Barren Vows (Fates of the Bound Book 3)

by Wren Weston

  “Because you’ll make the best decisions for everyone?”

  “How is it any different than the dried-up hags in the councils ordering the country about, exchanging favor upon favor to keep the status quo, ordering their spies to dig into networks that should have been off-limits? This is the only way to make things change. It’s not like anyone else is doing anything. No one ever makes the guilty pay, but I would make them pay for breaking into Bullstow. It’s ours.”

  “That’s where you are wrong. You’re about to see very soon how the guilty pay for breaking into Bullstow. Firsthand. And now your children will suffer under your reputation. No matter what happens to my father and me, you will either be hanged or put into slavery for betraying your office. You’re never going to see your children again.”

  La Roux’s eyes darkened as they bored into her.

  Lila couldn’t resist one more knock. “That will be a good thing, since you have the morality and the logic of a fruit bat.”

  Those were the last words Lila said before La Roux lunged and clasped his hands around her throat.

  Chapter 25

  It retrospect, Lila understood that she had dealt the man too many blows in too short a time. La Roux’s own cousin had called him proud. Over the course of one day, he had been within reach of what he wanted most, a path to the Saxon High House, only to have it snatched away. This man who had never quite lived up to his own high expectations, who never achieved exactly what he wanted, had held power over the Randolph family. He could have chosen which path to push Lila down. Instead, he’d watched that power fizzle, and Lila had vowed to ruin him.

  He’d snapped from shock and anger.

  Lila saw it cross his face. The red cheeks, the scowl, the sweat forming on his brow, the vacant eyes. La Roux no longer existed. He might have been a boy on the beaches of Costa Sur, watching an older child who was just a little bit stronger, just a little bit more attractive, just a little bit smarter, knock down his sand castle and laugh at the boy’s frustration.

  Had Lila laughed at him?

  She was not sure, but it was too late now to do anything about it. She couldn’t even scream for help. La Roux’s hands had already closed around her throat, choking her so completely that she could not breathe. It was as though she were being punched, one long, continuous strike to her neck, and she knew that her voice would never function properly again. She’d be like Dixon, forever writing notes.

  But before she lost her voice and air, La Roux would break her neck.

  Lila panicked at the thought.

  Still sitting in her desk chair, she twisted in La Roux’s grasp, frightened that she would do the job for him by bucking too wildly.

  What else could she do? Where could she kick, where could she punch, where could she stab with her fingers?

  In his eyes?

  She stretched forward, but her arms were not long enough.

  As La Roux’s hands tightened, she felt all the more powerless, feeble, and vulnerable. She was all too aware that her fighting skills had never progressed beyond drawing and aiming a loaded tranq.

  Where was her Colt now?

  Put away in her desk drawer, along with her career.

  She had no plan for how to get away. She always had a plan and an angle, usually several, but tonight she had nothing but a swelling fear.

  Regrets, too. Regrets that she hadn’t started taking more hand-to-hand training.

  Regrets that she hadn’t run away with Tristan.

  This was Peter Kruger approaching her with a loaded gun.

  This was Reaper with a knife to her throat.

  This was a room full of Italian mercs pointing guns at her head.

  This was her motorcycle out of control, slamming into a brick wall.

  This was her last death.

  Regrets filled her mind, the same stupid wants and desires she hadn’t followed up on, acts she wished she could take back. She’d die, and Tristan would shrug it off, not caring. He wouldn’t even mourn her loss.

  He might even think she deserved it.

  Perhaps she did.

  She’d killed. Now it was her turn to die.

  Lila squeezed her eyes shut. She punched La Roux’s wrists, trying to free herself, but he would not relent. She tried to jerk toward the wine bottle, thinking someone might come if they heard it shatter upon the floor, but La Roux had moved it far away. She stretched her fingers to the desk drawer that contained her Colt, but she couldn’t reach it.

  Her bucking did manage to unbalance La Roux slightly. His grip slipped for an instant, allowing her to gulp air before he ratcheted his hands around her neck again. His arms bent at the elbows, face closer, teeth bared in a snarl.

  She scratched at his eyes with her fingernails.

  That netted a reaction, but not one she wanted. “Bitch,” he sneered, rubbing at his face. Seconds later, blows struck her jaw, her cheek, her chest, and then her stomach.

  A kick landed against her ribs.

  Instinct brought up her knees. She bowed her head and covered the back of her neck as more strikes landed.

  “Murderer,” she yelled. The word came out in a hoarse gasp, and she nearly cried out for the pain.

  La Roux stopped and unclenched his hands. His jaw slack, he stared at her face, dumbfounded at what he had done.

  Or tried to do.

  Lila planted both feet on his chest and kicked him halfway across the room. As he flailed backward, she yanked a drawer from her desk. The contents spilled out on the floor and clattered to the ground.

  Snatching up her Colt, she crab-walked away from him, planting herself in the corner.

  La Roux sat down on Lila’s bed and stared.

  One hand around her neck, one hand clasped around her gun, she leaned against the wall for support. Lila could hardly believe the cold metal was in her hand now, ready to be used. The wild beast had been brought to heel.

