by Sharon Wray
Rafe crossed his arms and stared at his boots. “The Fianna has this rule. Once you tithe, you belong to them forever. Three years into the gig, I walked away and went rogue. Except I got caught.”
“That must’ve sucked.”
Rafe shrugged. “Pete told me you don’t remember much from the night you were ambushed or the POW camp. That you’re not sure if you saw a man bow.”
“Hell.” Nate was going to murder Pete. “I don’t know. Maybe. We were dug down in a trench, it was dusk, and when I did a perimeter check, I saw…something.”
“Details count.”
“A man in the distance, in a combo of tribal dress and desert fatigues, sword strapped to his back. He stood there, eerie as shit, backlit by the dropping sun. Then he bowed.”
“Halfway? Or all the way to the ground?”
“To the ground.”
Rafe’s gaze narrowed. “You’re marked for execution.”
“Then why am I still here?”
“Because you were captured, and when you came home, you were convicted and sentenced. Fianna assassins only take care of things when traditional justice looks away.”
Nate threw himself onto an iron bench in the shadows. “If I’d been freed after the rescue—”
Rafe sat next to him. “You’d be dead.”
“And now that I’m out?”
“The Prince probably wants to know what you’re looking for.”
Nate squeezed the bridge of his nose. He had to remember to breathe. It helped keep the seizures at bay. “If I don’t succeed, I go back to prison for a lifetime. If I do succeed and get our convictions overthrown, I’ll spend the rest of my life running from a Fianna assassin.”
“Yep.”
“I’m screwed either way.”
Rafe clapped Nate on the back. “Welcome to the Screwed Every Which Way Club.”
Nate ran his hands over his head. “I have to try, Rafe. I’d rather be dead than responsible for my men spending their lives in prison. I’m working the mission.”
“While I’m more selfish than you are, I get it.”
“And your deal with the Prince?” Nate glanced at Rafe, who’d crossed his ankles and was staring at the candlelit cathedral. “What about that?”
“I have to find something from the seventeenth century. The only clue is Anne Capel.”
“The same Anne Capel I’m looking for? The dead one?”
“Yes.”
“And this Anne Capel is your wife’s ancestor? Which is why you have to woo Juliet?”
Rafe nodded.
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” No way was this going to end well.
Voices came from the cathedral and Garza ran down the steps, jumped into his car, and tires screeched on the pull-out.
“That can’t be good,” Nate said.
Rafe stood. “You okay dealing with Deke?”
“Pete and I can handle it.” Nate got up too. As tired as he was, he still had work to do. “What about this nonexistent plan to save our asses? If it depends on you making nice with Juliet, we’re doomed.”
“After I talk to her, we’ll figure it out. In the meantime, stay away from men who bow.”
“You sound like Torridan.”
“I hate to say this, but sometimes Torridan is right. Now get some sleep. You gotta keep those seizures under control.”
Hooah.
Rafe walked away, and Nate unlocked his bike. Seizures were a bitch, but even more so when they meant you couldn’t drive. His cell buzzed with a message from Pete, which left Nate wishing his heart would give up and stop beating. Deke is gone.
Nate dialed Pete. “What happened?”
“I was in the locker room with Samantha, and when I got back to the control room, Deke was gone. Except for the part of his ear he left behind. He must’ve pulled free.”
“Any idea—”
“Fuck no. And I’m stuck here until closing.”
“Deke’s apartment is nearby. I’ll check it out. I doubt he’d go to the cops or a hospital.” Maybe Nate would find Deke’s Z-pam.
“Deke had help. Someone knew the code and let him out.”
“I’ll be careful. And I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Nate shoved his phone in his back pocket and hopped on his bike. His head started with the fuzzies that told him the drugs were wearing off. And now he was about to break and enter. Yeah. He was a hell of a hero.
A half hour later, Nate left Deke’s apartment. Deke hadn’t gone home, and there’d been no Z-pam.
