Josiah's Bride

by Jory Strong

  Josiah stepped forward and Saul pulled his own gun, offered it handle first, a message for those gathered, a reminder that his men also delivered his justice.

  He took the gun. But instead of the pleasure he'd anticipated at finally killing this betrayer, what he felt was misgiving at having brought Ella.

  It came with the realization that witnessing this might drive her further away, might make it impossible to return to those easy, earlier moments.

  First do no harm, she'd told him as they stood next to the prisoner's bed.

  He resisted the urge to look at her. This was the truth of his world, their world. "Loyalty is everything."

  Josiah pressed the gun muzzle against La Zorra's heart.

  She remained mute, proud. Unrepentant.

  "This is the price of betrayal," Josiah said and pulled the trigger.

  An icy wash of fear swept through Ella, leaving her feeling frozen as Josiah's words rang in her ears like an echo of the gun's firing.

  This is the price of betrayal.

  This is the price of betrayal.

  This is the price of betrayal.

  He handed the gun back to Saul and turned, his eyes slamming into hers, measuring her loyalty and uncaring of what her heart had to offer.

  She met Josiah's gaze without flinching. If nothing else, she would show him that she was strong enough to stand at his side.

  He was the man she'd married—had wanted to marry. She'd known he was capable of violence. He was a warlord. He would have killed before, many times and just as ruthlessly.

  This woman he'd sentenced and executed deserved death. Rumors of what life was like in Aaryan's territory traveled even to Borough Y. That she'd made a living off the suffering of others was worse than betraying a lover.

  Ella fisted her hand rather than press her fingertips to the spot where her heart pounded violently. A burn traveled up her throat at imagining Josiah one day looking at her, saying she'd betrayed him by marrying him after discovering she was her mother's bastard. She blinked tears from her eyes.

  What had just happened didn't change the way she felt about Josiah or Jacob. All she could do was go on, do her best as a mother and a healer. And as a wife?

  She swallowed hard. He hadn't really wanted her, not for himself. Not in the way she'd hoped to be wanted, but after they'd made love, she'd thought, she'd hoped…

  Even his show of jealousy hadn't dinted that hope. But when she'd asked him if he'd be faithful, and he'd answered with silence…

  Hope drained away, like puss from a wound. He'd never made a vow of the heart. And obviously, his father hadn't set an example by being faithful.

  Josiah said something to Blaine.

  Blaine joined them and said, "I'll escort you and your sister home."

  "I'd like to stop by the stronghold. I want to take some books back to the house and collect Jacob and Enzo."

  "That works." He motioned to a dark-skinned man with a slashing scar across his face. "Take Victoria through the maze and hand her off to Rosa."

  * * * * *

  Chapter 19

  Victoria turned away from the sight of the dead woman. There was fear, yes, but she also felt a thrill, like what she'd experienced that day she'd snuck into her father's precious workshop and found the tunnel.

  She'd followed it to the end. Waited in the dank darkness until the voices of the boys who'd been on the opposite side of the door faded.

  They'd sounded not much older than she'd been, sixteen or seventeen. Maybe eighteen. If they'd been city boys, she might have risked emerging from the tunnel, but knowing she was pretty, far prettier than anyone they were likely to meet, had kept her hiding until they were gone.

  She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder at the warlord. If virginity wasn't so prized by the elite, if social standing wasn't everything, she'd be tempted to seduce Josiah.

  Power. He exuded it. She now understood why she'd been so instantly, so thoroughly attracted to Hayden.

  He was equally ruthless, equally capable of killing a man. He'd have to be to serve Merati.

  After witnessing the warlord's cold-blooded killing, she didn't think she'd be satisfied with one of the elite. Hayden surely held secrets that would make some of the city powerful do his bidding. And while Josiah might tempt her with his raw masculinity, she'd never waste herself on a man who would never be more than a warren warlord.

