Martyris: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Olson, Yolanda

  “Um, why?” he asks quickly.

  I squeeze a generous amount of toothpaste onto the bristles, run it under the cool tap, then begin to scrub my teeth furiously.

  “Because I need to see you, man,” I tell him after I spit into the sink. “Are you alone? Is Queenie with you?”

  “Gareth, are you okay?”

  Tristan sounds genuinely concerned for me and it makes me feel like shit.

  “I’ll be fine once you tell me where you are,” I tell him with a forced laugh as I turn off the faucet. Grabbing one of the small hand towels in the linen closet, I wipe my face clean, then toss it into the hamper and lean against the sink. “Are you gonna tell me or do I have to find you? Because if I have to go searching for you, I’m gonna be in a bad mood when I get there, brother.”

  Tristan clears his throat. I can hear the shuffle of him covering the receiver with his hand, and mumbled conversation. I smile despite myself, because the only person he’d be talking to face to face besides me or one of us that isn’t Arthur, is Queenie.

  “Still in Vegas,” he finally says.

  “Where in Vegas?” I press. I’m trying to keep my head on straight, but the faster I get rid of him, the faster I can get Bentlee back from wherever the hell it is she disappeared to.

  Tristan sighs into the receiver loudly. I understand his sudden caution right now. I’ve never been this pushy with him before and he probably can feel the danger on the horizon.

  “I’ll meet you at The Warehouse.”

  The line clicks dead and I find myself wondering if I can really do this. I swore an oath to protect him and now I’m finding a reason to justify that I’m going to do him harm.

  It doesn’t matter.

  Nothing does.

  Until I get Bentlee back in my arms, everyone is a fucking mark and I’ll kill them all to get her back.

  Chapter 13

  My heart is heavy.

  I’m walking into The Warehouse, my favorite abandoned building to work in, to take a life I have no right laying claim to.

  I understand Arthur’s reasoning, and I know it’s my job to do as I’m told, but I don’t foresee forgiving myself for this for a long time to come.

  Shifting the backpack off my shoulder, I reach in for my gloves and let the bag fall onto the dusty ground. Nothing inside of me will want to be in this fucking organization after this so I won’t need anything to carry these in anymore. I shrug my jacket off and kick it to hell. I don’t care where it goes and I won’t look for it when I know I won’t be able to even look at myself in the mirror anymore.

  Materialistic things never mattered to me before and besides—the very man that gave me that jacket as a gift is the same man that’s going to add another layer of blood to my gloves.

  I crack my neck as I pull on the left one, pulling the strap into place, before I pull on the other and use my teeth to pull the strap tightly enough that I know it won’t fall off.

  “Tristan?” I call out into the darkness. I flex my fingers inside of the gloves as I walk down the empty, desolate hallway that feels as empty as I do, and call for him again. “Tristan?”

  “In here!”

  His voice is wrought with nerves and fear, but at the end of the hallway on the right, I can see a dim light emanating from one of the many empty rooms and I take a deep breath.

  I’m sorry.

  Epilogue

  “What … what the fuck’s going on?” I ask when I enter the room.

  They’re all here.

  Tristan, Lance, Kay, Geraint, Seth, Dagger, Gawain, Dustan, Niko, Percivale, Bors, and even Arthur, like the hands on the clock staring at me, but this time, no accusing gaze greets me. This time, I’m met with sad eyes, and old friends waiting for me to enter the room entirely.

  “Come here, Gareth,” Arthur says softly, extending an arm toward me.

  I shift from one foot to the other and cut my eyes from him toward Tristan. “You didn’t have to babysit me. I figured it out and it’ll get done.”

  Arthur gives me a sad smile, and when I see Lance use his knuckle to wipe a tear away from the corner of his eye, I feel even more confused than I did when I first walked into the room.

  “Who do you think the mark is this time?” Arthur asks me gently as he comes over and rests a hand on my shoulder.

  “Tristan,” I reply shrugging out of his grasp. “And I’ll get this done, but no more. After this, I’m out.”

  “It’s not Tristan, man,” Lance says quietly. I look over at him with raised eyebrows and then back to Arthur.

  “You’re not doing well, Gareth. I’ve been watching you for a while now and ever since Bentlee died last year, you’ve been on a downward spiral.’

  What?

  I take a step away from him, angry, hurt, and biting my lower lip to keep the tears from spilling over.

  “Bentlee’s not dead,” I finally manage to say through grit teeth.

  Lance walks over to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. When I attempt to shrug away from him, he refuses to let go and forces me to look him in the eye.

  “Bent’s gone, Gareth. She died the night before you killed the priest. Remember?”

  My head feels heavy.

  Like all of the memories I’ve been suppressing are threatening to crush my skull in.

  “She’s not dead!” I shout at him. “I’ve been with her the past couple of days! Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Um. She hasn’t. It’s why I came to see you,” Tristan says, shooting a nervous glance toward Arthur. “I was worried about you. I heard you talking to yourself in your room and that’s when I left. I didn’t know what else to do, so I called Lance.”

