The Redemption Saga Box Set

by Kristen Banet

  It made the entire thing so fucking complicated.

  “I thought you would be excited to hear the news,” he growled back to her, and she recognized the painful lashing out of a confused and heartbroken human being.

  She also thought she would be excited. And some part of her was. She was happy Axel was in a cell somewhere and not hunting her, not ruining the lives of people all over the world.

  Nothing stopped the hurt.

  She hated the hurt.

  “Tell me about Axel the boy,” Sawyer said as she sat next to Vincent. It was Elijah’s normal spot. “Tell me about Axel the brother.”

  “Why?” he snarled.

  “Because he seems like a better man than the one I knew,” Sawyer whispered. “He can be someone we feel alright being sad over his death.”

  “You…” Vincent looked frustrated. “You are handling this all too well. You know that, right?”

  “I have years of fucking experience handling it,” Sawyer bit out. She was as good at the mask as he was. Her grief would be private because she was experienced. Vincent was new to this. He needed someone to tell him the truth and divert his attention. “Tell me about Axel the boy.”

  “He was cool. A big brother, intelligent. He taught me to play chess because he was good at it,” Vincent mumbled. “He was good with numbers. He helped me with my math homework.” She waited for something she knew was coming. “He was a momma’s boy.” There it was. Vincent switched over to Italian and his voice broke all in the same sentence.

  “What happened to your mother?” Sawyer asked softly.

  “She was murdered… by a lover she had taken. She didn’t want to leave my father for him, and he took it out on her.” Vincent sighed. “She had been so perfect to us as children. We had no idea. Axel was thirteen and I was twelve.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

  “You don’t know your parents,” Vincent said suddenly, “at all.”

  “Nope. I wasn’t even named by them. My mother died giving birth to me. A nurse in the hospital named me,” Sawyer huffed, finishing her drink. She grabbed the bottle Vincent had left on the floor and poured herself another one. “What’s this video from?”

  “I was seven, he was eight. We were playing at our summer home outside of the city,” Vincent whispered.

  “You both…” She trailed off, thinking about the initial reaction she’d had to the video playing. Laughter was the soundtrack to the heavy sadness layered on them both.

  “Say it,” Vincent growled.

  “You both look like Henry,” she said, feeling a bit depressed that she knew men who looked like what Henry would have. That young boy would have grown up to be a wonderful man.

  “It’s the Castello stamp,” Vincent grumbled. “We got it from our father. He got it from his.”

  “He was nicer than you both,” Sawyer added.

  There was another heavy silence.

  “Will you tell me about him?” Vincent asked finally, and she heard the broken man hidden deep inside the words. The man whose world had been completely altered by her own winding, dark history.

  “You and Axel are two sides of the same coin,” she sighed. “Dark in different ways. Both a little mad. Both capable of great and awful things. Henry… Henry was the sun.”

  “I hate being compared to him,” Vincent snarled.

  “Doesn’t change reality. You became a counterpart to him to catch him, didn’t you?” Sawyer glared at him and, once again, focused on all the differences. How truly different he was from Axel. Axel was beautiful, at the top of his game from the moment he woke up to the moment he closed his eyes… Vincent wasn’t. He was rugged and worn, tired in ways Axel had never been. His eyes were darker, his hair messier. He was leaner than Axel, almost a little starved-looking, maybe underweight.

  Axel was beautiful, but Vincent was handsome, she realized. Axel was crisp and controlled and Vincent wasn’t. Vincent strived for control but fell apart. His appearance was constantly a little disheveled. His eyes showed the strain, she realized now, even when he put on that cold mask of control to get things done.

  “Tell me more,” Vincent whispered, looking over to her.

  “He loved Midnight, for the short time they could be together. He loved everything.” Sawyer sighed. Her heart ached. “He was smiles and cuddles and love. He wanted his Papa to play games with him and, instead, got me. He wanted his mother back on some nights, and instead, I would hold him.”