  She was right for Hayden and he was right for her. If he hadn't been among the crowds at the public square, then word would already be traveling to him about the execution.

  He'd know that she hadn't fainted or shown outward fear. But she didn't want him to worry that in the privacy of the warlord's house, she might reveal the prisoner was important to Merati and she'd been sent to take the boy as a means of getting him back.

  She needed to find a way to get to the marketplace. Surely Hayden would meet her there instead of one of his underlings. He'd want to make sure she hadn't lost her nerve. Would appreciate fresh information on the prisoner's condition.

  The warlord's sweaty soldier opened the door to the maze. They entered and she hid her smile.

  Whether it was innate ability or having worked with patterns, remembering the way through the maze was ridiculously easy. An interesting stone here, another there, a small blue flower, a green patch of weeds, a glitter of white…

  They reached the Victorian. Her guard knocked.

  Hayden had given her the names of the warlord's family members. Moments passed before the old woman—Rosa—opened the door.

  "You can come to the kitchen," Rosa said, distrust in her eyes.

  "I thought I'd go to my room." It'd give her a chance to check on the prisoner.

  "Ella can take you upstairs when she returns." Ella can be responsible for you.

  Victoria followed the old harridan to the kitchen without finding a mirror in the front room or the hallway to check her appearance. It was more proof of the uncivilized nature of the warrens.

  Makayla stood at the counter, kneading bread. Victoria studied the girl. She was a potential ally, or more accurately, someone who might be of use.

  If she understood the situation correctly, the warlord's sister had slipped away from the house sometime earlier in the day. Maybe that was information Hayden would also find useful. Maybe in the future he could catch Makayla and use her to his advantage.

  Victoria frowned, imagining it, remembering the titillating rumors whispered at the tea parties she'd attended with her grandmother, that some of the elite men brought women in from the warrens as playthings.

  She's not as beautiful as I am. But…

  She'd decide later whether to mention the possibility to Hayden, of grabbing Makayla and taking her into the city.

  The warlord's sister had changed out of the dress she'd been wearing when she'd been unwillingly returned to the house. She now wore black jeans and a black blouse, something a field laborer or slaughterhouse worker might wear.

  Grudgingly, Victoria admitted that the clothes looked good on Makayla. That with little effort the outfit could be made eye-catching and fashionable.

  "A wide, bright red belt would emphasize your figure," she said. "And if you had lipstick to match, and some dangling earrings, you'd turn every head."

  Makayla sent a scowling glance her way. "What for? My brother intends to keep me a prisoner until I'm so old no man would even look at me."

  "Then look good for yourself. I might have some material that can be fashioned into a belt."

  She didn't, but it would be an excuse to go to the marketplace.

  Makayla washed and dried her hands. "Let's see what you have."

  "When Ella gets back," Rosa said. "Her trunk has already been carried upstairs. Get the bread into the baking pan, Makayla."

  Harridan. Interfering old bitch. Victoria sat in a chair next to a small table and fumed at having to wait for Ella.

  Makayla slammed a baking tin down on the counter. "You always take his s
ide."

  "He's the man of the house," the placid old cow said. "He's also warlord."

  The dough went into the tin with a hard thwack.

  Rosa said, "When you get done with that, you can chop onions."

  Victoria imagined grabbing the knife and thrusting it into the old woman. Shivered in the aftermath of the bloodthirsty thought. She'd only been in the warrens a short time and was already being affected by its violent nature.

  The stink of onions filled the kitchen. She sniffed at her dress, sure the smell was clinging to the expensive fabric. This was Ella's fault. Ella should have returned to the house with her instead of going off with the warlord's underling.

  The bread had risen and been put into the oven when the front door finally opened.

  Footsteps thundered down the hall. A dog bounded into the kitchen, brushing against her dress and leaving a few stray hairs. The warlord's son followed, sweaty and grimy and smelly.

  He gave her a curious glance then began jabbering at the old witch. Victoria brushed the hairs off her dress and swallowed her irritation.

