by Soto, S. M.
“Do you love me?”
“In my own way, I do. I care about you, Blossom.”
His words from earlier are like a slap in the face. He was telling the truth…oh my god, he was telling the truth and I…I stabbed him. A choked sob catches in my throat, and I grimace, trying to swallow it down. Twisted pain enters my chest, making it hard to breathe.
Focusing back on Arthur, I swallow down my tears and narrow my eyes. “So, you knew?”
He smirks, enjoying my confusion. “Of course I did. I know everything. I knew you were going to be a problem. You were a test of sorts. And you proved me right. The first chance you got, you ran to the authorities.”
The first tear slips out of the corner of my eye as I tilt my head back toward the ceiling. Slowly, I start putting all the pieces together.
“And that test…I failed,” I whisper sadly.
“Not you, no. He did.”
Moisture pools in my eyes, just at the thought of Percivale being killed because of me. All because he decided I was worth keeping alive.
Arthur’s expression is blank, making it almost impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Whatever it is can’t be good.
“Please, don’t hurt him,” I choke out. “Please. I’ll do anything. I’ll work for you, I’ll sacrifice myself for him, just please…” I pause, tears streaming down my face as I try to hold it together. “Please don’t hurt him.”
Arthur looks like he considers this for a moment. He watches me closely. Too closely. “Do you love him?”
My head jerks up, and I wipe the tears off my face. “W-what?”
His face hardens at having to repeat himself. “I said, do you love him?”
Do I love him, love him? I know I’m falling in love with him. I haven’t known Percivale long, but from the moment he stepped into my bakery, coincidence or not, he had me. I’ve given my body to him. He’s somehow taken my soul, and my heart, it never really stood a chance. Not against a man like him. When all I was willing to give was my body, he took everything else from me, and I gave it all willingly.
“Yes,” I whisper.
Something passes over Arthur’s striking features, but it’s gone before I can process what it is. He searches my face for a beat longer, before he’s turning on his heel and disappearing through the darkened shadows; the sound of a door slamming closed is the last thing I hear. I don’t know how long he plans on leaving me alone, but all I can do is wait.
Death Sentence
Percivale
As soon as the call ended with Arthur, I knew I was dead. There was no other reason for him wanting to meet early. He knew. He knew what I did, and he knew she was gone. My only hope was that Blossom was far away by now. That she somehow managed to find her way out of here. Away from me. From Arthur. From the Cavalieri.
I take a long drag from my cigarette and wince at the burning pain in my abdomen. I shouldn’t be smoking so soon after being stabbed, but fuck. I need this. I had to call for help; Eddie Valentine is an old friend, and he’s also the only person I’ve trusted to stitch my wounds when I’m incapacitated. And right now? I’m truly inca-fucking-pacitated.
While he patched me up, I had one of my guys that I work with on hits on the lookout for her. The last time he had eyes on her was on Bourbon Street before she got spooked and took off. He lost her then. And I haven’t heard jack shit since.
I suck in another lungful of smoke before going inside. I’ve been standing out here on the steps of the immaculate estate for the last ten minutes: looking at the manicured gardens that seem to go on for miles, breathing in the nicotine one last time, trying to remember every detail about Blossom I’ve committed to memory. Blowing out the smoke, I toss the cig onto the floor and climb the steps into Arthur’s kingdom—his fucking Creole palace.
I try to mask my surprise when I cross the threshold and there he is, waiting for me. He probably knew I was here the second I stepped foot on the property. His expression is unreadable, just like it’s always been. But his eyes…I can read the disappointment in his eyes. It makes me look away. This is a man who pulled me from the streets when I was just a teen, showed me a new way of life when he brought me into his world, made me a member of the Cavalieri, and I was disloyal. Whatever death sentence he has for me is warranted.
“Percivale,” he greets, his tone cold.
“Arthur.” I nod my head sharply, keeping my expression impassive.
“Come. Let’s have a chat.”
