Redemption: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Edwards, Anna

  “He told me what he was doing, but that dress is beautiful.” Evelyn comes over to me and runs her hand over the fabric of my skirts.

  “I don’t understand?” I look at her in confusion.

  “He knows you like the book, and he wants to give you something good to replace the nightmares. Now, let’s sort this corset out, and then I’ll try and do something with your hair. I’ve been looking at pictures all morning, but half of the time, I can barely get my hair in a ponytail, so I’m not sure what it’s going to look like.” Evelyn laughs, and it’s infectious. I join in with her as we set about preparing me for my afternoon tea.

  Eventually, I’m ready, and Evelyn leaves more than impressed with the way my hair looks. I’ll probably be combing knots out for the next few months, but it’s worth it with the little ringlets now framing my face. I place a final swipe of lip gloss over my lips and make my way into the lounge. All the furniture has been moved to the side and a large table sits in the middle with teapots, cakes, and little finger sandwiches on it. Classical music plays quietly through the sound system, but it’s the man standing by the table who takes my breath away.

  Gawain leans casually against the table dressed every inch as I imagined my Mr. Darcy: cream breeches and long riding boots frame his muscular legs, and a dark blue morning coat shows off how broad his shoulders are. I’m lost for words. He presses a button on a remote in his hand and a waltz starts up.

  “I’m not totally sure if it’s in keeping with the time, but it’s the best I could do,” he says.

  I smile warmly at him.

  “It’s perfect. I don't really know how to do any of the fancy dances anyway.”

  “Phew.” He theatrically wipes his brow, coming closer to me before bowing. “Miss Ragnell, if you're not otherwise occupied, may I request the pleasure of a dance with you?”

  I curtsy back to him, hold my hand out, and reply, “It would be my pleasure.”

  I’m whirled around into a hold with Gawain resting one hand lightly on my shoulder and the other around my waist.

  “Is this ok?”

  “Of course.”

  We dance around the room. For a big guy, he certainly has the moves. Mine leave a little to be desired, though, as I resemble Bambi on ice more than anything graceful. Eventually, the music stops, and he leads me to the table where he pulls a chair out for me. I don't know where the urge comes from, but I lean up and kiss him quickly on the lips.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  He strokes his rough fingers tenderly down my face.

  “New dreams. Good ones.”

  The look in his eyes sends a strange warmth flooding through my core. Male touch has been abhorrent to me, previously, but in this moment, I long for it.

  “Gawain.” I’m struggling for words. I don't know how to ask for what I want.

  “Show me?” He comes closer, his fresh warm breath blowing over my face.

  “I don't know if I can,” I say breathlessly.

  Gawain sinks to his knees before me. He’s giving me the power in all we do. Slowly, I reach for the hem of my long skirts and draw them up my legs. I’m resting against the table, which I'm so glad about because my legs feel like jelly.

  “Please. I’ve never...” The words are hard to get out. I feel as though I’m breaking again but healing at the same time. “I’ve never had an orgasm from someone else.” I pull my skirts all the way up, so they bunch around my waist. Gawain and I are turning a corner. Whatever is happening between us is no longer just about him being my rescuer from M. It could also be he’s the savior of my mind.

  With masterful fingers, Gawain strokes down the fabric of the white cotton panties I’m wearing. He takes the waistband and pulls them down my legs. My breathing is ragged, but I’m not scared. I feel empowered. I’m in control with a man for the first time in my life.

  “Please,” I beg again, and he pulls my legs farther apart, so I’m exposed to him where he kneels.

  “Beautiful. Innocent.” His dark chestnut eyes flick up to mine, and despite the fact I’m far from being a virgin, I know what he means. I’m pure to him because I’m choosing to do this. His tongue comes out, and he uses it to trail a line through my folds and up to my clit. I let out a long moan of pleasure. I’ve never known anything like this. I feel like I’m flying, and I haven’t even come yet. Placing his hands on my hips, Gawain lifts me up onto the table, so I don’t have to support myself on my wobbly legs. This opens my most intimate places to him even more.