  The scruffy blond ordered to accompany Ella entered the kitchen, stopped next to Makayla and leaned against the counter, a gun jammed into the waistband at the back of his jeans. Not just an escort, but a guard.

  Ella came in a few minutes later, the front of her dress dusty and dirty.

  Typical.

  Her sister belonged here. Ella would always be an embarrassment, but at least here she'd always be out of sight.

  Catching Victoria's gaze on her, Ella crossed her arms as if she could hide what a mess she was. Victoria's eyes traveled upward.

  A blush stained Ella's face. At least she understood how hopeless she was, the impossibility of ever being among the elite.

  "I brought books from the stronghold," Ella said, self-conscious and rightfully so.

  Victoria stood, not really surprised that her sister wasn't important enough for the warlord to assign anyone to help her. "I was just talking to Makayla about making a belt for her outfit. Could you show me where my room is so I can see if I've got the right material?"

  "Her trunk is in the bedroom to the right of the master bedroom," the old woman said, and Victoria's irritation grew with thoughts of having to lie in bed and listen to the sounds of the warlord using her sister for pleasure.

  All the more reason to grab the boy quickly and get back to civilized society.

  Ella stepped into the mud room. She emerged minutes later, clean and less unattractive, especially in what had to be a new dress. Victoria hadn't noticed it earlier.

  The dress was far more stylish than anything Ella had ever owned. Easy to believe the warlord was embarrassed and had provided it. Or maybe Ella had purchased the dress, hoping that seeing her in it would make her new husband fall in love.

  Pathetic. Desperate. Understandable.

  Her sister was no beauty.

  But Josiah had sent Griffin away when he should have forced him to stay and tend to the prisoner.

  Victoria's lips tightened. She followed Ella upstairs.

  Ella stopped in the first doorway on the right and pointed toward another open doorway on the same side of the hall. "That's your room."

  Rather than keep going, Victoria followed Ella into the patient's room, stopping a few feet away from the bed and shuddering.

  Bile rose in her throat. It was one thing to kill in cold blood, but this, this was barbaric.

  "What happened to him? The warlord?"

  "No."

  Ella fiddled with a liquid-filled bag, leaned over the patient and pressed the tips of her fingers to his throat.

  "How can you stand to let Josiah touch you?"

  "I'm his wife."

  Ella's voice held pain and it was easy enough to understand its cause. The warlord hadn't expected to end up married to her.

  Victoria kept her voice low, asked, "Does he know the truth? About mother? About your being her bastard?"

  Ella hesitated long enough she might as well have shouted no.

  Victoria stifled a smile.

  Ella glanced up. "If he knew, Mother would be dead."

  Victoria felt some of the blood drain from her face. She'd have to be careful how she wielded the knowledge about Ella's parentage.

  "Mother told me what happened at the ceremony." She forced herself to look at the patient with his swollen, misshapen face and partially shaved head. "Can you tell if he's any better?"

  "He is."

  "Will he survive?"

  "I'm more optimistic than I was."

  "When do you think he'll regain consciousness?"

  Ella straightened away from the prisoner. "Why do you care?"

  Careful, Victoria thought at seeing the wariness in her sister's eyes. "I don't care. But Griffin will ask for details when I get back to the city. I do see him quite often when I'm visiting Gina."

  A small nod, because that made sense to Ella.

  Victoria turned away without repeating her question. She went to the bedroom she'd been assigned.

  Her trunk was on the floor next to the door. She crouched, opened it in case Ella appeared in the doorway.

  Reaction set in. Her hands trembled, and then her entire body.

  A chill swept over her. If she hadn't sewn a hidden pocket into her dress for the syringe… If the warlord's man had found it…

  "But he didn't," she whispered, crossing her arms over her chest until the trembling subsided. It took longer to combat the swell of panic that came with thoughts of what had been done to the man Ella tended, and to calm the desperation to return to the city.