On his way to his bike, Nate stopped. Someone was behind him. He’d left his weapons at the club, worried he’d be patted down in the church. He turned as a man drifted closer. Dark pants. Black hooded jacket covering his face and thighs. Steel-toed boots. The man stopped yards away.
The man hit his chest with his fist and bowed his head. “I am Balthasar.”
Shit. Sweat dripped down Nate’s neck.
Balthasar moved closer with the same weird Rafe-walk. “I’m here to make thee an offer. Join me, and all past sins will be forgiven. I can give you your heart’s desire.”
“You don’t know shit about my heart.”
“It weeps for your men, for what once was, for what you’ve become. If you join me, I’ll give you the information to free your men.”
“I thought I was marked for…you know, the other.”
“If you join me, you’ll be the one to mete out justice and punishment.”
Nate scoffed. “What do you get out of this deal?”
Balthasar stopped inches away. “The vial.”
Did Balthasar not understand the concept of personal space?
Nate took a step back. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
Balthasar advanced. “Your leader knows. As does our brother Romeo. Maybe you should ask them.”
“If I had this information and joined you, what about my men?”
Balthasar clasped Nate’s shoulder. “Their freedom depends on a fickle justice.”
“No.”
Balthasar’s fist hit like a concrete block. Pain exploded in Nate’s chest, forcing him to expel every last breath. He fell to the ground and rolled, blocking a punch with his arms. But he wasn’t fast enough and the second hit slammed into his jaw, sending his head into cobblestones. Everything went starry, then black, and then the bright lights of a massive migraine sent him into a seizure. Balthasar kicked him in the ribs. Nate rolled into a ball, and the last thing he saw was a boot aiming for his face.
Chapter 17
Juliet got out of the police car and shut the door. She hurried down the dark alley leading to her apartment above her store. And the sky picked that exact moment to dump every raindrop God ever made. By the time she unlocked her door, she was soaked.
She turned on a light, passed the galley kitchen, the table holding her pot of gardenias, and headed for the bathroom. After taking a quick shower and changing into sweat pants, a cami, and a short robe, she went to the wardrobe in her bedroom. The eighteenth-century cupboard and dresser, two items she’d saved from her manor, barely fit with her double bed piled high with white pillows.
In the back of the cabinet, she found the digital lock box. After typing the code, she held the only present from Rafe she’d kept. Her Glock. She made sure it was loaded and laid it on her bedside table.
As much as she didn’t want to deal with Rafe, she wished he’d get there soon. It was after one a.m., and she could barely keep her eyes open. To stay awake, she curled up in her bed with her sketchbook to work on her design ideas for Prideaux House. When her pencil skidded and her hand fell against her side, she slipped into longed-for sleep.
* * *
Capel land, eighteen years earlier
“Run, Juliet!” the kids screamed at her. “Run, little piggy
!”
Her feet slogged through the wet ground, marsh grass dragging her skirt. Her school bag bounced against her back, pulling her ponytail. “Come on, Calum!”
Calum tripped on a cyprus tree root. “I can’t!”
She pulled him up.
“Run, Juliet Perdue!”the kids behind her chanted.
“Don’t stop.” She dragged Calum over a stream, her too-big shoes slipping in mud.
Her tormentors scrambled through the water. “Juliet Porcelet. Who lives in a toilet.” They made snuffling pig sounds and laughed.
“Why are they so mean?” Tears streaked the dirt on Calum’s face.
She headed toward her property line. They’d be safe there. “Because they hate me.”
“Come here, piggy piggy. Juliet Porcelet. Who lives in a toilet.”
Her heart burned in her chest, but she kept moving.
“Juliet Perdue! Who smells like a zoo!”
Jimmy Boudreaux grabbed her hair and then tripped. She tumbled down the ravine to another stream. Calum rolled next to her and helped her up. They crossed on river stones and used exposed roots to claw their way up the other side.
She was too afraid to look behind her. “Get to the tree!”