  “Better than cakes,” he murmurs into the flesh of my thighs, his beard tickling in between my legs and heightening all my senses. His tongue moves through my folds and is followed by a calloused finger. The digit then circles at my entrance but doesn’t delve inside, just yet, and is once again replaced by his tongue. Moving back to my core, his finger tests the barrier to my newly spoken of virginity, which is one of choice not submission. I don’t tense up, and I feel him push inside me. It’s only a finger, but it feels big. I’ve had a lot worse shoved inside me, but Gawain’s finger is large, and I falter a little, clenching down on it. Gawain increases the speed his tongue strokes my clit, and my body relaxes. Another finger joins the first one, but I’m already too lost in my impending orgasm to care. I need this to reclaim who I was before I was taken. The explosion of pleasure hits me, and I shudder and shake under Gawain’s exceptional skills. I don’t just orgasm once. He brings me to climax three times in quick succession before he’s done. He withdraws his fingers as I climb down from my high and licks them.

  “Definitely better than cakes, which is a good thing as I think our afternoon tea got a little spoiled.”

  He helps me from the table, and I see cakes and sandwiches strewn, and tea spilled all over the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell him, biting down on my lip.

  “Don’t be. I enjoyed my feast.” He pulls me into his arms, and I feel his hardness through the now creased linen of my skirts. I look down, and in the tight breeches he’s wearing, little is left to the imagination. “Don’t worry. This was all about you,” he reassures me.

  “I…” I start to thank him, but he places a finger over my lips, and I can smell my musky scent on it.

  A bang comes at the front door before there’s a chance to say anything else.

  “Fuck.” Gawain grunts.

  “Open the door, slut.” A deep masculine voice comes from the other side, and a fist hammers again on the door.

  My eyes go wide at the use of the derogatory term.

  “It’s my nickname,” Gawain explains, walking toward the door and trying to re-arrange himself in the breeches to alleviate the tightness there. I check my appearance is put together, but I know my cheeks must still be flushed from my orgasm.

  Gawain pulls the front door open with so much force it nearly comes off its hinges.

  “What do you want, dickhead?” he asks the handsome man on the other side of the door. Does Gawain know anyone who isn’t drop dead gorgeous!

  The man stops dead in his tracks and looks Gawain up and down.

  “What the fuck?”

  “Lance!” Gawain shouts, and the man shakes himself out of his shocked stupor.

  “Arthur sent me. He wants me to check you haven’t had your dick fall off with lack of use. I’m thinking I might be too late, though. It looks like it’s happened.”

  “I think he looks really handsome, Lance.” A stunningly beautiful girl appears next to the man. “Hello, Cousin. That’s a fetching outfit.” She welcomes Gawain with a warm embrace. “You’ll have to give me details. Lance and I could play dress up.”

  “Not fucking likely, Giuliana.” Lance tugs his partner close to him and scowls down at her.

  “Is this a social call, or is there a point to you being here?” Gawain asks through gritted teeth, and I can’t help but suppress a little chuckle in my throat. It threatens to turn into a full-blown laugh when Lance gets his phone out and takes a picture of Gawain in his Mr. Darcy ou
tfit.

  “My father wants to see you,” Giuliana explains. “He asked us to keep an eye on your…Megan. You know how he can be, but it’s important you go see him.”

  “I’ll get changed.” Gawain’s face is full of thunder, but when he looks back to me, it softens with concern.

  “Oh, please don’t,” Lance teases again. “The guys will get a kick out of you showing up at the mansion on a Harley dressed like that.”

  Gawain sticks his middle finger up at Lance as he comes back to me and asks, “You ok?”

  “I’m fine. Go. It could be information about M,” I reassure him.

  He presses a kiss to my lips and disappears down the hall.

  Lance starts laughing his head off, and his girlfriend and I both look at him suspiciously.

  “I’ve just sent that picture via What’s App to all the guys. Slut’s never going to live it down!”