  It seemed odd to see him so calm and composed, like what had happened had been some silly mistake, like maybe she had imagined it.

  Had she?

  Had he meant to kill her?

  If so, she’d be dead, wouldn’t she?

  An image of dead mercs on a warehouse floor invaded her mind. She no longer regretted those people, just as she wouldn’t have regretted killing La Roux if he still had his hands around her throat, but she couldn’t shoot him now. He wasn’t doing anything but staring back at her with an open mouth. Horrified.

  The gun warmed her hand as if it wanted to be used.

  Lila did not pull the trigger. Instead, she stayed crouched in the corner. If he tried again, if he lunged at her, she would aim for his head and those vacant eyes.

  “You just made me so angry,” he whispered. “I didn’t know that I could get so angry, but you pushed me too much. I just needed…”

  “To kill me?” she asked, voice straining.

  The senator ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes reddened, but not from madness. “Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded, elbows propped up on his knees. “I’ll be ruined. I’m a good man, Lila, you know that. I don’t deserve this. I just made a mistake.”

  Lila did not know what to say, torn between wondering how anyone would think himself good after such an attack and wondering if he might have a point.

  When he approached her, instinct took over. She raised the gun to his head, ready to shoot. “Back the fuck away from me, or I’ll unload every single dart into you,” she croaked, throat burning from just a few words.

  He took several steps away.

  “Chief Shaw is waiting for you downstairs. We’re going to leave now and meet him outside.”

  “Lila, say nothing, and I’ll say nothing. Let’s make a deal, a mutually beneficial arrangement,” he said, echoing a phrase he must have used in the senate a thousand times. “Name
your terms. I have money. I could help your family while I’m in Beaulac. Your family’s oil rigs—”

  “This isn’t a business deal,” Lila said in disgust. Her need to talk was more than the pain it caused, and the roughness in her voice grated on her ears. “You’ve committed treason and attempted murder.”

  “It wasn’t like that. Damn it, Lila. It’s not like I used what I learned to profit in some business deal, not like the others. I didn’t turn anything over to a foreign power. I’m like you. I punished those who broke into BullNet.”

  “Is that it?”

  “I’m not some murdering psychopath. I wouldn’t have even hurt you if you hadn’t—”

  “Caught you?”

  Lila stood up with some effort and backed away to the door.

  “Look, I can help—”

  She cocked the gun, and the senator closed his mouth.

  “My scarf,” she ordered, her voice clawing at her throat.

  While La Roux fetched a scarf from her closet, Lila retrieved her red woolen coat. She put it on, thrusting one arm and then the other into its sleeves, all while keeping her gun trained on the senator’s head. After he tossed her the scarf, she wound it around her neck, hoping that all signs of their struggle were hidden from view.

  The two scratches on the senator’s face might give them away, as could her jaw and cheek, which had already begun to swell, but there was nothing she could do about it.

  “What happens now?”

  “I escort you out the same way you came in.” Given the hour, her family probably still lurked in their rooms, dressing for dinner. The staff likely busied themselves with last-minute dinner preparations. If she was lucky, she might pass through the entire house and not be seen by anyone.

  Lila pulled the gun into her sleeve, hiding it from view. “If you make any movements toward anyone in this house, I will shoot you. If you try to run, I will shoot you. Do you understand?”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t run. I haven’t done anything wrong, not when the prime minister and his lackeys have been up to the same things.”

  Lila ignored his words, gesturing for him to open the door. She slid into the hallway a few steps behind him, keeping her steps light and her shoulders loose, as though they were doing nothing so interesting as going down to dinner.

  Alex met them at the bottom of the staircase. “Are you attending dinner with the family after all?” she asked, brow furrowed in confusion at the twin scratches above La Roux’s eyes, and Lila’s swelling lip.

  “No. We’re going on a stroll,” the senator answered bitterly. Since Lila knew her voice would give her away, she smiled benignly and inclined her head.

  Alex took the hint and bustled away.

  The pair met no one else on their way to the door but a young footman who was so bent on pleasing the highborn couple with his speed and the shine of his shoes that he did not notice the air that had turned tense.

  Lila breathed easier when they passed through the front door of the great house, even though La Roux stiffened when it closed behind them. Sunset had arrived, and the horizon dimmed.

  Lila shoved the muzzle of her gun into La Roux’s back, reminding him of her instructions.

  La Roux did not budge. Contrary to his earlier promise, he cast about wildly, his legs bent slightly as though he might bolt.

  A group clad in black caught his attention. Four sentries marched toward the couple from thirty meters away, their hands on their Colts.

  It was only then that La Roux finally complied, once he recognized Chief Shaw and two of his officers, all three dressed in Randolph colors for the evening.

  Shaw snapped a pair of handcuffs on the senator’s wrists, pinning his hands behind him. The two officers flanked the prisoner, ensuring he would not run away.

  Shaw winced, spying Lila’s chin. “I’m sorry, madam. By the time I realized there was a struggle upstairs, you already had it well in hand.” Out of the four patrolmen, he was the only one with an earpiece, the only one who had clearance to hear what had been said upstairs.

