by Emma Renshaw
Vow of Sacrifice
Emma Renshaw
Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Epilogue
Connect with Emma
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Acknowledgments
Also by Emma Renshaw
Vow of Sacrifice
Copyright © 2019 by Emma Renshaw. All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website: www.emmarenshaw.com
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Dedication
For anyone who has ever had to live in the shadows. You deserve to find your light. You are beautiful. You are loved.
And, as always, for my husband—your love gives me the courage to face all my demons. My love for you will never waver.
Prologue
Iris
Envious green.
My fingers skim over the bright green silken material covering my body.
In the mirror, my gaze shifts to the side. I don’t need to look myself in the eye. I already know what I’ll see there anyway: judgment and disdain. I carry them with me all day, staggering under the weight as I go about my life.
A life I chose.
I continue to stare into the mirror but avoid my face. There’s nothing wrong with it anyway. Nothing is marring it. It’s free of the lies of my marriage. The green one. I want everyone to envy you.
Envious green.
I didn’t want to wear green. Black, that’s what I chose. It’s easier to hide and blend in wearing a black dress. In this bright green monstrosity, I stood out like a Christmas tree in July.
I don’t know if anyone envied me tonight, but I sure envied them. I envied everyone not stuck under Pierce’s thumb. I yearned to be one of the valets, or the bartenders, or the caterers delivering food to the pompous rich people. I was, once. The grass is not greener on this side.
It’s filled with poison.
My gut churns with bile as my hands fist in the fabric. The dress gets tighter and tighter, constricting me, and my lungs catch fire.
I release the clasp at the back of my neck and tug. The front of the dress falls forward, exposing my naked flesh in the mirror. Inch by inch the dress slides down my body.
Inch by inch the green falls away, exposing more colors. Purple. Blue. Yellow.
Every single one purposely hidden from view under my clothes. Pierce never forgets his reputation, even in his fits of blinding, all-consuming rage. Can’t have people talking.
So many times I’ve wanted to strip down in front of a crowd, exposing my naked flesh, exposing the fingerprints branded into my upper arms. But it’s only a fantasy that runs through my head as people around me talk about what a wonderful man Pierce DuPre is. So generous. How lucky am I?
Tears well in my eyes. If Grams were alive, she wouldn’t recognize me. She would be so disappointed. One more burden to carry through the day.
I blink my tears away as my thumb glides over the fist-sized red splotch on my ribs. It’s fresh and new. This morning it was yellow with age; tomorrow it’ll be black.
When Pierce demanded the green dress, I laughed. Rookie mistake.
The heavy thud of a dress shoe on the polished wood floor makes my head pop up and my eyes flick to the door. Pierce’s musky scent burns my nostrils and churns my empty stomach the second before he appears in the doorway.
I track his movements in the mirror. His bow tie is hanging untied and loose around his neck, and the first button of his shirt is popped open. The black tuxedo jacket isn’t in sight.
Pierce fits himself to my back, banding his arms around my torso. The heavy scent of a cigar mixes with his usual cologne.
I tense when his knuckles brush over my ribs.
“Why do you make me do this?”
I don’t answer. I can’t survive another rookie mistake tonight.
“I lay the world at your feet. I’ve filled your closet with the best the world has to offer.” One of his hands leaves my skin and motions around the room. “I’ve given you a luxurious house with the finest amenities. What more could you possibly want?”
Me, my mind screams. Something inside me beats against the walls of my skull, begging to be released from my self-imposed prison.
“What more could you want?”
Love. Safety. Family. This house showcases wealth, but it doesn’t have love or family. And it’s certainly not safe.
I flinch when he pinches the skin at my hipbone. The curves I once had are long gone. Instead, I am thin, just skin and bone, exactly what Pierce expects of me.
“Answer me.”
“Nothing,” I lie and clear my throat, forcing a small smile to my lips. “You have given me everything.”
“Come to bed, wife.”
Pierce walks out of the bathroom after issuing his demand. I watch him leave before facing the mirror again. My eyes scan over my ribs, up my arms and, finally, to my eyes.
Leave. Grams’s voice ricochets through my mind, as clear as if she were still alive and standing next to me.
Leave. Or die.
Chapter 1
Callan
Bang!
