A Cruel Love: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Soto, S. M.

  “Don’t say that. I don’t want to imagine you gone.”

  “It’s a part of life, Blossom. Everyone dies.”

  “Not before their time,” I challenge. “What would happen to me if you were gone?”

  He goes silent, and his eyes shutter with a barrage of emotions that I can’t even pin down to one. “I don’t know.”

  I watch him for a few solid beats, trying to gauge his reaction to my question. A heavy weight settles in my gut—a foreboding of sorts.

  “Why did you come into the bakery that night, Percivale?”

  He cocks his head to the side at the question, a crease forming between his brows. He doesn’t utter a single word.

  “Why did you take me?” I ask, trying again.

  That crease between his brows deepens. “I don’t know.”

  His lips say one thing, but his eyes say another. He took me for a reason, I just don’t know what it is yet.

  “Are you ever going to let me go?” The question comes out in a whisper, like I’m afraid of hearing the answer.

  Percivale moves so fast, I don’t even see him coming at me until one fist is wrapped securely in my hair and the other around my throat. My eyes widen with fear, but my body…every nerve ending in my body roars to life. My nipples pebble against the material of my shirt, and my panties grow damp in the center.

  With a firm grip in my hair, Percivale yanks my head back, not enough to cause too much pain, just enough for it to be alarming—and erotic. He leans into my personal space, hovering his mouth over mine.

  “Anyone ever told you you talk too much?” He whispers the words over my lips, and everything south of my body tightens, begging for more.

  I force myself to swallow with his hand still wrapped around my throat and try to answer, but he beats me to it. Percivale slams his mouth over mine, completely taking my breath away while rendering me speechless.

  Going in for the Kill

  Blossom

  For some odd reason, Percivale has been on edge all day. He’s snappy, broodier than usual, and seems angry. This morning, he got up before I did and slipped out, leaving a small spread of breakfast for me. After he returned, he was agitated. He brusquely ordered me to shower before we hopped in the car to handle some “business.” Whatever that business was, I have no idea. Once Percivale pulled up to a seedy-looking building, he ordered me to stay in the car and stay low to avoid anyone seeing me.

  He went inside with that damn black duffel bag for no more than thirty minutes and came back out with it now twice the size. I didn’t even want to ask what that place was, what he was doing inside, or what was in the bag. Chances are, he wouldn’t tell me anyway.

  Percivale stopped off at a few more places after that, each time telling me to keep my head low so no one outside the car could see me. Every time he got back inside the car, he seemed angrier than the last. Especially at the last place he stopped off at. He parked the car in a crowded parking garage and threw me a bag filled with food. Again, he instructed me to stay out of sight and stay inside the car. And of course, I did it. It felt like he was gone for hours. When he eventually came back, sliding into the car with that stupid cigarette hanging from his plump lips like nothing had ever happened, I watched him closely, looking for any signs on his body that could give me any answers. I didn’t dare ask any questions, not willing to push my luck.

  But that was until now. I’ve finally had it with his asshole behavior. He’s been treating me like I’m shit stuck at the bottom of his shoe, and I’m tired of it.

  “Okay, seriously. Will you cut it out already? What is the matter with you? You’ve been angry all day.”

  “Shut up.”

  “What?” I turn toward him incredulously. His hand white-knuckles around the steering wheel.

  “I said shut up!”

  My face pales, and I go silent. When we get to the motel, I find it odd that there are no cars at all. Not that there’s always tons of people lining up to go here, but usually, there’s at least one car belonging to the person working the front desk. There’s not even that right now.

  Weird.

  I follow Percivale out of the car, wary after the way he snapped at me earlier. His anger is rolling off him in waves, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what I did to make him so angry. I haven’t tried to run. I’ve been complacent. Yeah, sure, maybe I’ve asked him one too many questions, but curiosity is natural. I didn’t ask to be here. It’s not like I wanted this…this…whatever this is we’re doing. I should be running my bakery, something I’ve worked my ass off for. If anyone has any right to be angry, it should be me.