They climbed the oak tree that had guarded her family’s property for hundreds of years. Mud caked the skirt of her plaid uniform, and runs laddered her tights. She’d lost her bow a mile back. She tucked her body into the branches, drew in painful breaths, and hung on. Calum clung to a lower branch. His blond bangs hung over his eyes. His uniform pants had a hole in the knee, and he’d lost his tie.
“Calum? Why did you follow me off the school bus? You were supposed to go to the Isle of Hope for the weekend.”
“I don’t like it there. I wanted to stay with you at the manor until your daddy comes home. I don’t like that you’re always alone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Seven boys and two girls appeared on the other side of the water. One threw a rock, hitting the trunk.
“Jimmy Boudreaux throws like a girl!” Juliet yelled.
“What’s wrong, Juliet Perdue?” Jimmy’s face was as red as the rotten tomatoes he liked to chuck at her. “Are you lost, little piggy?”
“Go home,” Angie Mercer shouted. “We don’t want pig girls in our school.”
Juliet took off a shoe and threw it at Angie. But Jimmy caught it and tossed it into the stream. It floated away. She had no other shoes. Which meant she wouldn’t be able to go to school on Monday. She took off her other shoe and threw it. It slammed Jimmy in the forehead.
Calum laughed. “Get him, Juliet!”
“The Prioleaus can’t protect you forever,” Jimmy sneered. “My daddy says both your families can rot in hell.”
Calum glanced up at her, his blue eyes now fiery instead of teary. “When we’re bigger, we’ll get them back. I promise.”
Calum didn’t understand. Even though she was only twelve, she understood that money could protect far better than size or strength.
A gunshot rang out, and her tormentors ran away. But not before Jimmy threw her second shoe in the water. By the time Jimmy disappeared, it’d washed away. Tears stung her eyes, and she bit her tongue. She wouldn’t cry.
Calum climbed down first. When she dropped, her foot landed on a pinecone.
“Oww!” She hopped around, the pain driving into her ankle. She still had a long walk, and it was getting dark.
Calum took her hand. “Can we go to the manor now?”
“We’re going to St. Mary’s. There’s a phone in the rectory. We’ll call your daddy.”
“I’m not leaving you.” Calum stared at her with an intensity that made him seem older. “But I don’t know how to get to your manor by myself.”
“There’s a shortcut through the Cemetery of Lost Children. The scariest place on earth.”
“I’m not afraid. My daddy says there are as many of my relatives as yours buried there. I’m sure they’ll protect us.”
She doubted it but took his hand anyway and led the way.
Thirty minutes later, barefoot, limping, and cold, she reached the cemetery’s gates. Trees tightened around them. The pine straw offered a soft cushion for her sock-covered feet, but her ankle ached. She scanned the cemetery for anything that moved and adjusted her backpack. They headed toward the center where tall columns and crosses circled the one tomb she always avoided: St. Michael the Archangel.
Even though he’d lost his head, he towered over every other grave with a shield in one hand and a raised sword in the other. He was also naked with all of his parts showing.
Ewwwwww. “Don’t look at the angel.”
“I know what a boy looks like.”
“You sound like Rafe.”
“I wish he was here.”
She did too. She held her breath; as they ran past Michael, she heard another shot. She stopped. Her heart banged so loudly she couldn’t tell where the sound had come from.
“Could it be your daddy?” Calum asked.
“No. He’s working the docks in Charleston.”
Calum glanced behind them. “Maybe it’s Rafe.”
“Rafe isn’t allowed to hunt alone.” Although he did it whenever his father went to town. She quieted her breath so she could hear. An owl hooted in the distance, along with the rap-tap-tap of a woodpecker. A breeze chilled her, and the trees groaned.
She pushed her hair behind her ears, took Calum’s hand, and moved toward the darkest section of the cemetery. This area, behind pecan and mangrove trees that backed up to a river, scared her. It was unconsecrated land. If ghosts were real, this was where they’d live.