My fingers twitch at the waistband of my jeans. Frustration surges through me, causing my teeth to grind together. It’s been close to two years since I stopped carrying a Glock, with the serial number filed off, in the waistband of my jeans. It’s a habit I left behind in Chicago. Eight hundred forty. That’s how many times the sun has come up and I’m still breathing. I count each sunrise and sunset like an addict counts their days.
Yet every time I hear a noise I don’t expect, that’s my fucking reaction. The first month working for a construction company kept me on edge and jittery. Every time one of the crew would drop their tools against the concrete or materials would accidentally break, I reacted. Now when I’m on a site, I expect the noises and no longer react.
I’m out. It’s been qu
iet for almost two years, but I haven’t stopped looking over my shoulder or relaxed for a single second.
A loud clash rattles the picture frame hanging on the wall I share with my new neighbor. They just moved in, and I already don’t like them as much as the other neighbors. They were quiet and never bothered me. Fuck. I need to find a way to get Brae and I into a house with more privacy.
I pour myself a cup of coffee, listening to the steady rhythm of a hammer hitting a nail. I turn toward the breakfast table when it changes from a steady beat to the sound of tools clanging together and falling to the ground.
“Son of a biscuit.” A woman’s voice is shouting a breakfast food as if it’s a curse word. Fuckin’ nut job.
Brae stumbles out of her room, rubbing her eyes with her fists. Wild blonde hairs are sticking up all over the place, matching the wrinkled pajamas. She releases a guttural groan as our neighbor bangs something else against the wall and stomps her foot, sending me back in time to when Brae was a toddler throwing tantrums and I was a clueless teenager keeping her away from our good-for-nothing-mother.
Glass shattering breaks my focus on Brae, and I return to glaring at the wall. What the hell is she doing over there? At seven thirty in the morning?
It’s Brae’s first week of spring break, and our new neighbor had destroyed her plan of sleeping in until the day is half gone. “Since your up and home from school, why don’t you vacuum. Compete with our neighbor and make whatever you do really loud.”
“It’s too early,” she whines and ignores my request for her to vacuum our place. “When did they move in?”
I shrug and take a sip of my black coffee, continuing to stare at the shared wall. “Don’t know.”
“Aren’t there laws about making too much noise?”
I chuckle, shaking my head. “Pretty sure this isn’t what they mean.”
“Some people.” Brae plops down on a seat and uses her finger to make a circle over her head. “Want to sleep. Sleeping is really important for a growing teenager. Go over there and tell her to be quiet.”
My lips tilt up at the corners as I pour the remaining dregs of coffee into the sink and rinse the mug. “I’ve got to get to work. Do something useful today. Like vacuum. The glitter you used for your project last week is still everywhere and sticking to my boots.”
“Sleeping is useful. There are sleep studies that pay you to sleep. That’s like a dream job.” Brae sighs wistfully.
“At least shower and change today.”
Brae rolls her eyes before her head falls to the table. I lean over, rubbing the back of her head to mess up her hair even more. “See ya later, kid.”
She mutters something under her breath, swatting my hand away, but it only makes me mess with her even more. I grab my hard hat, sitting on the table next to the door.
“Love you,” Brae calls.
“Back at you.”
I tuck my hard hat underneath my arm and shut the door. When the lock clicks into place, a latch opens behind me. I look at the unit next to mine, the one where my new neighbor is still making noise.
Turning, a moment later, I grin, finding Carmen standing in the hallway with a brown paper bag in her hands. As a man in his early thirties, I should be embarrassed my neighbor packs a lunch for me, but I’m not. The food contained in that bag, no matter what is on today’s menu, is too good to resist. It’s better than the slop I cook, and I won’t allow Brae to make me something. She’s too busy during the school year, and it’s my job to take care of her. I’m her guardian.
Carmen has taken on the role of my guardian. She took me under her wing as soon as my feet were planted in Texas. I’d moved in with a guy I barely knew. Living in a friend of a friend’s house is awkward, but Carmen, Hudson’s housekeeper, made me feel at home and welcomed Brae with open arms when I was granted custody. I avoided Carmen until she made me try her food; now I take my sack lunch with no fight. It doesn’t happen every day—I never expect it—but it’s always a great surprise.
She holds out the bag but snatches it away when I reach for it.
“Have you met Iris yet?”
