moment in silence, then demands angrily, “Who are you right now? Where’s the swamp witch?”
“Why can’t I be a swamp witch and a sweetheart? Hecate had three forms, and everybody worshipped her. Also, you’re one to talk, Dr. Jekyll.” I stop to think. “Or is it Mr. Hyde? I can never remember which one’s the monster.”
Appearing exhausted, he sags back into his chair and passes a hand over his face. “Every time I have a conversation with you, I feel like I’m going insane.”
“I take it that means you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong.”
“I can’t!”
That leaves me deflated. “Because you don’t trust me.”
“No, because I don’t want to be telling secrets to the soul eater who replaced Queen Devil Bitch with this reasonable person.” He waves a hand at me in irritation. “Whoever she is.”
I raise my brows and stare at him. “Excuse me…Queen Devil Bitch?”
“Aye,” he says without missing beat. “No, wait. That’s not it—it’s Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence.”
I’m horrified. “That’s what they call me? How awful!”
He chuckles. “No, that’s what I call you. God only knows what the other lads call you, but whatever it is, I’m damn sure they’d never say it to your face.”
Deeply insulted, I say, “That’s because they’re afraid if they did, their wives would be picking out their caskets. Quinn, a swamp witch is one thing, but…Queen Devil Bitch of All Existence? Seriously?”
“Have you even met yourself, lass?”
“I’m not that bad!”
He snorts and scratches his beard. “Aye. And vipers aren’t that poisonous.”
I cross my arms over my chest and smile at him. “Oh, that reminds me. It wasn’t sugar I put in your coffee. It was arsenic.”
“You’re only proving my point!”
The oven timer dings. I rise, pour the egg casserole mixture into six greased baking dishes, and put them in the double ovens. Then I turn back to Quinn.
“Fruit?”
“Pardon?”
“Would you like some fruit with your egg bake, or are you strictly a proteins kind of guy?”
He quirks his lips. “You mean you don’t already know?”
I tilt my head and look at him from under lowered lashes. “I’d say you’re a big-time fruit eater.”
A faint tinge of pink stains his cheeks. He swallows. “What I really need is scotch.”
“No, what you really need is a shower and a new shirt. I’d give you one of Gianni’s, but you’re much too big across the chest and shoulders to fit into anything of his.”
“Was that…did you just give me a compliment?”
“Oh, stop gaping at me. I was only saying you need a change of clothes. We can’t go ring shopping with you looking like you crawled out from under a bridge.”
His face falls. “Ring shopping. Right.”
He looks utterly depressed by the mention of it, which is confusing, considering he’s the one who’s so insistent on this marriage.
“Quinn?”
He glances up at me.
I hesitate, but decide I have to say it, no matter how much he won’t like it. “Lili’s going to need patience from you. Your marriage, at least at the beginning, will be very hard on her.”
When his look sours, I quickly add, “I’m not talking about your dizzying mood changes now. I’m talking about the fact that she’s young and naïve.”
Not to mention madly in love with someone else.
My voice drops. “She’s scared, okay? Please be gentle with her. If I won’t be around to hold her hand, you’re going to have to. And I know you can, because I’ve seen the human side you try so hard to keep buried. Give that side to her, and you’ll make her happy.”
He stares at my face with an expression on his own that’s indescribable. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was anguish.
He says gruffly, “Goddammit, woman. Just when I think I’ve got you figured out, you grow another Hydra head and knock me on my arse again.”
I throw my hands in the air. “Will you please stop calling me woman like it’s a bad word? I hate that!”
His piercing gaze on mine, he replies softly, “I’ve never said it like it’s a bad word. It’s the most beautiful word in the language.”
Then he stands and walks out of the kitchen, leaving me staring after him in stunned silence.
An hour later, I’ve fed the men, checked on a still-sleeping Lili, and splashed enough cold water on my face to cool it from scorching to merely warm.
No such luck with my panties. They’re still on fire.
Quinn called me beautiful.
I mean, I think he did. In a roundabout sort of way.
Didn’t he? Or am I making it up in my head? Has my vagina hijacked my intellect and held it hostage so that it makes everything the man says now sound suggestive?
I hate myself for not knowing. I hate myself even more for wanting to know.
I hate myself most of all for hoping I’m right.
When Quinn reappears in the kitchen in a fresh shirt and says he’s ready to leave, I can’t look him in the eye. I just nod and keep rinsing dishes.
He stands there vibrating tension until he growls, “Any time this century.”
I turn off the water, dry my hands, and walk past him, out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?”
“To get my handbag, if that’s all right with you, Prince Charmless.”
He grumbles something under his breath that I ignore. Ten minutes later, we’re in his big black Escalade, headed into the city.
The silence in the car is deafening.
When I can’t take it anymore, I try to make polite conversation. “So where will you honeymoon?”
He looks at me as if he’s unfamiliar with the word.
“Don’t tell me you’re not taking her on a honeymoon!”
He glares at the windshield, gripping the steering wheel so hard, I’m sure he’s wishing it were my neck. Through clenched teeth, he says, “I really can’t wait until I never see you again.”
I stare at his stupid, handsome profile, forcing myself to refrain from dragging my nails down the side of his cheek. I don’t want Lili to have to look at his gouged face during her wedding vows.
“You should take her to Ireland,” I pronounce, then stare out the passenger window because I can’t look at him one second longer.
After a while, he says gruffly, “Why Ireland?”
Resisting the urge to make a crack about the joys of drunken pub yodeling, I say instead, “So she can see where you were born, Quinn. Get to know you better. You know, meet all your relatives from the motherland and whatnot.”
“I don’t have any relatives left in Ireland.”
The dark way he says it makes me glance over at him. His jaw is hard and his thunderclouds are gathering, but I have to ask.
“Because they’re all in the States now?”
“Because they’re all dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Don’t ask. Don’t say it, Reyna. Be smart and leave it alone.
Into my ambivalent silence, he says, “Aye, lass, all of them. And no, I don’t have anyone here, either.”
“So it’s just you?”
“Aye.”
“No parents? Siblings? Cousins? No one?”
“No one,” he repeats gruffly, then sends me a pointed look. “And that’s the truth.”