  With that thought, a surge of anger shoots through my body, and my lips thin into a grim line as I push through the door to our room after he unlocks it—and I freeze over the threshold. The room suddenly twists before me, the entire foundation threatening to collapse, and my stomach churns.

  “No,” I whimper.

  Strapped to the chair is someone I never thought I’d see again. A foreboding chill travels down my spine as I take in the guy who tainted a chunk of my life with his actions.

  Ryan Eastlake.

  He doesn’t look scared. He looks furious. But he should be scared. Very, very scared. He looks exactly like he did in high school, though now his features have matured. Though it’s hard to tell right now, what with the dried blood on his face, I recognize the boy from my adolescent teenage years. When his gaze connects with mine, I see the recognition flare in his eyes. Goose bumps cover every inch of my skin as he takes me in. There’s not one ounce of remorse held in his eyes. I didn’t expect there would be, but the realization doesn’t hurt any less.

  The bastard.

  I hear the door click shut behind me, and it snaps me out of whatever trance seeing Ryan for the first time in years placed me under. I whirl around on Percivale, my chest heaving violently to accommodate my breaths. He’s not even looking at me. Instead, he’s watching Ryan like a hawk.

  “W-what are you doing?” My voice trembles with fear, just like my body is. I can’t control the shivers racking my body. “That’s not why I told you that.” I shake my head, trying to make it all go away. “I don’t want this! What are you doing?”

  I’m freaking out now, my sentences making no sense.

  “He touched you, Blossom. And that’s a problem for me.”

  “That was years ago!” I cry. “I had my chance to get over what happened, and I did. Please, Perc, just let this go, please.” Tears sting and pool in my eyes, distorting my vision.

  “So, you want him to live?” he asks with his head cocked to the side, voice eerily calm.

  “What? No! Of course not.”

  My eyes widen and swing to Ryan, who looks confused as he watches our interaction. “No, wait. I didn’t mean that. Just…just stop for a fucking second, please!”

  “Think about when he held you down, Blossom. When he took from you, when he made you bleed, think about when you begged him to stop and he didn’t.”

  Tears glide down my cheeks because even though I keep trying to separate my past with my present, I can’t. I keep remembering. In vivid detail. As I stare at Ryan, who is now growling in his chair trying to break free, I see the high school football jock Ryan. I see him raping me. I see his cruel face twisted in anger as he tells me no one will ever believe me over him. I see him raping so many girls after me, and I’m sobbing, clenching my eyes shut and trying to clear my head of those thoughts.

  I clasp my hands over my ears, trying to block both of them out.

  “Stop it!”

  “He didn’t stop, Blossom. Why should I? He touched what was mine. He took something from you that wasn’t his to take. Don’t you think he deserves to pay for that?”

  A keening sound bursts past my lips, sounding like that of a wounded animal.

  My eyes slam shut, and I grimace. Because the lines between right and wrong are blurring. It’s wrong wanting him dead. He shouldn’t have to lose his life
for raping me when we were drunk teenagers. But why does the thought also feel so right? So appealing. Why does a small, minuscule part of me feel like justice needs to be served?

  I want him to feel the pain that I felt.

  I want him to suffer just like I did.

  But that’s not me. Blossom Jaymes would never wish ill on anyone. Least of all someone who wronged her.

  But this new Blossom Jaymes…she would.

  Percivale throws down a folder on the floor, startling me.

  “So, it was just an accident?” he taunts, stepping closer to me. “Was it just a mistake when he raped all these girls too, Blossom?”

  I drop to my knees, a cry spilling from my lips as I flip through the file, its contents spilled across the filthy floor.

  “No, no, no,” I mumble, my chest tightening with pain. With each page I flip through, my hands tremble harder, the tears come faster, and the sick feeling in my stomach intensifies.

  Seven girls and counting, and it’s all my fucking fault.