“Iris?” My brow arches, wondering if that’s another of her bingo buddies. Across from our apartment complex is an active senior living facility. Carmen refuses to live there on principle, but that didn’t stop her from buying a golf cart, which she uses to cart herself back and forth across the street.
She conned the manager into letting her participate in community events, and every Thursday night, she comes home with a sock full of quarters and tall tales of how she beat and outsmarted the lot of them.
“Your neighbor. She just moved in last night and she’s a friend of mine, so I expect her to be your friend too. She’s been away for a while on a sabbatical of sorts.”
“Nope. Haven’t met her, only heard her.” The last part comes out as a grumble. I really like my peace and quiet.
“I want you to introduce yourself,” Carmen says, standing straighter as a smile slides across her face. The permanent wrinkles around her eyes and lips deepen as her smile grows.
My eyes flick to the closed door hiding my neighbor. “Why?”
“She’s a very sweet girl and could use some more friends.”
I snort. “Bring her to bingo night.”
“She’s been with me before.”
My lips tighten into an uncomfortable smile, and my eyes focus on the bag in Carmen’s hand. Suddenly my delicious lunch is more than just food; it’s a bargaining ploy. My stomach growls, wondering what’s inside, before I can refuse to take the bag and refuse to meet the neighbor.
Knowing one of my neighbors is enough.
I’ve never been the white picket fence guy. The guy who waves to everyone as he waters his lawn and knows the business of the whole damn block. That’s Hudson’s gig. It’s been a year since Brae and I moved out of his house, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to drag me around or keeping me updated on the latest neighborhood gossip while we’re at work.
James brought enough people into my life when I moved here; I don’t need to add anyone else. Carmen is everything to me, but I can’t handle another mother figure. One of her is enough, and with a name like Iris, she’s probably eighty and the sabbatical was a stint in the nursing home.
“Did she beat you at bingo too many times and now you’re trying to pawn her off on me?” I rock back on my heels and eye the sack lunch in Carmen’s hand again. If I don’t leave in the next few minutes, I won’t be able to stop for breakfast tacos and then I would eat the lunch early and wouldn’t have anything for later.
Carmen chuckles. “I think it would be good for her to meet people her own age.”
“How old is she?”
“Pancakes!”
I look over my shoulder at the closed door, wishing I could see through it. Even though the stranger disrupted my morning, I can’t deny that I’m intrigued by the breakfast food curses and loud noises this early in the day.
“She’s a few years younger than you.”
I arch a brow. Iris isn’t a name I’d expect a twenty-something to have, and breakfast foods instead of an f-bomb isn’t something I’d expect a twenty-something to say.
I eye the lunch clutched in Carmen’s fist. Her eyes follow mine to the brown bag. She lifts it and waves it slowly back and forth. My eyes track it like I’m a dog waiting for a treat.
“I’m not…neighborly.”
“If you see her, just say hello. That’s all I’m asking.” For now. I see the unsaid ending written all over her weathered face.
“I’ll make sure to say hello,” I grumble reluctantly, snatching the bag from her hand when she extends it toward me.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
Chapter 2
Iris
This is a terrible idea. Three years wasn’t enough time away. I shouldn’t have listened to Carmen and come home. Even though Pierce moved to another city in the state and doesn’t know I’m back in Texas, this fee
ls too scary. My palms start sweating, and the itch to run while never looking back is sparking to life inside my belly. I’ve been back in Texas for less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already back to my habit of looking over my shoulder at every noise.
Grams told me to run, and the only living person I love told me to come home. The first piece of advice saved my life, but I hope this one doesn’t kill me. Pierce can never know I’m home or it won’t be safe. I’m banking on the fact that Texas is huge. In any case he spends his free time at fundraisers and galas. I certainly won’t be at any of those.
My first night in my new place was horrible. My windows without blinds or curtains made me feel exposed with a bright neon marquee sign shining for all to see that I’m back. The stark white of my apartment started to close in on me.
I didn’t sleep a wink last night. I watched the ceiling fan rotate and gripped a can of pepper spray in my hands. The minutes crawled as I counted spinning blades, waiting for the sun to come up. As soon as the first wave of light crept in through the windows, I started hammering away, hanging blinds and curtains. I talked myself out of doing it last night because I arrived at the apartment after midnight. I didn’t think my new neighbors would appreciate it and Grams southern manners were drilled into me. Once that light crept through though, I couldn’t wait a moment longer, even if it woke some people up.