  She needed to come up with a plan to grab the boy. The sooner she did it, the sooner she could go home.

  She needed to get to the marketplace and make contact with Hayden. But to get to the marketplace would require Ella's cooperation.

  The boy came thundering upstairs. It sounded as if he stopped at the prisoner's bedroom door.

  "Mama, are you almost done? I want to show you something."

  "I'm just about finished in here."

  Victoria brushed phantom dog hairs off her dress. Mama. How could the boy already be calling Ella that? And how could her sister not think about the warlord's cock going into another woman every time she saw the boy?

  It was pathetic really, to be so needy of approval. She was almost sorry for her sister, almost, but Ella brought it on herself, allowing herself to be used.

  Victoria returned to the first floor, stopping before reaching the kitchen to eavesdrop.

  "When your brother returns home," Rosa said, "you'll treat him with the respect he deserves."

  "Why? He couldn't even be bothered to come for me. He was here with her."

  "Is that what today's disappearance was all about?" the scruffy blond asked, and Victoria imagined him closing his hands into fists, the bruised, scraped knuckles making it obvious how he solved problems. "You wanted attention?"

  The old harridan made a sound of disapproval. "I should have let your brother take you to the public square instead of shielding you from the truth. Do you want to know what he did there?"

  Makayla's answer was a sullen, "No."

  "He killed the woman who betrayed this family. He delivered justice to your father's treacherous whore. Your brother is the man he is because he had to take care of us. Even before your father died, it was Josiah ensuring enough money made it home to buy food and the drugs your mother needed. If he's a hard man, it's because he had to become one to keep you from ending up in a brothel or as some man's property." A pan slammed down on the counter. "If you want him to see you as anything other than a child, think about the wants and needs of others instead of only your own."

  Ella's entering the stairwell with the boy forced Victoria to stop lurking and move toward the kitchen.

  Jacob told Ella, "Ciro says Enzo is really really smart. And guess what, Mama?"

  "What?"

  "He said he'll help me train Enzo. That's what I want to show
you, something we worked on at the stronghold. And guess what?"

  "What?"

  "Those boys, the ones who were throwing rocks, they said they were sorry. They even helped Ciro and me. And I think Enzo forgives them for what they did. You want to know why?"

  Victoria clenched her jaw at the happiness in Ella's laugh. Her sister was so stupid. Couldn't she see the warlord was just using her? It was obvious why he'd insisted on a wife. All he cared about was providing the boy with a mother.

  Her sister got to take care of his brat, while he did what warlords do. He'd probably taken a blonde mistress since the wedding—or a whore. Everyone knew that in the warrens there were plenty of loose women and bars with brothels on the second floors. Everyone knew that any woman who caught a warlord's eye ended up in his bed.

  "Why do you think Enzo forgives them?" Ella asked Jacob.

  "Because at first he wouldn't have anything to do with them. But right before you came to get me, he licked their hands."

  "It could be they just needed someone like Ciro to help them know right from wrong."

  They were at the bottom of stairs. Victoria entered the kitchen and told Makayla, "Sorry, I don't have the material to make the perfect belt."

  "Thanks anyway."

  The blond guard had claimed the chair next to the doorway. He sat, his hand gripping the blue bandanna around the dog's neck.

  Jacob and Ella reached the kitchen. "Wait'll you see this!" he said. "Wait'll you see what Enzo can do."

  Ella was holding one of her precious books. She offered it to the boy but he pointed to the counter. "Put it there."

  Ella set her book down.

  "Now go hide. But you've got to be really quiet. I'll count to ten, twice." He turned his back to the doorway, called his dog to him and told it to sit.

  Ella left the kitchen, so quietly that even straining, Victoria couldn't hear her footsteps.

  The front door opened and closed.

  The boy finished counting. He picked up the book and held it in front of the dog. The dog sniffed.

  The scruffy blond laughed. "This is going to be good."