“Has anyone you don’t know been by?” I ask her, rubbing my chin doubtfully. “Someone that asked you questions or … um …”
When my voice trails off, she arches an eyebrow and looks at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
“Gareth, what are you talking about?” she quips, reaching up and pushing her hair behind her ears. “No one knows where I live except for you—you made sure of that.”
I chuckle despite my mood.
She doesn’t live in the greatest place in the world, but I knew that no one would ever come looking for her at an abandoned whore house. And by anyone, I mean her piece of shit father.
“Nothing, I guess,” I finally say as I dig my hands deep into my pockets. “Do you wanna go back to my place?”
“Sure!” she agrees brightly.
As she begins to walk past me, I gently grip her by the forearm and when she looks at me, I give her an inquisitive look.
“Why are you awake right now?”
“Because you were pounding on my damn door,” she replies with an eye roll.
“No, you look like you’re wide awake,” I reply with the shake of my head. “How come?”
She shrugs as she slips her hand into mine and leads me back toward her small bedroom. I linger in the doorway as she packs a bag, glance around the room, and let out a loud sigh.
Walking over to her bed, I sit down, grab the dark amber-colored prescription bottle off her night stand and hold it in my hands. I won’t look up at her because disappointing someone always fucks with her more than anger.
And I am damn disappointed right now.
“I thought you weren’t going to take these anymore,” I say to her as I read the label. ADDERALL stares back up at me and Bent comes over with a huff, swiping the bottle out of my hand.
“I only took three! I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but I get lonely out here and I missed you and I … I just didn’t want to go to sleep because I didn’t know …”
A sad smile creases my lips.
You didn’t know if the monsters would be waiting for you in the dark.
I finish her sentence in my mind.
I know that rhetoric like the back of my hand because it’s the same one she used to seduce me with and it’s what she says to get out of the shit she manages to drum up for her self.
I guess having someone in the Cavalieri Della Morte that can fight the “monsters” and cares about her helps.
“Please stop taking them,” I quietly say to her for what seems like the millionth time.
“I’ll try,” she replies, her voice cracking slightly.
I look up at Bentlee and the smile on my face, while sad, widens slightly. She does try; I’ll give her that. She tries to be the kind of girl she thinks I’ll love one day. She tries to be the kind of girl that she thinks can survive in the world on her own in the event that something ever happened to me.
She tries so damn hard, but sometimes, it’s not good enough, and she knows it.
I know it.
But that won’t stop me from making damn sure that while I can breathe air into this body of mine, from protecting her from her “monsters”.
All of them.
The ones she can’t see, the ones under her bed, and the biggest one of all that’s sitting right in front of her.
Chapter 9
I wait patiently as she clicks her seatbelt into place. Bent’s always loved this damn car, though I can’t imagine why. It’s a brand new, midnight blue Acura NSX, and this fucker can go. Sometimes I like to hit the gas hard when she’s in the car because it makes her happy.
Dangerous things makes the girl ecstatic and it makes sense in a way. After all, look at us. We couldn’t be more mismatched, but I think she sticks around since I’m the only person in her life who hasn’t shooed her away.
I don’t see any point in making someone who’s down feel worse than shit, and she doesn’t bother. She just hates the days and nights she spends alone when I’m working, and that’s understandable.
But I don’t have the time to reason this arrangement to myself right now when I need to get her to the safest place I can think of, and that’s my place.
I glance in the back of the car while I wait for Bentlee to let me know that she’s ready to go, and then turn my attention to her when I see my backpack is still tucked on the floor behind her seat.
“All set?” I ask her with a nervous glance in the rear-view. She nods as she neatly folds her hands on her lap and I turn the car on, put it in gear, and shoot out of the spot in front of her house.
“Did you even look to see if anyone was coming?” she asks with a high-pitched giggle.
That’s the point.
“Yeah,” I reply honestly. She doesn’t have to know the level of honesty, only that I’m making sure that no one is indeed coming after us.
Bent clears her throat and turns on the radio, finding some pop station, and I groan. I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s grinning from ear to ear. She likes that bubblegum crap while I prefer harder music.
It’s no matter, though.
When I’m with her, I want to make sure she’s happy, even if it means having to listen to this teen dream bullshit.
“So why are you awake?”she asks when the radio gives me a short reprieve and begins to play commercials.
“I don’t sleep, you know that,” I say with a laugh.
“You have to sleep sometime,” she replies cheerfully.
“Easiest when you’re in my bed,’ I tell her softly.
It’s not an invitation to anything regardless of how it sounds, but it’s the damn truth and we both know it.
“Well, stop making me leave and maybe you’d be blessed with a regular sleep schedule,” Bentlee says dryly.
I laugh again.
For as young as she is, she’s still smarter than most adults I know. Another cheesy pop song comes on, but I happen to know this one since she plays the shit out of it when she’s in a good mood, and my fingers involuntarily begin to drum along the steering wheel in time with the beat.
“I knew you liked this song,” she says triumphantly.
