Martyris: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Olson, Yolanda

Bentlee went home about an hour ago and it physically hurt me to let her go. I could see in her eyes that she knew something was wrong, but I made sure she didn’t worry about me without telling her anything. I just promised her that I would see her soon and that was the end of the conversation.

  Arthur invited me to stay in the guest house of his property when he first called me, but I declined. I knew it would be a rare thing to get a face to face audience with him but I just don’t have it in my heart to betray a brother.

  Not even for the man in charge.

  I rub my face tiredly as I lean down and swipe a piece of dust off my boot. After I clean my hands on the leg of my jeans, I run them back over the sides of my head. The guys always tease me and tell me that I look like a party boy from Santa Monica, because I like to keep my dark blonde hair shaped and pushed out of my face, but it just makes shit easier than having to worry about strays getting into my eyes at the wrong moments.

  Bunch of pretty boys, I think with a chuckle as I lean back against the cushions and grab the remote off the arm of the couch. I turn the television on and flip mindlessly for a while until I finally find a program to catch my attention. It’s a rerun from the eighties, but it’s a sit-com and I know that I’m going to need to feel more cheerful than I presently do.

  When I hear the burner phone ringing in the room somewhere, I sigh heavily and rest my head on the arm of the couch. I know it’s the burner because it has the most annoying, high-pitched ring I’ve ever fucking heard. I should get up and answer it because it could be Arthur again, or Hell, it could even be Tristan letting me know how Lynette’s doing, but I’m not interested right now.

  I’m becoming far too interested in what shenanigans the shoe salesman on the television screen is going to get up to.

  But the sudden knock at my door forces me to finally break away from the world I’ve tried so desperately to become immersed in and interact with reality.

  With a heavy sigh, I push myself off the couch and walk over to the door, my eyes still trained on the television. I smile at the blundering shoe salesman, before I turn my attention toward the peephole in the door.

  I squint then chuckle when I see Tristan came back after all.

  “Hey man,” I greet him as I pull the door open.

  “Lynette’s fine. I have to get out of here though. I just wanted to keep my word and let you know that I checked up on her is all,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He darts his eyes up and down the street nervously and I reach over to give him a thankful clap on the shoulder.

  “I’ll see you again,” I promise him quietly. He nods before he turns and walks quickly down the street, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

  I decide, that as long as I’m up, I’ll go see who called me. Where the hell did I put that damn phone, I wonder as I chew my lower lip and glance around the room.

  When my eyes finally fall on it, I smirk and wander over to retrieve it. Sitting back down on the couch, I flip the phone open and watch the shenanigans on the television for another ten seconds before I glance down at the caller I.D.

  “Fuck.”

  Chapter 4

  "Sorry. Bentlee was here,” I say sheepishly into the phone. It’s not an entire lie, but a half-truth can work wonders sometimes. Especially when you’re trying to keep a brother safe.

  “Right,” comes the good-natured laugh. “So that wasn’t Tristan I just saw hauling ass down the street.”

  I roll my eyes.

  Lance can be such an asshole sometimes.

  “It was just my turn to look out for him,” I reply evenly. “And Bentlee was here—she left early this morning.”

  “Take it easy, Gareth. I’m not disputing that,” he replies, chuckling again. “Anyway, I’ve got your gloves, so come out, or I’ll come in to get you. We’ve got shit to take care of.”

  The line clicks dead and I rub my face irritably. I have one day left to decide now and Lance has taken the decision out of my hands.

  I can’t exactly tell him no, but it would be nice if more of these guys stuck to their goddamn word like Tristan does.

  I grab the remote, turn off the television, then toss it onto the couch as I make my way to the kitchen and grab my house keys of the counter. I don’t know what the urgency is, especially when I haven’t even been told who the actual mark is yet, but Arthur told me that he knew that I was the only person that could handle it.

  So why he’s sending Lance with me is fucking beyond me.

  I get that we’re an organization of assassins, but sometimes the secrecy can be way too much to bear.

  I step out into the late morning sunlight, and use my hand to shield my eyes as I make sure that the door behind me is locked. Glancing up and down the street, I force a smile onto my face when I see Lance leaning against the lamppost at the end of the block. He’s got a black backpack firmly gripped in his hands and I know what’s in there.

  It’s what I use when I take down a target. It’s more personal this way and a hell of a lot more bloody.

  It serves as a reminder that things came to an end this way because of what was done against the Cavalieri Della Morte—why someone ended up on Arthur’s radar.

  I walk toward him quickly because I want this to be over sooner rather than later. While I don’t shy away from taking a life, and enjoy it more than the rest of them, I don’t like how I lose control when it happens.

  I become something else.

  The Boogeyman in the closet watching children sleep. The monster under the bed that tries to grab your ankle and drag you into a dark and terrifying abyss.

  “Here you go,” he calls out when I’m close enough to hear him. He holds the bag out to me before he spins on his heel and I raise an eyebrow.

  “Wait; I thought you were coming with me?” I say in obvious confusion.