  “Four girls in college. One after a night out at the bar and the other, the woman across the street from him with three kids, and many, many more after them. So, tell me, Blossom, do you still think it was an accident? Am I really still the only monster in the room?”

  Each picture rips my heart in half. Tears stream down my face, and when I glance up at Ryan, I feel like I’m glancing up at pure evil. He’s hurt me and countless others after. He’s never going to stop. That much I know. I can read it in his eyes.

  “What’s it going to be, Blossom?” Percivale asks like this is all some kind of game to him. I trap my bottom lip between my teeth and bite down hard, until the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth. My eyes dart back and forth between them. One man who’s tainted my past, and the other…the other is something of my future. I think.

  Finally, I settle my gaze on Ryan. I stumble up to my feet, walking toward him.

  “Blossom,” Percivale growls, probably wondering what the hell I’m doing, but I just raise my hand, indicating for him to hold on.

  “Just give me a second,” I say, closing the distance between me and Ryan. It doesn’t escape my notice the way his eyes rake across my body, traveling along my skin. It’s like knives slicing into me. The longer his eyes linger, the more cut open I feel.

  With a trembling hand, I reach toward his face and peel off the duct tape covering his mouth. His teeth are bared in a snarl, and his eyes are filled with rage. All of it directed at me. As if I’m the one at fault. Like I’m the one who did this to him.

  “You stupid fucking bitch!” he hisses, and I wince. His tone, the sound of his voice, it’s like being transported back in time. My eyes flutter closed, and I inhale a deep, stabling breath, trying to remain calm. When I open my eyes, I ask the one question I should’ve asked eight years ago.

  “Why?”

  His face sours.

  “Why did you do it? Even when I begged you not to. I would’ve given in to you eventually. All you had to do was date me like a normal person. You were the first guy I ever had a crush on…and then you…you took from me, Ryan. You ruined me.”

  He relaxes back against the wooden chair, staring up at me. What hurts the most is the fact that there’s not an ounce of remorse in his eyes.

  “I didn’t take anything you didn’t offer, Blossom. You think I didn’t see you following me around every fucking day like a lost puppy? You think I didn’t notice you drooling over me since our freshman fucking year? I did. I knew you wanted me. It was obvious. I did you a favor that night.”

  I choke. I actually choke on his words. That’s how hard they are for me to process.

  Thanking him? I should be thanking him?

  My nostrils flare and a tear leaks out of the corner of my eye.

  “You raped me!” I hiss. “You ruined a part of me that I’ve never been able to get back. You shoved my face in those goddamn sheets, and you hurt me!” My voice cracks, betraying how worked up I am.

  Ryan sneers. “You fucking asked for it! What did you think was going to happen in that hotel room? Surely you can’t be that stupid.”

  I open my mouth, knowing what I want to say next but unsure how to get the words past my lips, but Percivale beats me to it. The sound of a gun being fired pops right by my ear, and I duck on instinct, slapping my hands over my ears that are ringing. When I lift my gaze up, a scream tumbles from my lips but for other reasons. My eyes water and a cry gets lodged in my throat as I stare at the mess that is now Ryan. There’s so much blood, and his head is a gory mess that makes my stomach churn. Bile rises to my throat, and I run to the bathroom, losing the contents of my stomach in the porcelain bowl.

  I collapse against the tiled wall, and broken sobs rip from my chest. I rake my fingers through my hair, and everything inside me feels tight. Everything hurts. What have I done?

  What have I done?

  Not me…Percivale.

  I lift my teary gaze up and catch him stalking toward the door.

  “Why would you do that?” I sob, already trying to push to my feet and rage at him, hit him, do something. He grasps the door in his hand, and before slamming it shut, he says, “I had to.”

  And then the door slams and he shoves something in front of it so I can’t get out. I bang my fists against the door, screaming for help, yelling at him. Hating him for doing this. For putting a life in my hands. Then for taking that life and making me feel like it’s my fault.

  Time passes. I don’t know how long, but it’s long enough for my tears to turn into anger. I hear movement on the other side, thumps and items being dragged and moved, but I can’t see a damn thing. I can only imagine what he’s doing—getting rid of the body.

