Valor: Cavalieri Della Morte

by Stone, Measha

  By the time I pulled up the ramp into the garage, she’d stopped kicking the trunk. Probably wore herself out. Though I had to give her credit, she’d put up more of a fight than I thought she could.

  When she found me in her bedroom, I thought she was going to faint. The color bled from her face so fast, I was ready to catch her in a free fall. The girl from the bar wasn’t in that apartment. But finding that self-help book explained that easily. The little dove was figuring out her wings.

  And now they’d probably have to be clipped.

  I turned off the ignition and sat in the car enjoying the moment of silence. After dealing with Antonio’s body, I’d had to start looking for Cherise. I hadn’t had a moment of rest since pulling that fucking trigger.

  The kicking started again, and my jaw clenched.

  “Enough!” I yelled at the back of my sedan.

  After popping open my door, I climbed out. Making my way to the trunk, I undid the buttons at my wrists and folded my sleeves up to my elbows.

  A surprised yelp answered me when I banged my fist on the top of the trunk. “I’m opening up. Keep your fucking feet down. Got me?” I yelled.

  A muffled sound came back at me.

  I pulled the trunk open and looked down at my little captive. Her hair was all over the place, either from all the wiggling she did trying to find a good spot to lie or because of the straps from the ball gag. Spit ran down her chin, over her cheek, and pooled beneath her head from the gag. But it was her eyes that caught my complete attention. Blue. Not ocean or sky blue, but with a little mix of green, almost teal. But it wasn’t even the odd coloring that kept me focused, it was the wide-eyed, furious fear staring up at me.

  Obviously, she was scared, but she was doing her damnedest to hide it from me. Where was the sobbing mess, I’d been sure I’d find? She’d been so timid when she found me in her bedroom. But this girl, this trapped and bound girl, she was ready to battle me.

  I looked forward to it.

  “Let’s get you out.” I reached in and grabbed hold of her arms, yanked her up to a sitting position then dragged her over my shoulder until I had her clear of the trunk and back onto her feet.

  I felt her movements and fisted her hair before she had a chance to get a step away.

  “I wouldn’t start doing stupid shit, Cherise,” I said, jerking her back against my chest. I let my breath wash over the shell of her ear, let her feel my heat and my presence. Made her understand, she wasn’t getting away.

  She mumbled from behind the gag. Fast talking, but none of it made sense. I spun her around to face me.

  “Get on your knees,” I said and shoved her to the ground. I’d left her feet unbound, but her hands were taped in front of her.

  She grimaced when her knees hit the concrete garage floor. Another round of muttering came flying at me. From the fear overtaking her eyes, she was begging. She’d promise anything at a time like that, but it wasn’t her promises I wanted. Although my cock wasn’t displeased with the sight before me.

  Tears built up before finally slipping down her cheeks while she continued to ramble behind the tape. The longer I watched her, felt her anxiety ramp up, the faster and louder the sounds came.

  “Shhhhhh…” I held one finger over my lips, cupping her chin with my other hand, pushing her head back so I could see straight into her eyes. Another set of tears rolled down her face, chasing each other through the wet tracks.

  Her gaze flicked away from my face for a brief moment, just long enough to find my gun strapped at my side. Her struggles increased, so I gripped her chin harder.

  “Shhhh, darlin’. No more of that.” My voice stayed low, counteracting her borderline hysteria. Those sweet eyes of hers flew from my gun to my face and back again. “I need you to listen now. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl and stop all this noise?” I traced my finger along her jawline.

  A soft whimper escaped from behind the gag, and she nodded.

  “Okay, good.” I dropped my hand from her chin. “Now. It seems you’ve stepped into a bit of a mess. I don’t know how big the mess is yet, or how you’re involved. But, until I know everything, you’re staying with me.”

  She started to shake her head with muffled arguments spewing from behind the gag. I grabbed her hair, fisting it hard, and yanked her back. “I said to keep the noise down.” She reacted to my hard tone: her lids widened, and the sounds stopped. A tremor worked its way through her, beneath my grip.

