A reminder.
This man didn’t come from a gentle part of the world, and he didn’t live anywhere near peace.
When he returned from the bathroom, he had a white washcloth in his hand. I let him bathe me, wiping his essence from my thighs and my pussy.
“Get in bed, darlin’.” He patted my cheeks again and returned to the bathroom.
I stood up and watched him moving, watched the muscles in his body pull and push his limbs.
“What are you doing?” he asked when he came back to the living room and found me still in the same spot.
“Who hurt you?” The question popped free of my mouth before I could filter it.
A blank slate formed over his expression. He wasn’t going to answer me.
“Bedtime, darlin’.” He walked past me to the bedroom behind the sliding doors. “Come here, Cherise,” he called when I still hadn’t followed.
There was more here. More to him. More to us. But he’d put that wall around himself for the night. Maybe I could breach it at dawn.
I climbed into bed with the softest sheets I’d ever felt in my life. I practically melted into them, and when he pulled the comforter up over us, I moaned.
He chuckled.
“Do you have any idea what sort of heaven this is?” I asked, rolling to my side and staring at him. He was on his back, hands tucked beneath his head.
He turned his head to face me, a smile hinted on his lips. “Yeah. I think I do.” He rolled over to his side and kissed my forehead. “Now, go to sleep, angel.”
Dustan
Cherise found the private jet I brought her to in the morning impressive. Unless her slack jaw and wide eyes while she explored the cabin were indications otherwise. I watched her appreciation for the things I’d begun to take for granted years ago with a hidden grin. I took my seat but let her wander around until the captain came back to inform me, we were getting ready to depart.
“Darlin’, you have to sit, or they can’t take off.” I pointed to the leather captain’s chair facing me. I’d rather have her beside me, where I could feel her leg brush mine during the flight or touching her hand or her hair wouldn’t take more than a slight movement, but we needed to talk. And talks like that were best done face-to-face.
“Why do you say that?” She straightened up from the minibar she’d been inspecting and made her way toward her seat.
“Say what?” I asked, shrugging out of my jacket and laying it on the seat beside me. Our flight attendant, a tall, pretty brunette with false eyelashes snatched it up right away to hang it in a closet somewhere.
Cherise snapped her seat belt in place. “Darlin’. You have a Chicago accent. Isn’t that more of a Southern word?” She tugged her sweater down to cover her hands.
“Just a word I like,” I answered. “Fits you.” And it did. No matter how fierce she was, how much stronger she could be, she would always have a sweet interior that could be used against her—or me.
She sighed, as though she wasn’t really listening to me and leaned to her left to look down the aisle.
“Nervous?” I asked, reaching across the table separating us and touching her balled-up hands.
“I’ve flown before,” she answered, and turned in the other direction to look out the window. “Not like this, obviously.”
I smiled. “Obviously.”
“There’s a bedroom back there.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder.
“I know.” I nodded.
“And Arthur just let you borrow this?” she asked for the third time since we’d driven away from the estate that morning.
“That’s what it’s for. He has another. Don’t worry.” I winked.
She sank into her seat, pulling her feet up beneath her and hugging her knees.
“Sir, we’ll be taking off now. Is there anything else you need?” Patricia, our flight attendant, asked, leaning over the empty seat next to me to speak. Her hand rested on my chair with her fingers brushing my hair.
“No. We’re fine.” I waved her off.
Cherise’s narrowed gaze settled on Patricia. I half expected a smart-ass remark to come flying out, but Patricia left unscathed.
“She’s handsy,” Cherise commented once Patricia was out of hearing range.
“She is,” I agreed, enjoying the little pink blossoms bursting on her cheeks.
As the plane made its way down the runway, readying to take off, Cherise’s hands came out of her sweatshirt and gripped the table. She shut her eyes and pressed her head back against the chair.
“We’ll be in the air in a minute,” I said calmly. She just nodded. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and her nostrils flared as she took deep breaths until the plane finally lifted and began its ascent.
Once we leveled off and she adjusted to the sensation, she opened her eyes and started to relax.
“I don’t like the takeoffs. Or the landings,” she said with a weak smile. “Not a huge fan of the flying, either.”
I laughed. “It would take us two days driving in the car.”
“You still haven’t told me where exactly we’re going and why. And you didn’t tell me what you found out last night. What made you so tense when you came back to the room,” she pushed.
“I was right about your family farm…it’s still yours. And it’s bigger than you thought.” I pressed my shoulder blades back into my chair and began to unleash all the information Arthur had given me. Every bit of it affected her. It was her family, her situation, and she had every right and every reason to know it all. I held nothing back, not even Bobby’s betrayal.
“My father was growing for the Merde family?” she asked the question softly, like just saying the words out loud might give them more weight than she could hold.
“Yes, but it looks like it was a small part of his business. Most of it was completely legitimate, but your uncle saw the potential for more.”
“And he killed my family for it,” she whispered. Tears built in her eyes, and I cursed the fucking table blocking me from getting to her. I should have had her closer to me.