A twig snapped, and something pushed her to the ground. She tasted dirt and coughed until a person picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder. “Run, Calum!”
Calum screamed, and the man slapped him.
“Calum!” She hit the back of the bad man with her fist.
“Shut up, little girl,” the bad man said in a harsh voice.
From her upside-down view, she saw his heavy boots, green jacket, and rifle. Calum’s eyes went wide when he saw her being carried away.
Calum grabbed the bad man’s leg. “Let her go!”
The bad man shifted her on his shoulder and reached down to take Calum’s arm, dragging him along too. Calum fought until the bad man said, “Shut up, little boy. Or I’ll pound you.”
Calum hiccupped and dug his feet into the ground. But the bad man picked him up and carried him.
How could the man carry both of them at the same time?
“Juliet!” Calum sobbed. “My arm hurts.”
She started to cry too, but when she realized where they were headed, she kicked and hit the man’s back again. “Not here! Not here!”
The bad man dropped her, and his boot landed on her stomach. She tried to push it off, but he was too heavy. With Calum under one arm, he used a big key to open the iron door and tossed them in. She hit the hard floor as the door shut. The lock outside clanged into place.
“No!” She pounded the metal door until her fists hurt. “Don’t leave us here!”
“Juliet!”
No one would ever find her.
“Wake up!”
Someone held her shoulders down, but she screamed again until her throat emptied of sound. “No!”
“Juliet.” The firm voice pulled her forward. “Wake up.”
She kicked, but there was a heavy weight on her.
“I’m here.”
A breath coaxed her out from the darkness.
“Come. Back. To. Me.” Now the voice held an edge.
She opened her eyes and gulped in deep breaths of cold air. A man sat next to her, warm hands on her shoulders. Rafe?
He covered her with a throw blanket, his hands su
re yet gentle.
She sat up, trembling, keeping the blanket against her breasts. “Sebastian was there.”
Rafe took her shoulders, pulling her close until their foreheads touched. “Just breathe.”
“We were in the cemetery.”
He closed his eyes and tightened his grip.
Her hands pressed against his hard chest, for the first time feeing the hard muscles flexing beneath her fingers. It was like touching hot granite. “You’re here?”
“I am.” He opened his eyes. “Your door was unlocked. I’ve been sleeping on the floor.”
That’s when she noticed a blanket and a pillow on the floor next to her bed.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked softly.
How many times had he coaxed her out of her nightmares, settled her with tea, and then made love to her until she fell asleep? It’d been the only moments of her life when she’d felt safe and loved. “No.”
“Do you want to talk about your dream?”
She scrambled out from beneath the blanket, stumbling over his lap, desperate for her feet to hit the wood floor. “We know what happened. Someone threw me in Anne’s crypt, and I stayed there until you found me.”
“Have you had the dream a lot?”
“It’s been nine months since the last one.”
He swallowed. He’d taken off his leather jacket but still had on the black T-shirt that stretched across his chest, a bandage on his left arm, and jeans that rode his hips. He’d grown wider, stronger, so much more muscular. Surprising since she’d always thought he was in fabulous physical shape. But in the eight years he’d been gone, he’d turned from a young husband into a grown man. A grown man who made no move to hide the erection pressing against the denim or the blue ribbon he wore on his wrist. He’d always been confident about what he wanted, never shy about his needs.
She forced herself to look at his other arm. The moonlight exposed the words curved around the massive upper arm muscles, down his forearm, ending at his wrist. The light hair not only emphasized his strength; it couldn’t hide what he’d done.
The names of every woman he’d slept with after leaving her.
He stood and flexed his hand, contracting the muscles along the length. The tattoos swept away any warmth she’d felt in his arms, and her shivering made it hard to swallow. Within the space of a breath, he pulled her close until their noses almost touched. One of her hands rested against his pounding heart. “What are you doing here?” she whispered.