“Chill out, Bent. You’ve played this enough times for me to know how to write out the damn chords myself,” I reply, glancing at her with a grin.
She smiles at me.
It’s a genuine smile of happiness and I can feel myself becoming a lot calmer than I was a few hours ago. My home may be her safe place, but anywhere with her is mine.
“Watch the road, tough guy,” she says as she unbuckles her seatbelt and slides over to me. I give her a curious look, but when she lays a hand on my thigh and lightly kisses my neck, I know that my unintentional invitation has been accepted.
“Bent—”
“Let me take care of you, Gareth,” she says, running her lips against my ear, “it’s the least I can do.”
I feel sick.
It’s obvious to me now that Bentlee thinks that keeping me fucked is a trade-off for keeping her safe and that’s not the case at all.
“Wait a minute,” I say, shrugging up my shoulder, but she won’t have any arguments out of me.
Not now.
Not ever.
Her hand slides into the inseam of my pants, as she kisses my neck again, then grabs my hardening dick in her hand through my jeans. Her fingers quickly move up, nimbly undoing the zipper, and as soon as she pulls it down, she slides her hand in.
My breath catches in my throat as she kisses my neck again. A distraction, that while welcomed at this moment, isn’t what I need.
It doesn’t stop Bentlee Gains, though.
Nothing ever does when she’s after something she wants and when she pulls my dick through the fly of my boxer briefs and jeans, she takes what’s hers.
I grind my teeth, grip the steering wheel tightly with one hand while placing the other on top of her head and pray to God that I can keep my eyes open long enough to get us safely back home. It’s not sleep tha
t’s plaguing me right now, it’s unbridled fucking lust and this little lady is damn good with that mouth of hers.
Her head bobs up and down as she sucks my cock all the way to the back of her throat. It’s what she does when she wants me to come, but I’m not ready yet and besides, this is my first time getting road head. I don’t want to kill us in a horrific car crash all because I busted a nut.
“Fuck, Bent,” I grunt through clenched teeth.
She takes her mouth off my dick with a resounding pop, and I laugh slightly. I hate it when she does that. Not because it doesn’t feel good, but more so because it’s unnecessary and almost childish.
“Want me to stop?” she asks me with wide, innocent eyes as she uses the back of her free hand to wipe her mouth.
No.
“Yes, Bent. I’d like to get us back home in one piece,” I say to her gently.
She pouts but dutifully puts my dick back where she found it. I’m still hard, but if I ignore it, it’ll go down and maybe when we get home, I’ll have changed my mind and let her finish what she started.
Chapter 10
Bentlee’s long since gone into my home, but I haven’t left my car yet. She didn’t see it when she went in, but I did. It’s sitting on the side of the hedge with a big black bow waiting to be opened.
My baby girl is so fucking oblivious sometimes, that I’m not surprised she walked right by it like it didn’t exist, but I see it and it’s unnerving me.
It’s not very big, which is a slight mercy, but it still has me frozen in the driver’s seat. When the text message notification dings on my phone, I jump slightly. I know it’s my phone and not the burner because I tend to put that one on silent when I’m with Bent.
I reach back for my backpack, pull it into the passenger seat and fish my phone out of the bag, tapping the screen to life.
The back of my neck becomes hot as I let out a low whistle of appreciation. Bentlee’s on my bed in the picture, propped up on her elbows, her tits hanging freely, and biting her lower lip.
She obviously wants me to come inside, and is probably getting a little pissed off at being made to wait.
Girls will be girls, I think with a chuckle as I toss the phone back into my backpack and push the driver’s side door open. With a deep breath, I walk around the car, scoop up the package that’s been sat by the hedge for Christ knows how long with my name scrawled in the upper right hand corner, and finally head inside.
* * *
The cool sheets feel amazing against my bare skin. Bentlee’s curled up against me and I have an arm firmly tucked around her tiny frame. We didn’t fuck, but I did let her suck my dick until I came in her mouth, which always makes her happy.
The package in the living room is burning a hole through my couch and my goddamn soul since I placed it there. Even now that I can’t see it, the contents—which are still a mystery—are fucking with my head.
I have to figure out a way to get out of the bed without waking up Bentlee, but once we’re curled up together, it takes the effort of one hundred men to move me from her arms.
I still have to try.
Taking a steadying breath, I gently and slowly begin to move my arm from underneath her, doing my best not to wake her up. After what feels like a goddamn century, I’m finally free of Bentlee’s embrace and feeling like less of a man for it.
I begin to edge myself toward the side of the bed. If I can just get my feet down without the bed creaking … Ha!
I glance at her over my shoulder as I ease myself off the bed and begin walking toward the bedroom door.
The package with the big black bow is still sitting where I left it, which in a way, is a blessing as much as it is a curse.
It means that no one has come into my home while I let my girl take care of me. It means she’s still safe from any danger that she may potentially be in until I can figure out the fucking wild goose chase I’ve been sent on.