  Gawain

  Dressed in my standard uniform of biker boots, jeans, and a t-shirt, I stride confidently into Arthur’s mansion to meet with my leader.

  “You lost the tights then?” Bors shouts out as I pass him lounging on a sofa.

  I don’t answer, just flip him off and continue on my way. I know I’ll be the brunt of jokes from the other guys for a while, but I don’t care. It was all worth it to see the look of happiness on Megan’s face. She’s facing her fears and growing in confidence every day. What happened to her will be a part of her life until the day she dies, but she’s learning she can have freedom from the darkness. It’s like watching a butterfly emerging from its cocoon.

  I knock on Arthur’s office door and wait for him to grant me permission to enter. You don’t just barge into his room.

  “Enter.” The deep baritone voice comes from the other side of the heavy wooden door.

  Walking into the room, I greet my uncle and take a seat in front of his desk while he sits regally on his throne-like chair behind it. “Good afternoon.”

  Arthur places his phone on the desk. There in its full glory is the picture Lance took. I can’t help but think I look good.

  “Do I need to worry?” the distinguished older gentleman asks me.

  “I’m the woman’s champion. I’m just giving her what she needs to heal. It’s not going to be my new outfit for jobs.”

  “I’ll accept that answer. Do you think maybe she should move to my mansion now?”

  “No.” My answer is blunt. I fold my arms across my chest and stare down the man opposite me.

  Arthur looks back at me for a few moments before letting out a grunt of air and turning the phone over.

  “I have a job for you.”

  “Ok,” I reply, hoping that it isn’t one that sends me away for a while. I’m not prepared to leave Megan alone while this M is still loose. To bring her with me presents problems as well.

  “It’s in the Bowels.”

  A smirk crosses my face. The Bowels is a part of Arthur’s house where people once taken, very rarely get out alive, except for the Cavalieri of course.

  “I thought that would please you. You’ll be even more excited to learn that the man down there is the head of the smuggling ring who stole Megan and sold her.”

  I rub my hands together in glee. I’m not a man who gets off on killing like some of the other guys. I get off on the fact I’m doing the world a service by ridding it of a person who doesn’t deserve to live. The man in the Bowels will be screaming for mercy by the time I’ve finished with him.

  “What do you need to get out of him before I really have fun?”

  “Details of M would be helpful. We’ve shut down most of the smuggling ring. There are a few loose ends to tie up, but I don’t think he’ll be able to give us much more other than where to find the man who bought Megan.”

  “I’ll bring you the details later,” I confirm as I stand up. I can feel my whole body vibrating with a need to get started. I want to find out where M is so I can give Megan her freedom.

  “Gawain,” Arthur calls out to me as I open the door to his office.

  “Yes?” I turn back to face him.

  “Bring me his hands.” A grim look crosses over my uncle’s face. Very rarely does he show emotion…it’s part of his power and strength, but I see compassion flitter across his face for a split second before it dies again behind his hard eyes.

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  With renewed vigor, I make my way down to the Bowels. A pained shout comes from deep within this hidden area of the house, and I know someone is already working the prisoner over. I’m glad to discover it’s Kay. His hands are covered in blood when I find him outside the cell. That tells me our captive has already been questioned a few times and isn’t breaking.

  “A tough one?” I ask, and he shakes his head.

  “I got a few things out of him. I’ll clean up and go tell Arthur.”

  “Did you get details of M?” I watch Kay as he washes his hands and see the water turning crimson and disappearing down the drain.

  “No, nothing. He’s tight-lipped, that one. I hope you can get more out of him.” Kay dries his hands on a nearby towel. “You want me to stay?”

  I shake my head. I’ve always preferred to work alone on these things.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good luck.” Kay pats me on the back. “Chicken legs,” he adds and winks at me. I know he’s referring to my Mr. Darcy outfit.

  “Call me that again, and you’ll be next in the chair.”

  He walks off laughing and doing a waltz.