  “It’s fine.”

  Shaw flinched at the hoarseness in her voice. “Sounds worse out here than it did over the mic. What did he do to you?” he asked, noting the scratches on the senator’s brow.

  La Roux stared at the wet grass under his feet and did not answer.

  Sutton reached out timidly and unwound the scarf around Lila’s neck. The bruises had already begun to form, and even in the dim light, the others could see the handprints plainly, redder than the roses lining the trail through the compound.

  Sutton’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t know what any of this is about, but I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone so much in all my life.”

  “Let the man’s brothers decide his fate, commander. Don’t let them decide yours,” Shaw cautioned.

  “I wasn’t talking about Senator La Roux. Why on earth is she helping you arrest this man? You left him alone with her. She’s an heir, damn it!”

  Lila felt bad for Sutton. She was the only one on the estate who even knew the government militia was on the premises, having driven them through the front gates herself, but she had no idea why Lila had allowed it. “She could have been—”

  “I was my own fault. I should have kept my gun close. I just didn’t think.”

  “He’ll get his punishment soon enough,” Shaw said. “I assure you. He’ll hang next to Celeste and Patrick Wilson.”

  Lila saw the future pass over La Roux’s face, the understanding that an executioner would soon put a noose around his neck. He would not know who wore the hood, tied the knot, and pulled the lever to drop the trapdoor under his boots. All that he would know was that it would be a Masson who did the deed, someone sent by his matron to salvage the family’s honor.

  His own brothers would be the ones to condemn him to his fate, the men of the Saxony Senate that he had wanted to join so intensely. After he saw Sutton’s reaction, after he saw Shaw’s gaze fall on Lila’s neck, he had no more illusions about how they would vote.

  “A moment with the heir, please,” he said.

  Sutton gripped the senator’s shoulder. “Not a chance. We’re driving you back to Bullstow before anyone notices that your hands aren’t behind your back by choice.”

  “You have one minute,” Lila whispered, her voice still on fire. If she didn’t humor him, she’d always wonder what he wanted to say.

  The blackcoats drifted off several meters away, circling around the pair, watching every move the senator made with cold precision.

  “Don’t let them charge me with this. My children, my family, they can’t know. Make something up. I won’t tell them about you or your father, just spare—”

  “Don’t make things worse for yourself. Shaw heard everything. The senate disciplinary committee will see the evidence and hear an edited version of our conversation—your confession in your own words. Go quietly, cooperate, and no one else might know of your crimes but a few Saxon senators who judge your case.”

  “And my family?”

  “Your matron will be informed. Chairwoman Masson will choose someone to finish the job. I doubt she’ll want to tell anyone either. It would shame the family too much.”

  She couldn’t have wounded him as much if she had pulled the Colt from her sleeve, loaded it with bullets rather than darts, and shot him point-blank in the chest. He merely nodded at her and tilted his head for Shaw to lead him away to the waiting car. There was an exchange between the pair of them, and he gave Lila one last parting glance before he crawled inside the backseat, the two Bullstow officers dwarfing him on either side.

  Sutton offered Lila a wave, climbed into the front seat, and drove the vehicle to the south gate. No one would stop the estate’s commander, not if she didn’t stop first.

  Sutton didn’t stop.

  Lila watched the car pul
l from the compound, bound for Bullstow.

  She didn’t return to the house for some time. Lila wrapped her scarf tighter and trudged through the compound, buttoning her red woolen coat to the neck. The air was colder than it had been all year, and the wind lashed the rosebushes, ripping away the new buds.

  She stayed out until she no could longer feel her toes, then slipped back into the great house, through the scullery, and past the kitchens. No one met her on the staircase. The only sign that anyone had been around at all was a tray that had been left on her desk. It contained fruit and her favorite chocolate cookies, but Lila did not eat any of it. Her throat hurt too much, even to swallow a sip of wine.

  Stripping off her scarf and coat, she poured the wine down her bathroom sink, then fell into bed early.

  Chapter 26

  Lila fumbled the vibrating palm on her bedside table and glanced at the dark windows, drapes closed tightly. She tapped the screen, expecting Commander Sutton’s voice on the other end, ready with an emergency.

  “Hello,” she said, then regretted it immediately. Her voice emerged in a hoarse croak, as if she had caught a cold overnight. The jagged, rough pain in her throat and her sore ribs brought everything back. Her new position, Tristan, La Roux, the arrest, her near murder. She buried her head under the pillow at the memories, cheek brushing against a plastic baggie filled with cool water. Sutton had forced it upon her after returning to the compound.

  She shoved the makeshift icepack away.

  “I apologize for the short notice, but I need you to come down to Bullstow as soon as you can,” Chief Shaw said delicately. “I waited for as long as I could, but we have some things to discuss, and we need to get your side of the story.”

  “My side?”

  “For the report. Senator La Roux told us his side. We need to file your side as well. It would also help to take a few pictures, and maybe even get the medical report from your doctor. I can call her for you. Which doctor did you see last night?”