  “Did he ever know…” Vincent frowned at her and she saw the tears on his cheeks again.

  “No. He didn’t know his mother was dead. He didn’t know his father was a monster. He didn’t know about the world he was being raised in or the horrors of it,” Sawyer told him quietly. “Henry had no idea anything was wrong until the night…”

  He died.

  “Oh God,” Vincent mumbled, looking a little sick. “I need another drink.”

  “Me too,” Sawyer groaned.

  “Will you tell me stories?” Vincent asked as he poured for them.

  “I will,” Sawyer agreed, “if you tell me some.”

  They watched videos and drank together. They exchanged stories of better moments. She tried to give him as much of his nephew as she could. She couldn’t bring him back. Nothing could. And he gave her an innocent boy named Antonio. A boy who changed after his mother died and he failed to live up to his father’s expectations. A boy who was so crushed by the weight of his failures that, when he came into his powers, he decided he would rule over everything he could get his hands on. He’d been raised to play the game because he hadn’t had power. Then he had both, and he’d become nearly unstoppable…. Until he went a little mad trying to clean up the one mess that escaped him. The only mess. Her.

  They finished the bottle and pulled out another one, and Sawyer felt something shift in her heart, a piece of her soul. Vincent helped her as they stumbled to the bar once, and something raced through her. When they made it back to their seats, she watched him continue to talk, and she gave him more about Henry. He loved coloring books. He loved watching TV cuddled on the couch.

  “He sounds amazing,” Vincent chuckled. “I’m fucking… destroyed that I never got to meet him.”

  “I know,” Sawyer groaned. “He was. I wish I had done better.”

  “You did the best you could,” Vincent whispered. Their eyes met, and Sawyer swallowed a lump in her throat. Had she? She didn’t know, and it was too late to go back. She could only keep moving forward. Something in his eyes was offering her… something. “Sawyer…”

  “Say it,” she whispered.

  “None of it was your fault,” he said with a conviction that made her heart skip. “Thank you for being with him while you were. He wasn’t your fault.”

  They were silent for a long time, letting the same home videos play over and over again. Sawyer just watched him. He was so handsome, Vincent Castello. He made her frustrated because she wanted to hate him. But here, when she finally saw how truly vulnerable he was, her heart ached. She’d been wrong. He wasn’t Axel at all, in any way, except superficial ones.

  Vincent cared. He had the great capacity to be cold and detached, but damn him, he was a haunted, broken man. And in Sawyer’s mind, the only thing that mattered was that he cared.

  About Henry and Midnight. Her.

  That changed something in her while she looked at him.

  “What time is it?” Vincent asked gruffly, and she looked around, snapped out her thoughts. She snatched his phone off the floor and swayed.

  “Three in the morning,” she concluded. “Bed time.”

  “Yes,” he groaned. They both tried to stand up at once and stumbled into each other.

  Sawyer looked up at him and saw all the differences.

  All the things that made this Castello a man named Vincent and not Axel.

  His hands slowly took her waist and her hands traveled up his chest as they found their steadiness together. Heat hit her belly
as their chests were close enough to brush against each other.

  She wrapped a hand around the back of his head, the lust, the grief, and the alcohol all leading to an inevitable conclusion.

  The kiss was a penance. It was sorrow.

  He pulled her closer, until there wasn’t a single spot they weren’t touching. She opened her mouth just a fraction for him, and his tongue dove in and explored her. One of his hands ended up on her back and another wrapped itself in her hair, holding her to the kiss.

  That was fine. She was holding his face to hers, continuing the kiss. Their cheeks were both damp from tears. There had been no laughter for them tonight.

  When the kiss finally broke, she met his dark, olive-green eyes.

  “My room,” he whispered huskily. “Just tonight. Just…”

  “Just tonight,” she whispered back, then kissed him again. Just tonight, she thought to herself. For some comfort, to chase away memories, to find some warmth instead of her frigid cold and nightmares. They could steal a single night.

  He picked her up, and she gasped into his lips.