I follow him through the estate, toward his office. I know the direction and the floor plan like the back of my own hand. When we cross into the historic room, I pause over the threshold. My hand curls into a fist because there, bound to a chair in the corner, is Blossom. She looks afraid. Her blonde locks are wild around her face. There are dark bags under her eyes, and it’s obvious she’s been crying. Anger blooms inside of me as I meet her eyes. I expect for her to look at me with disgust like she did before she dug the knife into my gut, but now, she just looks resigned, with tears glittering in her blue-green depths.
Slowly, I shift my gaze toward Arthur, who is watching the entire debacle through narrowed slits. “Have a seat, Percivale. Think it’s about time we all talked.”
I grind my teeth together and lower myself into the chair. I twist it to the side so I can have a view of both of them, keeping my gaze on them at all times.
“Looks like we’ve found ourselves a problem,” he starts, shifting his gaze between the two of us. “I take it you’ve thought long and hard about our last conversation? You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
I remain silent, waiting for him to drop the bomb.
“I respect you for that, Percivale. For wanting to be a better man. For wanting to spare a life—give yours for hers. And what I respect even more is that you expressed your concern over her life to me, instead of keeping it a secret. Though, I didn’t appreciate you going behind my back to set up a new life for her.” He tsks. “That you could’ve came to me for.”
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. He’s full of shit. I couldn’t have come to him for that.
“I needed a backup plan. In case you didn’t agree. I’m sure if the roles were reversed, you’d have done the same.”
Arthur scratches along his shadowed chin, watching me. “I would have. I won’t deny it.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his legs. “See, that’s what I like about you, Percivale. You’re loyal to a fault. The only issue I’m having is with your heart. That’s where your loyalties lie, wherever your heart says it does. Am I right?” My lips thin, and he keeps going. “You remind me a lot of myself. When I was younger, building my empire. That’s what makes getting rid of you so hard, Percivale. So much potential, all lost on a woman.”
I hear Blossom’s sharp intake of breath, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see her tears falling.
“Is she worth it? Losing your life?”
I shift my gaze to Blossom and let my eyes rake up and down her body. My palms itch with the need to run my hands along her skin, skin I’ve spent hours touching, kissing, licking, and sucking. Then I settle on her face, taking in her soft features, now shrouded with fear and sadness. I search her eyes, taking my time as I focus on the stark intensity in the green one on the left and then the blue one on the right. She’s one of a kind. A soft soul who doesn’t deserve to lose her life. A tear glistens down her cheek, and I watch its descent.
“Yes. She’s worth it.”
With my gaze still on hers, I watch her face crumple at my words and a sob sputter past her lips as she watches me. It’s fitting. The fact that I’m finally baring my soul to her, right when it’s going to be taken from me. My only regret is that I never had the chance to kill the men who took my family.
I shift my gaze back toward Arthur, whose eyes are flicking between me and Blossom. The muscle in his jaw ticks as he looks at me, like he’s waiting for me to change my mind and tell him to kill her instead of me, but I won’t. I can’t.
&n
bsp; “Very well.” He turns his focus on Blossom. “You’re free to go, but there are terms. If you don’t follow any of these, I will kill you myself. You can go back to your own life. Your family, your little shop. Under the condition you never speak of us, of this, to anyone. You drop your search for your friend. You took a vacation. That’s why the bakery was closed. I will have men watching you until I know you can be trusted. Do you understand me, cheri?”
Blossom’s face is white. “What?” she croaks. “No, no, please, you promised you wouldn’t hurt him. You promised me!” she cries hysterically, tears streaming down her face. Arthur watches with a bored expression.
“And I changed my mind. I can kill you both if you prefer?” he challenges.
Blossom’s face crumples and she looks to me, pleading. “Please don’t do this, Percivale. You don’t have to do this for me. I’m okay, I promise I’m okay with dying. But I can’t…” Her voice cracks. “I can’t bear the thought of you dying because of me—just please.”