  “I need to ask you a few questions. To do that, I have to take your gag out. If you do anything outside what I tell you, there will be serious consequences.” I tilted my head, imagining those tears dripping off her chin attesting to something entirely different. Her palpable fear fed me, filled the evil pit inside me, and I wanted more. But, first, I had work.

  I released her hair and let her give me the nod I knew she would. She didn’t understand everything going on around her, not yet. The amount of danger coming at her, hell, just in my garage, didn’t register with her. Not accurately.

  “I’m taking it off.” I reached behind her and worked the buckle open, slipping the thin leather straps through it, and pulled the rubber ball from behind her teeth.

  “You asshole!” she snapped as soon as the ball was clear. She worked her jaw open and closed and raised her shoulder to wipe her chin.

  “Temper temper.” I tapped the tip of her nose. “Don’t start misbehaving, darlin’.” I gave a slow wink, which seemed to piss her off a bit more. Fuck, she was getting fun to play with.

  I squatted in front of her, bringing our gazes together. She licked at her lips.

  “Who is Antonio Merde?” I asked, leveling my tone.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Now, Cherise, you have to be honest with me, or we’re going to have more problems.”

  “I don’t know!” she said with more force. “H-he’s the guy you—the guy—the one you went into the alley with.” She stammered, but her stare was fierce, locked hard on me. This girl had a fire inside of her, one she had no clue what to do with.

  “And what did I do in the alley? What happened to Antonio?” I asked, letting my thumb wander over her jaw. Such smooth skin, unblemished and sweet—much like the girl kneeling before me.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed, the dark lashes soaking up the tears dancing on the edges. She took in a shaky breath. I could feel the trembles, the little shocks of adrenaline running through her.

  “It’s okay.” I ran my knuckles across her cheek, wiping away the tear tracks. “Tell me, Cherise. Tell me the truth. What did I do in the alley with Antonio Merde?”

  A sob broke through, and she tried to swallow it back down. It was one thing for her to feel terror, but she seemed determined not to let me see it. If she only knew how transparent she was, I wondered if she would be embarrassed or pissed.

  “You shot him.” Her voice shook, but her gaze found mine, and her features steadied. Oh, the fear was still there, just below the thin veil of fire. It was taking a lot of her concentration not to crumple at my feet. Most women in her situation would have caved in to their fear a long time ago.

  “That’s right.” I smiled. “Do you think he lived?” I whispered, like I was about to let her in on a secret.

  “No.” She shook her head slightly. Her eyes still focused on mine, her concentration on trying to keep herself hidden.

  “That’s right. I killed him.” I pulled my Glock from the holster. I loved that gun. Simple and true. Some guys went for the fancy shit. They needed heavy fire power. I didn’t need any of that. I just needed the trigger to squeeze tight and the aim to be true. Every time.

  Another whimper slid from her lips when I raised the tip of the gun into her eyesight. My finger rested outside the trigger guard, as I had no intention of using it, and you don’t touch the trigger unless you’re gonna give it a squeeze. But she didn’t know that. All she knew was the black, rounded tip of the barrel was in her view.


  “And you have that information in that beautiful little head of yours.” I touched the barrel to her forehead, dragging it toward her temple to get stray hairs out of the way. Another whimper, louder and coming from lower in her belly.

  “I swear—I swear to you.” She closed her eyes and pulled in a long breath through her nose, nostrils pinching inward. “I swear I won’t tell anyone. I could have—I could have gone to the police last night, and—and I didn’t.”

  “Fair point.” I kept the tip of my gun touching her skin, letting her feel the cold metal. “But. There’s more here than just you seeing what you shouldn’t have. Someone wants to talk to you, and I need to know who that someone is.”

  “How would I know?” she asked, voice rattling with irritation.

  I stared down at her, studying the soft curve of her chin, her short, rounded nose. Even with smeared mascara from the night before, running, mixing with her tears, she was more than a little beautiful. I had noticed it at the bar, but now, seeing the rawness of her features, what I had seen amplified.