  When the door to the motel slams shut and I’m greeted by silence, I pick my body up and flinch at the sight in the mirror. There are splatters of blood on my face. Ryan’s blood. And it makes the tears come again.

  In a hurry, I twist around and turn on the shower. I strip myself and climb inside, scrubbing my face, my body, every inch of my skin raw until it hurts. Everywhere. Blood swirls down the drain, coating the water and edges of the tub with red residue. The sight of it makes me cry harder, scrub faster, hurt myself even more.

  When I turn off the taps and cover myself with the towel, I hear the door slam shut again accompanied by the sound of footsteps. Something drags across the wall, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. The bathroom door suddenly swings opens and there in all his vile glory is Percivale. So many emotions slam into me at the sight of him, but the most prominent is anger and betrayal.

  All in a Devil’s Work

  Percivale

  It wasn’t my original intention to drag her into this; I just planned on killing the fucker once I had him. He wasn’t hard to find. All I needed was his name, and everything I ever wanted to know about Ryan Eastlake was at my fingertips. And what I found? It had me seething with rage. Because he didn’t just take from my girl. He took from so many before her, and after her.

  I knew I was going to kill him. That was a given. The very second I found out she was raped, I’d already made up my mind. Whoever the motherfucker was, I was going to kill him. And now, reading all this? Yeah, the fucker was going to die a slow death.

  She’s gotten to me. As much as I’ve tried to avoid it and pretend like Blossom Jaymes doesn’t get under my skin, she does. Because she’s not who I thought she was. She’s not this perfect, sweet little princess. She has more darkness living inside her than I originally thought. She’s a kaleidoscope of colors in my gray world. And that is a fucking problem.

  Once I had Ryan’s whereabouts, it was easy enough to lure him where I needed him. It was even easier to send someone to bring him to me. A few years ago, I helped a man named Lucian with a problem under the table. He’s owed me a favor for quite some time, and bringing Ryan Eastlake to me was my favor I cashed in. I left Blossom in the parking garage, hoping against all hope when I got back she’d still be there. It was r
isky. Any of Arthur’s men could’ve come across her, but I did what I had to.

  I don’t worry about Blossom running anymore; that ship has long sailed. I know if I told her I had something to do, she’d ask questions, but I also knew she’d stay put. There’s no use for the chain anymore, no use for drugging her or strapping her inside the car, not after everything that has transpired between us.

  When we were at the diner just days prior, I had this inane need to know where her head was at. How she felt about him, the guy who raped her, and even though her lips said one thing, her eyes were saying something else. Whatever he did all those years ago still weighed on her. She still carried the burden on her shoulders.

  Even being as perfect and pure as she was, she was jaded, and I could see the darkness lurking deep in her eyes. It made it easier.

  After hot-wiring one of the cars in the parking garage, I headed for the undisclosed location Lucian set the meet at. I picked up a bound and gagged Ryan with no issues, and when I had him, I knew what I wanted to do.

  Bringing him to the motel, strapping him to the chair, paying the owner ten grand to fucking kick rocks until I was done. Threatening the owner with death if he didn’t get rid of every single one of his customers except for us was easy. He was granted a big payday for following the rules. It was perfect really.

  When I first dragged his bound body out of the trunk, he fought. Or at the very least he tried to. He’s one of those former athletes who think they still have it, even when they don’t, still reliving their high school prime years.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, fighting against his binds. I take a step forward, a bored expression plastered across my face. I look straight through Ryan, over his shoulder toward the motel room that is his soon-to-be grave.

  After strapping him to the chair in the motel room, I step back, slipping out my pack of cigarettes. I watch him while puffing on the cancer stick. He’s bound to perfection, no doubt—the binds are now cutting off his circulation, but sadly he isn’t gagged. I wanted to hear what he had to say for himself first; now, I’m starting to regret that decision as I listen to him blow his fucking lid.