  Lance stops walking and turns to glance at me over his shoulder. His eyes lock onto mine and he smiles slightly as he shakes his head.

  “No. This one is yours,” he replies slowly.

  “Arthur said it was the both of us.”

  Lance shakes his head again, “You don’t need me for this, Gareth. You’ll be okay.”

  * * *

  It’s been about twenty minutes since I watched Lance walk away. It’s been about thirty since Tristan left, and four hours that I last saw Bentlee.

  And of all the people that I’ve dealt with in the last twenty four hours, the only person I find myself concerned for is me.

  I have no direction, no name, no one to stand by me when I need the help to come back down from the high that hits me after I take down a mark and I don’t know what to do right now.

  It’s not unusual to get minimal information when it comes to my turn to enter the rodeo because I’m considered one of the most kind and trustworthy, the element of surprise is almost always used to shock me into action.

  As I hoist the backpack strap over my shoulder, I let out another sigh as I start to walk down the street.

  I don’t know where I’m going or where this road will lead.

  I just know that it needs to end in death and that’s something I’m damn good at.

  Chapter 5

  "Thanks,” I tell the young waitress inside of The Savant. Working on an empty stomach makes me unreasonably cruel, and I like to avoid that when it’s time to slip the ol' gloves on and get a little dirty.

  She smiles brightly before inquiring if I need anything else at the moment, then turning and walking away, switching her hips like a pro.

  I chuckle as I watch her ass for moment, raising the cup of coffee to my lips, then shake my head.

  Bentlee may be my favorite girl, but she’s not entirely mine since we never made anything official, yet somehow I always manage to feel a twinge of guilt when I find myself appreciating someone that isn’t her.

  I glance out the window as I place my cup down and begin to absentmindedly drum my fingers along the tabletop.

  I have the phone that Arthur ga
ve us sitting on the table next to my personal one and neither have rung. Not a text from Bentlee, not a call from even Lance or any of my other brothers, and I’m starting to wonder what the game is.

  Sometimes I find myself wondering if he sends us on wild goose chases just to see if we’re always ready to bend to his will. He’s not as much of a bastard as we make him out to be, though he does like to get his rocks off by seeing how high we’re willing to jump when he tells us to.

  Fucking waste of time, I think irritably as I run a hand over my face. I don’t like being made to sit around and wonder about shit. It usually ends up fucking me mentally in the end.

  And just like that, the burner begins to ring. It’s almost as if he knows that I’m about to bail on this game of chasing my own tail.

  “Yeah?” I ask into the receiver.

  “Where are you?”

  It’s Arthur.

  “At The Savant,” I reply sitting back and glancing up at the ceiling. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had cameras installed in every fucking building across the United States to keep tabs on us.

  “Have you figured out what I need you to do yet, Gareth?”

  His voice is tired, annoyed, and a little giddy, which is odd for Arthur.

  “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting around waiting for clues to drop out of the sky,” I reply as calmly as I can.

  I’ve lost my temper with him on countless occasions, and it hasn’t won me any favors yet.

  “Did anyone find the priest?” he asks suddenly, changing the conversation.

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  He hates one word answers almost as much as I hate being told to jump and not know where the fuck I’m landing.

  “Rodents ate his face. His head was barely hanging onto his neck, too. I guess they were hungry,” I report as I lower my voice. I don’t think anyone else in the diner wants to hear the specifics of my last kill anymore than I would want to hear the bastard priest begging me for his life again.

  “Good.” His tone is satisfied, proud even, and I roll my eyes.

  “Hey, so you know how x marks the spot?” I begin conversationally. “Usually there’s a treasure map that gives you hints as to where x may be.”

  Arthur chuckles into the phone as a response. “You’re a smart boy, Gareth. You’ll figure it out soon enough. Get the job done.”

  The line clicks off and I have to fight the urge to throw it through the large glass pane that sits next to my table. Instead, I sigh loudly, pick up both phones and secure them inside of my backpack as I get to my feet and toss money on the table.

  He’s not going to make this easy, which means I’m going to have my fucking work cut out for me.

  Chapter 6

  Vegas is a ghost town during the day. I know it sounds almost impossible to believe, because in a way, it’s not the exact truth.

  I ignore most people and that makes my life a lot easier. Especially since I never know who’s going to end up on Arthur’s Fuck It list. The less people I know, the easier it is to kill when the time comes.

  I guess being a loner is easiest when it comes to this way of life and besides Bentlee and the rest of the Cavalieri, I really don’t need any form of human contact.

  Probably because I consider myself more of an animal than anything else. You have to be a special kind of fucked up to do the things we do, and even more so to enjoy it.

  I glance up at the street sign and roll my eyes when I see that I’m about to cross onto South Las Vegas Boulevard. That’s the last place I want to be right now because life never really dies there.

  Tourists are the bane of my existence. I only stay here because I don’t know where I could possibly move Bentlee too and it’s a good place to hide Tristan when he’s in town with Queenie.

  With over six-hundred-thousand people roaming this damn city, it would be hard for someone to find him—even a man like Arthur.