  We may take the piss out of each other constantly, but I’d be lost without them.

  I do a few stretches to ease my body out. It can be physically demanding work, torturing someone, and it’s been a couple of weeks since I last did it. When I’ve limbered up enough, I unlock the door to the cell and enter. Stopping dead, the eyes that stare back at me from the bloodied face match my own. My breathing stops, momentarily, before continuing in ragged breaths. It can’t be. I’ve not seen him in twenty years, not since the night he had someone hold a gun to my head while forcing me to lose my virginity. My father sits before me with his lip split, and one eye already swollen shut.

  “I wondered if Arthur would call you in.” He spits blood on the floor at my feet. The moment of compassion I saw in Arthur’s eyes was for his sister, my mother. The hands will be a message not to mess with him and his family in future. It’s my uncle’s way. “So, Son, have you finally got the balls to kill your old man or do you need someone to hold a gun to your head?”

  I stomp furiously across the room and send three quick punches into his face. His nose breaks, and blood splatters across my clean t-shirt.

  “What happened to the girl?” My tone is laced with venom. I’m a melting pot of emotions, at the moment, and it’s threatening to boil over.

  “Sold her. Her purchaser came back a year later. He’d had a little accident, and she’d died. He needed a new one, so I obliged.”

  My father is chained to a chair in the center of the room. Wrapping my hands around his throat and squeezing tightly, I push him and the chair all the way to the side. He gasps for air as I tighten the grip I have on his neck.

  “Name.”

  He laughs.

  “Name,” I shout with more force this time and stomp down on his foot. He hasn’t got any shoes on, so the bones crack.

  “Never.” I let go of him and whip around. My Glock, which is tucked into the back of my trousers is in my hand in an instant and aimed at his knee cap. I pull the trigger, and his cry of agony fills the room.

  “Name?” I ask one final time with my gun pointed at his other knee.

  “I gave it to the other man. I’m sure Arthur will send you after him at some point.”

  Putting the gun down out of his reach, I place my finger over what’s left of his knee and dig into the wound. My father’s eye roll back in his head. He’s in so much pain, but I’ve lost any ability to show him compassion. He ceased to be someone I cared for whe
n he forced me to do what I did to that girl.

  “I’ll make sure Arthur does. And for every girl he’s broken, I’ll take a piece of flesh a bit at a time and burn it before his eyes, starting with his dick.”

  I remove my finger from the wound and drag my father back into the middle of the room.

  “Twenty years at least, that I know of, you’ve been abusing women. How many pieces would that be for you? Would you have any flesh left?” There’s a knife on the table. I pick it up and in a swift movement sever his left ear from his body. “You don’t need this. Any pleas from the girls you abused, fell on deaf ears.” I chuck the bloody flesh on the floor.

  “Son.” My father leans forward and vomits all over himself. The pain he’s in must be so intense, but he doesn’t pass out. I’ll wake him up if he does.

  “Don’t call me that. I ceased to be your son on my sixteenth birthday.”

  “No, you became one of Arthur’s whipping boys instead.”

  “No,” I shout and pick up my Glock again. “I became one of his assassins. Doing what’s needed to save people from men like you.” I fire a bullet into his other knee, and for the first time ever, I get why people like Lance enjoy this part of the job. Why they get hard from it. The man before me is pure evil, and I’m ending him in the most painful way. His blood is part mine, but as they say…nurture versus nature breeds respect. Arthur commands my respect, not the man in front of me slowly bleeding to death.

  My father’s screams turn into an eerie laugh, which fills the room.

  “People like Megan,” he taunts me. “M told me it was you who saved her. He’s looking forward to getting her back.”

  “He’ll never touch her again,” I reply adamantly.

  I pick up an axe resting on the table.

  “He will. He’s more powerful than you know. He’s always been a better man than you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  My father laughs at me again.

  “You’ll find out soon enough.”

  I swing the axe and bring it down to sever one of his hands. He’ll bleed out soon, so I need to get answers.