“So, if the land is mine now, what do I do?” she asked, lifting her gaze to meet mine. She flicked away the tears.
“You have options,” I began. “You can take over the farm. You can deal with the Merde family on your own.”
“Grow poppies for a drug cartel?” she asked with wide eyes.
“Not the choice I want for you, but it is your choice. We have to take out your uncle though. No other way that would happen.” I flattened my hands on the table. Taking out her uncle seemed like a good idea regardless.
“My uncle.” She touched the tips of her fingers to her bottom lip. “He…” She exhaled hard. “He was an asshole before my parents’ death. When he suggested I get out of Minnesota, I couldn’t pack fast enough.” She had some unleashing of her own to do.
“He hurt you,” I said with a hard tone.
“He was an ass. He caught me eavesdropping once when I was kid. He’d come over late and was talking with my father. They got into an argument and woke me up. I went to see what was going on. I don’t remember what they fought about. I was only five or six at the time. But I remember being scared of his voice.”
I kept my silence, letting her get out whatever she needed.
“But he found me. He was mad, really mad at my dad. My father had already stormed out the back door; my mom was asleep. He grabbed me, shook me so hard my neck felt like it was going to snap. He dragged me to the pantry in the kitchen and threw me inside.”
“He locked it,” I added, understanding her panic back at my house much better now.
She nodded. “Blocked the door so I couldn’t open it. My mom found me in the morning.”
“What did she do?”
“She told me to keep away from him, and she told my father.”
“Who did nothing?”
Her gaze flashed from her hands to me. “No, not nothing. As much as he could. I think he was scared
of his brother, too.”
“Your uncle ever do that again?” My decision on her uncle’s fate was sealed the second she began this story.
She nodded. “Once he realized how scared I’d been, how upset it had made my father. He locked me in the pantry or a closet whenever he caught me without my parents. Said it was to teach me strength.” She scratched her forehead. “I think he just liked tormenting me.”
My jaw clenched. I’d heard a similar statement in my life.
“And your father didn’t stop him from coming around?”
“It makes sense to me now.” She lifted one shoulder. “My uncle was always talking about setting up meetings and talking to people for my father. I think he was dad’s connection to the Merde family. He was the go-between.”
I inhaled slowly. Her father’s fear of his brother mixed with his inability to handle his own business had put his daughter in danger.
“He’s not the go-between anymore,” I said. “He’s taken over and expanded. That entire field on the other side of that tree line I showed you is full. He’s the largest grower in the Midwest.”
“And the Merde family isn’t going like me walking away from that.” She rubbed the heels of her hands on her temples. “Can’t I just give them the fields?”
“They won’t want that sort of risk. Their growers take the risk of legal trouble if the law can’t be bought or controlled. They need the middleman, and right now your uncle is doing a damn fine job.”
She growled and smacked the table. “I just wanted to go out for a night! I’m going to find that fucking author and kick her ass.”
It took me a second to catch up to her thinking. “The book? You’re blaming this all on the book?”
“If I hadn’t read it, if I had just stayed low, inside my damn shell, none of this would have happened.”
I slid out of my seat and moved to sit beside her. Unbuckling her, I shifted her from her chair to my lap and leaned us back until I cradled her.
“That book was stupid. I’ll give you that. But this is your uncle’s fault.”
“Why didn’t he just kill me? He could have had all of the land, and none of this would be happening.”
I held her tighter. “You’d be dead,” I pointed out.
She snorted.
Anger boiled up inside me.
I pinched her hip and shoved her away from my chest, capturing her chin in my hand.
She winced at the severity of my grip, but I didn’t care.
“If he’d killed you after you survived the fire, it would have looked too suspicious. It would have brought heat to the farm and then possibly the Merde family. That’s why he left you alone. But now he’s not leaving you alone. Now he wants you dead. And that’s a big fucking problem.”
Her eyes searched mine.
“I didn’t mean…” she whispered. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You have decisions to make.” I released her, the anger fading away with her softness.
She wiggled around to straddle my lap and framed my face with her hands. She held firm.
“My uncle killed my parents.” Her eyes darkened, any residual fear lingering from past hurts hidden by the storm of rage. “He dies for that.”
“The farm?” I pressed.
“I’m not getting into bed with a cartel.” She laughed. “It’s bad enough I’ve gotten into bed with an assassin.”
My lips kicked up in a grin. Her cheek was back.
“So?”
“My uncle has to have someone helping him, or a rival. Someone who will want the land, want to be top dog.”
“Top dog?” I laughed.
“Yeah.” She nodded with a smile. “We find out who that is and make him an offer. They can buy me out of the land, and I’ll walk away.”
I gripped her wrists and pulled her away from my face, planting kisses to each palm before placing them on her knees.
“You want me to kill your uncle?” I asked softly, pressing a kiss to her neck.
“No.”
I pulled back, confused.
“I want to kill my uncle.”
I stared at her, in awe and amusement at her bravado, her fierceness. She’d always had it, that didn’t surprise me, but see it blossom right before me, in my arms after everything I’d put her through. It took me a moment to react.