  Maybe I’ll move to New York City. It’s twice the population and Bent’s never seen the bright lights there, I muse to myself as I move quickly down the Strip.

  I shift my backpack from one shoulder to the other and raise my hand to block the sunlight for a moment.

  This can’t be where I need to be.

  There’s nothing here right now other than old men probably looking for The Bunny Ranch and college frat boys wanting to get smashed so early during the day.

  There has to be something I’m not understanding. A riddle I can’t decipher—a missed clue. We’re never given a command to follow and then left with nothing to go on.

  Even if it’s the most minuscule of hints, there’s always something.

  Time is running out for me and it’s starting to set me on edge. I hate that he does this and I hate that Lance isn’t here with me. I hate that Tristan is on the run again and most of all, I hate that I’m not in bed with Bentlee, holding her close and keeping her safe from whatever imaginary monsters are more than likely plaguing her this time.

  Think, Gareth.

  I take the moment to set my backpack down on the cement sidewalk and unzip it, reaching in for both of the phones.

  I grab mine first and tap the screen to life, enter my security code, then call Bent. I want to make sure she’s okay even though I know she is.

  After about five rings, I give up. If she sees my number and wants to talk, she’ll call back. If she doesn’t, I can always drop in on her.

  Next I reach back in and fish around for the burner phone, flip the screen up with my thumb and chuckle.

  Tick, tock.

  A simple text message from the head of the organization.

  A warning that if the job isn’t done when he needs it to be, then my blood will spill in place of the condemned.

  Chapter 7

  I’ve been laying on my couch for about three hours, legs crossed at the ankles, and hands folded behind my neck. I spent all fucking day roaming around any street I could think of that might yield a clue, to no avail.

  I won’t call Arthur and I still haven’t responded to his text. I know I’m being watched, and honestly, I don’t care. He won’t send anyone after me, and the one person that he might consider, won’t do me any harm.

  It’s how brotherhoods work.

  We watch each other’s backs and take care of each other in our own ways.

  I just wish Bent would fucking call me back.

  The sun has long since gone down and I’m pretty sure it’s almost midnight which means that soon, I’ll have less than twenty-four hours to figure out whatever the hell it is I’m supposed to do.

  I close my eyes.

  I won’t go to sleep because that’s something that I’ve never been any good at, but I will take this quiet time to think. Not that being alone with my own thoughts is usually a good thing, but since I’m alone, there’s no danger of losing my shit and hurting anyone unintentionally.

  Bent’s face appears in the darkness I’ve engulfed myself in, pushing away any negative feeling that’s befallen me.

  Those beautiful amber eyes that I love so much, the way her hair falls around her face in cherry waves, the rosy pink color that fills her cheeks each time she sees me watching her.

  God, I can almost remember the first time I saw that beautiful face.

  It was ten years ago, she was five years old and followed me around like I was the most amazing thing she’d ever seen. I didn’t think anything of it. I thought she was a fun kid, and no one else seemed to mind her being around either.

  Of course, things changed about a year ago right on this very couch. I was sound asleep while she slept in my bed. Her father was a motherfucker to her, so I would let her crash with me whenever she wanted, and for some reason, she always felt safest with me.

  It was when I woke up to her sucking my dick like a goddamn two-dollar whore that everything changed.

  I should have pushed her off, I know this. I should have shouted at her and told her that I was too old for her—I know that, too, but n
o one in my entire life has ever made me feel the way she does.

  I’ve got twelve years on the girl and no one seems to give a shit. We don’t, either, I just know that once she’s a proper woman, she’ll probably find a new bed to crawl into and that I’ll be a distant memory, and that’s okay.

  Kids grow up; that’s what they do.

  Not that she’ll ever really leave me. Her father is my cousin on my mother’s side, and those psychopaths always find a way to stick around.

  None of them know the extent of our relationship, and it’s really not their business, since there isn’t much of a relationship to talk about.

  We fuck each other and then she disappears for days at a time, while I work.

  Balance.

  Pursing my lips, I open my eyes again and glance at the time on the clock behind the entertainment center.

  That entire memory took all of three minutes and I’m still no closer to finding out what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing.

  Suddenly I sit up, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  I’ve seen three people in the last day or so.

  Tristan, Lance …

  And Bentlee.

  One of them is Arthur’s latest mark and since Tristan isn’t getting off that list any time soon, it’s either my lover or my best friend.

  Chapter 8

  “Hey!”

  Bent smiles up at me as she lingers in the doorway in her white camisole top and her lacy black boy shorts.

  I push past her without a word. She curses at me, but I ignore it. I have to make sure her house isn’t bugged so to speak and then I have to get her the fuck out of here.

  Once I’ve swept the place and am satisfied that no one is listening in on our conversation, I walk back to where she’s still standing by the front door.

  “I have to ask you something,” I start hesitantly.

  She pouts, crosses her arms over her chest, and leans back against the door. She’s pissed that I blew past her without a kiss, but she’ll have to get over it for the time being.