My chest tightens with emotion and I have to work to keep the pain of her words from showing on my face. I try for cold and aloof instead. “It’s time for you to leave, Blossom. You’ve gotten what you wanted. You’re free.”
“No!” she yells. “That isn’t what I wanted—please! Percivale!”
A few of Arthur’s men, guys I recognize from over the years, untie her from the chair and drag her out of the room. They aren’t part of the Cavalieri, just soldiers along the grounds and inside the estate, part of HQ. I watch her go, savoring everything about her one last time. When I turn toward Arthur, he’s watching me again, that weird expression still on his face.
“I need your word.”
His chin raises. “You have it. She’ll be alive, under my protection—until she breaks any of my rules.”
I nod stoically. That’s the best I can do. Better than I even expected. She can pretend this last month never happened. She can go back to a life without having to worry about Ryan or me showing up on her doorstep. She’s better off without me anyway.
Once the sound of her pleas drifts away, all that’s left is silence as I sit across from Arthur.
“Have a drink with me?” he offers, and steel wraps cold and savage around my heart. I nod, because it’s all I’m capable of right now. I’ll go out having one last drink with Arthur, and my final thought will be of Blossom. Always Blossom.
He slides a tumbler filled to the brim with amber-colored liquid, and I suck the contents down like it’s water. He doesn’t drink from his tumbler like I expect him to, and it hits me that this may very well be the way he decides to take me out. Poison. Fast and less cleanup. But it’s not really his style.
He sits there, silently, on his throne of sorts and watches me.
“Another one, I suppose?”
I shake my head, sliding the glass back toward him. I don’t need another drink; I just want to get this over with. He takes my silent refusal as the answer it is.
“C’mon, son. Let’s go for a drive.”
My gaze swings to his. Arthur isn’t a man who ever leaves the estate. He doesn’t have to. He has men who do everything for him. The only other time he’s gone out in public was when he saved me when I was teen and now.
It’s natural instinct. Fight or flight. Every part of me wants to fight him, fight this from happening, but then that leaves Blossom’s life in the balance and I can’t have that. I have to keep reminding myself what I’m doing this for. For Blossom. For the girl with two different-colored eyes and the soft voice that deserves more than death.
It feels wrong as I follow him to his underground garage. It feels like I should be fighting this, not walking straight into my own grave. But I do it any way. I follow Arthur without a word, my mind not even processing his mindless chatter. Instead, I’m thinking about Blossom and the life I’m giving her. I’m thinking about the future she’ll have because of me, even if she can’t see it now.
I picture her five, ten years from now, stomach swollen with someone’s baby. He’d be a good guy. Better than I could ever be. He’d care for her, and their unborn child. They’d talk about normal shit that couples talk about. Not about revenge, not about the darkness of their pasts. She’ll be content, happy even, and most of all, she’ll be alive. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for the girl.
The drive is silent. Arthur pulls out of his fortress and onto the street. He rolls the windows down, allowing air to pass through, slapping us in the face.
“When I needed to clear my head, I used to do this. Hop in one of the cars I worked my ass off for and just ride it out. By the time I was done, I already had everything worked out.”
I make a noise in my throat that sounds a lot like a grunt. I don’t feel like asking any questions that will make him elaborate or ask what his point is. I just want to get this over with.
We turn down a familiar street, and when Arthur stops his car in front of a building along the acreage of his estate, I glance at him, questions shining in my eyes. This building is another hub used for surveillance and the tunnels beneath us that run through the city. He doesn’t give much away. At least not with his face. He just jerks his head for the building, indicating I get out.
I follow Arthur through the tunnels, listening to our footsteps echoing on the cold cement. We make a right down the tunnel and the noise sounds muted, but I’d know it anywhere.
The Bowels is exactly what it sounds like—the bowels of hell. An underground ring of fighters here in New Orleans. No rules. No guns. Just your fists and whatever other weapons you find that can eliminate your opponent. The only rule? Only one winner can prevail. The other? They die. It’s a death match. I’ve never had to participate in these acts to prove myself to Arthur like these men do. Even when I was a teenager, I always had his trust.