  “Wrap those fucking legs around me,” he growled softly. “Please.”

  She did, and he carried her carefully all the way to his door. Up the stairs and through doors. They stopped twice for him to shove her back against a wall and kiss her. He would grind his hips against her and make her moan as his erection rubbed her through the sweats.

  He put her down when they got into his room. She didn’t pay attention to how it looked or smelled. She didn’t know where any of the furniture was. Her body was on fire, she was wet, and she wanted him. She wanted him and what he offered more than she could breathe.

  Just tonight.

  He kissed her again as she pulled his shirt open, popping the buttons. She ran a finger over the scar on his chest.

  She let him pull her tank top off. Then he broke her bra open. He growled as he took one of her nipples into his mouth, and she gasped as he gently bit down on it after giving it a long suck. She ran her nails over his abs and reached around to dig them into his back as he grew rougher.

  Just tonight.

  He pushed down her sweats, and she kicked them off once they were around her ankles. He used her hips to lift her, and they fell onto the bed together. His mouth never left the breast he was tasting the entire time. Her nails never left his back.

  He finally released her nipple and kissed down her abdomen, taking care to show attention to her scars. She ran her hands through his curly hair as he pulled down her thong and threw it somewhere else.

  She screamed out as he wasted no time pushing his tongue into her. She bucked underneath him, and he growled, using a finger to gently rub her clit. She couldn’t take it. She needed more than this.

  “Get up here,” she gasped. “Now.”

  He obliged, and she kissed him the moment his face was level with hers.

  “Get in the middle,” he ordered in a guttural voice. “I want to see you in my sheets.”

  That made her pulse spike with heat and want. She hadn’t thought her drunk ass could get hornier, but there it was. She slid up to his pillows and realized his sheets were black silk. She watched him pull off his pants and boxer briefs. Her mouth went a little dry at the sight of him, hard and ready. She wanted this. Just for tonight, she would give in and have it.

  He crawled across the bed to her and pressed himself against her opening but didn’t enter her.

  “Protection?” he asked.

  She looked at her right hand and slowly nodded. He only nodded once back before he pushed into her, forcing her to sink into the pillows and up against his headboard.

  “Vincent!” She gasped. Then she moaned as he pulled back out and shoved in again, harder than before.

  “Oh fuck, Sawyer,” he groaned, continuing the agonizingly slow pace. She moved with him, accepting every strong thrust, every slow withdraw. He made sure he hit the right spot with every thrust. He pushed her slowly up to a peak.

  Just tonight.

  Then he shoved her over it, and she could only hold on as her climax hit her like a wave. It crashed over her and sent her mind somewhere else. He just continued, kissing her as she moaned. Their eyes stayed locked together and she was overcome with a sudden possessive wave of emotion. She wanted to own him, the haunted, broken man inside her.

  She rolled them over once the sweet end of her climax stopped. She straddled him, and he looked up at her with lust, the heat in his eyes as he took in her body made her warmer than before. She wanted something a bit faster now, and she was going to take it.

  “Sawyer,” he moaned, almost reverently, as she rubbed her slit on his cock.

  “Vincent,” she murmured and sank down on him. Their sounds of pleasure filled the room as she rode him, faster than he had been going. She took him roughly as his hands roamed her body. He sat up a bit and took her nipple back into his mouth. One of his hands squeezed her ass as she worked him, taking the pleasure she wanted from him. His other hand massaged her other breast. She gasped when he pinched the nipple softly and rolled it gently in his fingers.

  She took every inch of him and drove herself back up to that peak. That spot where nothing could bother her. He began to rock and help her, holding himself upright with her body. She held onto his shoulders as she rode him, each thrust down onto him sending her higher. The sounds that came out of her echoed off the walls. His name, said a thousand times. Hers said back.

  The second climax was much like the first—groundbreaking, earth shattering, and sending her into something that resembled bliss.

  Just tonight.