I clear my throat as I sit next to the package and give it a gentle poke. Nothing greets my ears. No sound from inside, no clue as to what could be inside, which means I just have to open the fucking thing.
I pick it up and place it on the coffee table which I pull closer to the couch and give the black bow a tug. It gives way easily enough and when I’ve undone the rest of it, I drop it on the side of the package, then flip the cardboard lids open.
I glance in quickly; like ripping a band-aid off because I’m sure whatever happens to be inside will be likened to a wound.
But when my eyes settle on the contents, my brow furrows in confusion. I reach in and pull out the clock.
We’re all there.
Tristan, Lance, Kay, Geraint, Seth, Dagger, Gawain, Dustan, Niko, Percivale, Bors, Arthur, and me. Each on a number of the clock, staring back up at me with accusing eyes, with Arthur dead center.
And across the plastic covering two simple words to let me know that my time is winding down and I have to deliver soon.
Tick, tock.
Chapter 11
The clock’s been smashed to pieces and tossed into the trash. Bentlee came out in the middle of my fit and stood by quietly, watching me with curious and cautious eyes, until I was done.
I’m leaning against the counter in the kitchen now, my knuckles white from how tightly I’m gripping the edge, and Bent comes over to put her arms around me. She doesn’t say anything, she just rests her head against my chest and holds me close.
She never knows how to calm me down and I like to let her think that her technique works. I’d never hurt her—no matter what, and having her here with me, trying to help me be myself again is more than enough, even though it’s really not.
“Is it them again?” she asks, turning her eyes up toward me. I hold her gaze for a moment, then nod once.
Bent obviously doesn’t know the extent of who we are or what we do, but she does know enough to keep her from asking questions she doesn’t have the right to ask.
“Can I do anything to help, Gareth?” she presses gently.
I let out a long-winded sigh, and just as I’m about to tell her to go back to bed, I remember something.
“Actually … I think there is,” I say, pulling her arms from around my body and walking back into the living room. I sit on the couch, Bentlee following close behind me, and hold up the box to her. “You’re a smart girl,” I begin as I pat the now empty spot on the coffee table, “look at this and tell me if you recognize the handwriting.”
Bentlee dutifully picks up the box and tilts it to the side, along with her head, narrowing her eyes, then lets out a laugh.
“It’s mine, Gareth.”
What the fuck.
“Are you telling me you left this outside?” I ask her in an even tone.
“What? No! I was gone this whole time! But look,” she instructs leaning closer to me and holding the edge of the box toward me, “it’s a forgery. You can see where the carbon paper was held against it.”
Then it was Arthur. No, it can’t be. He barely leaves New Orleans and this is much too far for him to travel to play some trivial game like this.
“Who the hell did this?” I murmur to myself.
“Damned if I know,” she answers with a shrug. “What was in it though? The box I mean. Whatever it was sent you into a proper tizzy.”
“A clock,” I say absentmindedly as I shape my hands in a circle, “with all of our faces on a number.”
“Well, what number were you? One?” she asks thoughtfully. Bentlee crosses a leg over the other and waits patiently while I try to remember the damned thing before the rage descended on me.
“Nine. I think.”
“Today’s the eighth—for a few more hours anyway,” she says as she glances at the clock behind her.
“Which makes tomorrow the ninth,” I say slowly. Which just so happens to be my last day to find and eliminate the mark.
“Fuck!” I shout as I get to my feet and run my hands through my hair irritably. It’s not Lance—there’
s no way in hell that Arthur would sanction a hit on him. It can’t be Bentlee because she hasn’t done anything to earn his ire.
It has to be Tristan.
He wants him dead by tomorrow for what he’s done to him and he chose me for the task because he knows that I’ll do whatever I can to protect the only person in the world that actually means something to me.
He’ll threaten to take Bentlee into his fucking hostel of whores and pimp her out if I fail.
And I can’t let that happen.
It’s not a fucking option that I’m even willing to consider.
Chapter 12
I wake up with a start.
Somewhere between putting one of the puzzle pieces together and getting closer to deciphering the riddle, I fell asleep on the couch.
Bentlee’s gone again.
I can tell by how lonely the air feels.
It resonates around me since home feels a hell of a lot more empty now.
It’s day two; the ninth and I’ve run out of time. On top of everything else, I’ve run out of fucking time.
I rub my face quickly and get to my feet. There’s still the mark left to find, and I’m convinced it’s Tristan. The problem with him, is that when he and Queenie make a run for it, they do a damn good job of fucking disappearing.
On the way to the bathroom, I grab the burner phone and dial his number. It may take him a moment to answer because chances are, he’ll think it’s Arthur, but if he feels brave, he’ll see it’s me and answer his phone.
“Hello?”
He sounds winded, tired, and a little nervous, but at least he answered the phone.
“Where are you?” I ask as I open the medicine cabinet and reach for my toothbrush. I know that my tone is harsh and demanding, but I don’t know how else to be right now.
I have to save Bentlee, and while I never thought I would sacrifice a brother to do it, I don’t have any other choice that I can make.
Martyris: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 3