So as we cross the threshold, hidden by the shadows, I let the noise and stench of death wash through me. When I turn around, Arthur is already gone, sticking to the shadows to remain hidden. I push through the crowd, the rowdy patrons silencing as I slide through. The men eye me with anticipation, because if I’m here? Someone from the Cavalieri Della Morte? Then there’s a show tonight. Sadly, it’ll be my death they’re all spectating.
I search the crowd of men of all forms and ethnicities. I look up, finding Arthur’s usual spot, hidden behind the blacked-out windows, always hidden in the shadows. His section up top overlooks the ring, giving him the perfect view of each match. I make my way through the crowd toward him and his secluded section.
He lowers himself into the seat, patting the chair next to his, indicating for me to do the same. He makes a hand gesture to one of the guys running the ring and the match resumes, the next two fighters walking out of their corners, ready to battle it out.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he says, eyes glued to the men squaring off, sizing each other up. “I have another proposition for you, Percivale.” My heart lurches as I wait for him to say what I know he is. “Fight for me. Prove your loyalty. Five matches—come out alive in each of those matches, and then you can have your life. If you die, you die; if you win, you win me a shit ton of money and you get to live. You can even keep her. You’ll watch over her and do as you please, but one wrong move from either of you and you both die. Understand me?” He shifts in his seat, shooting me a glare.
I’m processing. The odds of winning one fight in the Bowels are slim, but five? It’s suicide and he knows it, yet I can see the challenge in his eyes. He wants me to prove him wrong. He wants me to make it out of these five fights to redeem myself. Chances of me making it out are shit, especially with the fresh stab wound. One hit there and I’m done.
“What’ll it be, Percy. Death or a death match?”
I flick my gaze to the ring, and like a switch being flipped, I turn whatever shred of humanity I have off and narrow my gaze. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, and the bloodlust swims through my body violently.
“Who am I fighting first?”
Art
hur’s lips spread into a devious smile. He claps me on the back and jerks his head to one of his men. “Don’t let me down, Percivale. I’m rooting for you.”
I push to my feet, and Arthur’s gaze settles on my abdomen. “Be careful with that. One wrong move and it’s over.” He smirks.
My lips thin into a grim line. The bastard already knows I’m injured. Curling my hands into fists, I follow the steps all the way down and push through the crowd until I’m standing in front of the ring.
* * *
I feel the hush as I step into the ring. Blood and sweat are matted to the ground from the previous fights. It doesn’t last long though; once my opponent of the night steps in on the other side, the roars sound.
Well, now I know who the crowd favorite is.
Squaring my shoulders, I ready myself, honing on the bloodlust. The man commentating is saying something, likely announcing the fighter, but I’m not listening. I’m watching him, focusing on his footwork as he hops lithely on his feet. The edges of my vision blur as I zone in on him. He takes a fighter’s stance at the same time there’s a pop, signaling the start.
I narrow my eyes, watching my opponent, feeling the fire in my blood raise. His movements are loose and controlled. He jabs at me with his right hand, testing my defenses. He’s quick. Light on his feet. I’ll give him that.
Sliding in closer, he takes another jab that I block, but he swings again, landing a solid blow to the ribs. I hiss in pain, my lips curling over my teeth, eyes narrowing with rage. That adrenaline I used to hate as a wild teen kicks in full force.
When he’s close enough and he pulls his arm back to strike me with a right hook, I snap my fist out, landing a thunderous blow to his temple. He stumbles only slightly, just like I knew he would. I need something better to get rid of this fucker. Solid blows to the body and face won’t do it.
The volume from the crowd rises. Some yelling for him to finish me, others yelling for me to do the same to him. My opponent makes quick work of his feet, jabbing twice at my face, and swings a left hook immediately after one I barely manage to dodge.