  “And I called Arthur,” Lance pipes in. “He agreed to call a momentary truce so we could all come here and check on you as a brotherhood, but Gareth … There’s nothing we can do to help you if you won’t help yourself.”

  And that’s when it hits me.

  Everything I’ve been denying for the past week,hits me so fucking hard that I stagger on my feet and almost fall down.

  Bentlee is dead.

  Arthur set the mark on the priest because I begged him for recompance convinced that the bastard had her killed. She had run to him for help and he sent her back to her piece of shit father. She couldn’t take it after only a day and ended up hanging herself.

  Death by association was enough for me to want his blood.

  He gave me that to help me and it failed.

  “I can’t watch this,” Lance suddenly says, a sob escaping from him. He steps forward hugs me tightly and tells me that he loves me before he leaves the room.

  “Watch what?” I ask Arthur.

  “You’re the mark this time. I’m sorry, but there’s no other way and no one else would take this assignment. It’s time, Gareth. I’ll miss you so fucking much, but you need to be at peace and that will only come to you when you’re with Bentlee again.”

  I look down at my gloves.

  The blood stains of so many dead men that have fallen to my hands coat the metal and I chuckle as a tear slides down my cheek.

  I understand now.

  The riddle was always easy, but I chose to ignore the answer hoping that I would be wrong.

  I look up at Tristan and smile shamefully. “I’m sorry I considered it.”

  He looks away as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s okay. I would have done it for Sophie too.”

  I look at each of my brothers in turn and nod my farewell to them. They all look so heartbroken right now, but I … I think I’m finally going to be happy.

  Arthur’s right.

  The only way I’ll be at peace is to be with Bent. That’s why I left the package for myself by the hedge. That’s why I spent so much time in bed and at her home—because even though I always knew that she wasn’t really there, I could still feel her.

  I roll my neck on my shoulders, then reach down and do my best to pull my shirt over my head as I walk into the center
of the room.

  They follow me.

  All of the ones that are left.

  They form a circle around me and as soon as I raise my glove to eye level, I can see Lance lingering in the doorway.

  He’s not here to watch me die, but to assure me that we’ll always be a brotherhood, and I appreciate him for that.

  This will make them stronger, I think to myself as I smile at him.

  I nod at him, one final good-bye, as I begin to furiously attack myself with the gloves.

  The pain is stinging.

  The flesh peeling away feels like lava as the chunks begin to hit the floor with a sickening wet sound, but I push through it.

  I’ve never shied away from taking a life and I won’t start now.

  As my soul starts fading away from my torn and battered body; as I fall to my knees and keep digging at myself as best as I can, I see her.

  Standing just outside the circle of the Cavalieri Della Morte is Bentlee Gains. With her beautiful amber-colored eyes, her face framed by her cherry waves, and a smile on her face.

  Only a few more strikes and we’ll finally be together again.

  And this time, it will be forever.

  The Cavalieri Della Morte Series

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  Martyris - Yolanda Olson

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  His Salvation - Claire Marta

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  Ivy’s Poison - India R Adams

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  A Cruel Love - S.M. Soto

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  Darkest Deeds - Cora Kenborn

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  Scarlet Mark - Lexi C. Foss

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  Delinquent - Ally Vance

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  Redemption - Anna Edwards

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  Valor - Measha Stone

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  Sorrow's Queen - Ashleigh Giannoccaro

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  Inexorable - Jo-Anne Joseph

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  A Sneak Peek at His Salvation

  Kay

  Wisps of white curl up into the cold Rome winter air. Gaze fixed on them, I watch as they dissipate. The soft orange glow of my cigarette burns brightly in the dark. Perched on the roof of the hotel, I admire the brightness held between two fingers. A tiny speck in the movement of the ancient city going unnoticed, much like myself.

  It’s something to do with my hands when they can’t be occupied with other things. A knife or gun. The sexy willing curves of a woman I’m about to sink my cock into. Not that I’ve been doing the last one a lot lately. My boss, Arthur, has been keeping me balls deep in work and on the move. It’s not often I get a moment to myself, nowadays. A second to reflect. It won’t last long. My mark will be done fucking soon. Tracking her movements over the last week has been simple enough.

  She isn’t the clean-cut business woman she seems. Enmeshed in the sex trafficking trade, her wealth comes from the misery of others. A key cog in the organization running things behind the scenes. Her death is meant to be a message.

  Someone wants her dead. A warning to them.

  That’s where I come in.

  Kay Lockwood.

  I’m always discrete.

  A hitman of the highest caliber.

  A bullet to the head or a new home in a shallow unmarked grave, I never fail when I’m given a task. I’ve lost count of the lives I’ve snuffed out. There are too many to tally.

  My name brings only fear and respect.

  I’m best of the best. One of an elite cast of killers.

  A shadow.

  We're the bogymen.

  The monsters other criminals whisper about.

  They have no fucking idea how accurate they are.

  Like the rest of the men of the Cavalieri della morte, I’m hardened by the life we choose to lead.