  Once she was done, Vincent rolled them back over and began to thrust harder than either of them had before. She screamed. She dug her nails into his shoulders. The second orgasm spiraled downward, and then shot back up into a third for her.

  “Sawyer,” he snarled, thrusting once more into her. She moaned and bit his shoulder as his cock pulsed and she felt him cum in her.

  They didn’t move for a long time as he continued to cum and she waited for the aftershocks of her climax to fade away.

  “Just tonight,” he whispered.

  She wondered if they were just trying to convince themselves.

  She knew she didn’t believe it.

  “Just tonight,” she whispered back, trying to turn the words into a promise. Not to him, but to herself.

  They fell asleep, a tangle of limbs, two warm bodies holding each other, hoping the sun never came up, hoping the moment of respite from the rest of the world didn’t end. Hoping, when they woke up, that things wouldn’t just go back to the death, darkness, and pain of the lives they had.

  “You are the best fuck I’ve ever had, love,” he snarled at her.

  Sawyer’s eyes flew open, and she tried to remember where she was. She didn’t know. She had no idea where she was. She was nude. She was sore. Her head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch. That wasn’t good. She felt the arm slung over her abdomen and looked to see who was attached to it.

  Dark curly hair, olive skinned, and male. She bared her teeth. She was in bed with him. She jumped out of the bed and scrambled away, still confused as to where she was. She didn’t recognize the room. She needed a weapon. She needed to kill him while he was asleep. She had promised herself she would never get into bed with that murderer again. Not after what he did to Henry. Nothing was ever going to give him the use of her body again.

  “Sawyer?” A male voice called out. She turned and looked at Axel, glaring at him.

  “I can’t fucking believe you,” she snarled. “I’m going to kill you for what you did.”

  “What?” he looked genuinely baffled and very pale.

  That’s right mother fucker, she thought, be afraid.

  “Sawyer,” he mumbled. “Oh, no. It’s me, Sawyer. Vincent.” He sounded concerned, but she needed to find a knife or something. She was going to finish this. She jumped him, deciding she would just kill him with her bare hands, and he sublimat
ed out of her reach.

  Axel couldn’t sublimate.

  She froze after she landed back on the bed.

  He reformed behind her and gently touched her.

  “Vincent,” she gasped, realizing what just happened. After she remember the night before. “Oh god…”

  “It’s okay,” he told her gently. “It’s okay.”

  It wasn’t. She had just tried to kill him. Tears filled her eyes. She began to shake as the fear wore off, but the adrenaline was still there.

  She whimpered. She hated the sound of it, and she hated herself even more in that moment because of it.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered again, pulling her into his lap. “I’m sorry. It’s okay. I’m sorry I frightened you.”

  She cried softly as the flashback wore off and the fear died. She couldn’t even sleep with someone anymore without it going horribly wrong. If he hadn’t woken up on his own, she would have murdered him while he slept.

  He rocked her in his lap slowly, running a hand through her hair.

  “I’m so fucking sorry for all he’s done to you,” he mumbled into the top of her head. “I’m so sorry. I’ll do anything to make it right, Sawyer. I’ll give you anything to fix it.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she finally choked out. God, they didn’t need to be dropping blame on themselves at every turn.

  “Yes, it is,” he whispered, broken and sad. “Because I was supposed to be his assassin. I was supposed to do the work he molded you for.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  “I should have been there when he found out about Henry. I should have been there to protect the boy. You should have lived a normal life. I should never have run off and convinced the WMC to let me join the IMPO. I should have stayed with Axel and destroyed him from the inside. I should have just killed him there.” Vincent continued, and she just listened.

  “He came into his powers and went a bit mad with them,” he whispered in Italian now. “And I idolized him. He never looked at me and saw my magic; just his brother. Or so I thought. He didn’t think I was some rising star in the family. Then he played with words the way he was so good at doing… and he convinced me to kill our father. He took advantage of that and began amassing his own power. He wanted me to go with him, but I had never wanted to be a criminal like the rest of my family… so I ran.”