“Then I’d better teach you.”
Cherise
I must have lost my mind somewhere between Chicago and New Orleans because I found the idea of Dustan teaching me how to kill a man appealing. Maybe it was because the specific man was Uncle Randy, the man responsible for my parents’ death. The man who wanted me dead.
As much as I didn’t like flying, the private jet made the experience easier to handle. It didn’t hurt that I spent most of the flight either in Dustan’s lap or beside him with his hand resting on my leg.
I still didn’t like the landing, even with Dustan gripping my hand and assuring me it was fine. But I’d forgotten all about it once I saw the car waiting for us on the tarmac. A sapphire-blue Porsche.
“Arthur’s?” I had asked when he opened the passenger door for me.
He shook his head. “No, this is all mine.” He grinned like a boy showing off his favorite toy.
“This is a 2020 Porsche 911 coupe. It only just came out.” I ran my hands over the dash, feeling his shocked stare on me. “What?”
“You know cars?” He dropped his chin.
I held my stare for only a brief moment before laughing. “I don’t know a thing about cars. A patient that comes into the clinic a lot owns a shop. He deals with these types of cars all the time and tries to impress me with all his knowledge. He has a huge crush on this one and showed me at least a dozen pictures of the one he has in his shop.”
I clicked my seat belt in place and looked up at him. His dark stare was back.
“He ever ask you out?”
“Like on a date?” I asked with a laugh.
“Yeah, a date.” He fired up the engine and peeled away from the plane before I answered.
“Once or twice. But I don’t date patients… Dustan, slow down.” I pressed my hands to the dash.
He switched gears and took a hard-right turn onto the main stretch of road and out of the airport.
“What’s he look like?” Dustan asked, switching gears with ease.
“Why?”
He shot me a dark look. “Answer me.”
“Short black hair, like real short. Almost shaved. He’s tall, skinny.” I tried to recall what he looked like. “I don’t know, normal. He just looked normal.”
“Name?” Dustan sped up. I braced myself against the dash and the door with my hands.
“I can’t—”
“Name!” he yelled.
“John Smith,” I snapped.
He laughed. Not a funny that’s a funny joke laugh, but a deep-rooted, sinister sound that set the hairs on the back of my neck on edge.
“John fucking Smith.” He nodded and took another turn down a narrow dirt road.
“Dustan, slow down. Please,” I begged. In addition to the fear of hitting a ditch and taking a fatal roll in the car, I picked up on his fevered irritation. Something I’d said pissed him off.
“His name isn’t John Smith.” He shook his head and hit the gas more as we came up to a secluded stretch of trees. “It’s such an obvious alias it’s not obvious,” he said, but it sounded like a one-man conversation, so I kept silent. Watching the trees swish past the window kept me occupied, and my heart thumping in my chest.
“What are you talking about?” I shouted as he took another sharp turn. “Dustan!”
After the turn, he slammed on the brakes and brought the car to a skidded stop, kicking up dust all around us, coming within inches of the gate. He twisted in his seat to look at me. The thundering of my heart beating in my ears slowed down more the longer he kept me pinned beneath his stare.
“John Smith owns the only auto body shop on your side o
f the city that works on cars like this. Isn’t that right?” But he wasn’t asking me, he just kept talking. “He has a scar, right here—” he pointed to the spot just below his left eye. “And he wears a diamond stud in both ears.”
Confusion swished through my mind. “You know him.”
“John Smith is Robert Cantino.” He paused a beat. “Bobby.”
“Your Bobby?” I asked, but I didn’t need to, not really. What I really needed to do was down a bottle of wine.
“Yeah. My Bobby. How long has he been coming into your office?”
“For the last month, I think.”
He nodded and turned back around, hitting some buttons on his phone until the gate swung open. I watched him while he focused on the entrance. The little tic in his jaw was back.
“He was there for the Merde family. Watching me,” I said after too-dead air piled between us.
We drove forward. “Sounds like it.”
I watched the gate shut behind us in the sideview mirror. Thinking back, I tried to recall anything out of the ordinary about John/Bobby.
“He couldn’t have known I’d run into you at that bar.” I squeezed my eyes closed. “Right? He couldn’t have set me up to run into you. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have known I’d see you—see what you did—” The familiar bubbles of panic compounded inside me, sucking the air from my lungs and kicking my heart into overdrive.
Exactly how many things in my life were real? Was any of it? Was I ever at any point in control of one single moment of my life?
“Bobby’s a resourceful guy. But it doesn’t matter what he planned or what he did. The bottom line is he betrayed me.” Dustan didn’t trust many people, I could sense that, but he had trusted Bobby. And to have that sort of bond snapped by betrayal—it had to cut him deep.
I licked my lips and pressed my body back into my seat. He drove at a more reasonable pace up a winding trail, through more clumps of trees until the road brought us to a house. A light-blue farmhouse with a wraparound porch.
Valor: Cavalieri Della Morte Page 11