  Assassins. Mercenaries. Hitmen for hire. There’s nothing soft about this band of brothers and at the head of this table of death sits our leader. Arthur.

  I have no qualms over what I’ve been tasked to do. No pity or remorse. Never reflect on the lives I take. Business is business. The money is good, and it feeds the dark urges that have always been in my soul.

  Taking a drag from my smoke, I let it fill my lungs. Tonight’s assignment should be a breeze. I’m polite enough not to end them in the middle of their fun. One last fuck. I’ll let them have their blissful come down. Pleasure finished a fond farewell they have no idea will be their last.

  Shifting, I stretch my legs out on the hard, cold concrete. The sound of the street floats up from below. Rome hasn’t changed much. I haven’t been back in eight years. A long time to be away from the place you grew up. The memories here are bitter sweet. This is where I learned my talent for pain. A place of loss and second chances. I was born into this life as was my father before me. It’s in my blood. My soul. You know you have a calling when you’ve never flinched from inflicting hurt on others.

  The soft vibration in my back pocket has me slipping out my cell phone. Pad of my finger swiping across the sleek, smooth screen, the message lights up in a pale glow. A pair of generous bare breasts fills the picture. Dusty nipples taut and straining the heavy, peachy globes are cushioned in the palms of delicate, feminine hands. Whoever the owner is, her face isn’t in the interest of the sender.

  I check the sender.

  Gawain this time. Earlier it had been Bors.

  Other members of the brotherhood of killers.

  Where ever Arthur has Gawain doing business, he’s obviously enjoying himself and taking it easy. With a quick click, I send him an image of my middle finger. I’m used to their texts. We’re in an ongoing battle to find the perfect pair of tits. Man whore, womanizer Gawain never finds it difficult to charm the ladies into his bed. Bors is the opposite. Tall and imposing, the quiet bear of a man wears a permanent scowl. That, however, doesn’t stop some women trying to tame him.

  Thumb brushing the red metal horn charm hanging from the end of my phone, a churning sense of foreboding coils in my belly. I’ve always been intuitive. Had an instinct for something I’ve never been able to explain. Tonight, it’s gnawing at me. I stroke the cornetto a second time. An Italian talisman to ward off evil and to bring luck, it’s a gift from someone I am never without.

  Movement catches my eye below. Six PM. Just like clockwork. Exhaling in one long go, I stub the cigarette out before slipping the butt back into the pocket of my jacket with my phone. A good hitman doesn’t leave evidence. I’m never sloppy when it comes to work. I have a reputation to protect after all. It’s why my price is high. If they want the best, they pay through the nose for it.

  Lying prone, I curl my hands around my weapon as I maneuver into position. I watch my mark step from a car through the lens of my sniper rifle, her blonde hair falling in soft layers around her shoulders. Facing away from me, she ducks her head back into the vehicle to talk to the driver.

  Her lover.

  This bitch won’t be breathing for much longer. Before she even hits the sidewalk, I’ll be up and, on my way. There’s a shower, a bottle of Jack, and a hotel bed calling my name tonight, then tomorrow morning, I’ll be on a plane home to New Orleans. That son of a bitch I call a boss will have more work lined up for me. He knows I get tired of sitting on my arse waiting around. Booze and
whores can only amuse you for so long.

  Finger poised on the trigger, I wait, crosshairs locked on the target. She has the right hair and physique, but I need a positive ID on her face. I’ve never fucked a hit up, and I’m not about to make this my first. Reputation is everything, along with the strength of my loyalty.

  She turns abruptly, and the street lamp illuminates her perfectly. My insides clench. The photo in my pocket is nothing like the features of the woman I’ve been tasked to kill. Similarities, yes, but there’s enough subtle difference to let me know this isn’t the one I’ve been paid to eliminate. Not the same woman I’ve been tailing for a week, night and day. A decoy?

  She hovers, wrapped in the warmth of her designer jacket with an air of nervousness standing out in the open beside the car. Still, edgy, a tremor runs through her slender form. A gazelle scenting a predator close by and in the second, I know I’ve been set up.

  “Fuck.”

  Rifle in hand, I rise snatching up my backpack and am on my feet in record time.

  Instinct takes over.

  I need to get off the goddamn roof. A frisson of panic is crushed by experience and training. I’ve been in worse situations. That doesn’t mean this won’t turn into even more of a cluster fuck.

  Sprinting to the metal door. I tug it gently open. The sound of heavy footsteps echo on the stairs. Voices hushed and low, I detect the sound of Russian being spoken. Did the fuckers think they could catch me unaware?

  I’ve been betrayed.

  Sold out.

  No one knows I’m here, only Arthur as far as I’m aware. I trust the bastard with my life. I’ve bled for him, murdered and maimed under his name. He wouldn’t double cross me.

  Do we have a mole or was the information we were given false? The knowledge sears me with rage, but I don’t have time to dwell on who the mother fucker might be. What I do know is when I find out, they’re dead. Nothing will stop me getting my hands on them. Not the boss or any other member of Cavalieri della morte.