  I scoffed and dropped my hand to rest on my knee while dragging the barrel of my gun down her face, over her throat, and down to the neckline of her sweater.

  A light-purple cotton sweater. Simple and plain. And it matched her panties. I kept my smile to myself over her choice of underwear. We could talk about that later. And we would talk extensively about her panties.

  She stilled, probably afraid any movement would make the gun go off. “Understand, darlin’, from this moment on, everything you get is at my discretion. Everything from your next meal to your next breath, is all up to me.”

  I stared back into her eyes, watching her thoughts pass through that pretty head of hers.

  “You get that?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I understand.”

  After a moment of silence, I reholstered my gun and moved up to my feet.

  “Okay, then. Up.” I pulled her onto her feet and dragged her across the garage.

  “Where are we going?” she asked when I yanked the back door open.

  “Not we, darlin’. You.” I found the switch and flipped on the lights, illuminating the cramped cell. The tension in her body told me exactly when her mind registered what she was seeing, and I tightened my grip.

  It would be natural for her to try to run away from me. Anyone seeing the concrete floor, metallic tiles on the walls, and the drain in the center of the room would understand it for what it was.

  “I—I can’t go in there.” She tried to pull back from me, but her feet weren’t catching well enough on the smooth garage floor to give any real traction.

  “Sure, you can.” I stepped inside and jerked on her arm, propelling her toward me and then forward. I released her as the momentum took her several steps across the room.

  “No no no. No. No!” She prepared to lunge for the exit.

  “When I have more questions, I’ll be back.” I smiled. Panic ruled her now, and panic rarely engaged any common sense. I stepped outside and slammed the door.

  Fists pounded, but with the soundproofing, all I could make out was a soft thud. Barely audible. If I hadn’t been expecting it, would I have even heard it?

  I tested the lock and headed to the house. Now that she was secure, and Bobby was doing his digging, and the target had been eliminated. I could let Arthur know I’d completed the job, and I could get some damn sleep.

  Cherise

  I sat on the floor, the cold concrete beneath my thin jeans an endless reminder of how chilled I was. My head leaned back against the wall, and I closed my eyes. There had to be a way out of my mess.

  Thinking back to every spy movie I’d watched over the years, I tried to find something that would pertain to my exact situation. Bound and locked away in what offered every indication of being a kill room.

  That was my current situation.

  I doubted any of the James Bonds had found themselves locked away in a kill room. Or maybe they had. I wished I’d paid more attention instead of just drooling over the character’s charisma.

  Twisting my hands, I tried again to loosen the tape he’d used to bind me. My teeth still ached from using them in an attempt at breaking through the strong adhesive. Apparently, duct tape did work for everything.

  Screaming seemed to be the next logical course of action. Not to get help. I doubted a man who had a kill room stashed in his house would be dumb enough to put the room anywhere near a neighbor’s hearing. No, my screams were purely an outlet for my rage.

  Appropriately exhausted and with a sore throat, I cradled my head in my fists and sucked in gulps of air. Without any idea of how long I’d been in there or how much longer I’d be locked away, panic bubbled up in my chest. I closed my eyes and counted. I took deep breaths using my abdomen, I did every fucking trick any therapist had ever given me to combat the anxiety ready to claw its way out of me, but not a single thing worked.

  I was locked away, bound, and awaiting execution. My breath wouldn’t catch properly. Air spiraled in and out of my lungs, but it didn’t work; my lungs were broken. The walls started to dance, wavy and seductively, like they were mocking me.

  I scrambled up to my feet and paced, counting each step out loud, hoping to bring my heart back to a workable pace.

  It wasn’t working.

  Tears flooded my eyes. I walked along each wall, around and around the room, keeping my eyes focused on my feet, trying and still failing to get my lungs to work. My mind spun, and I stopped in the corner of the room. My gaze landed on the drain.

  The perfect room.

  A little hose down, and anything that happened in there could be washed away.

  I sank back to my ass, my head whirling with panic and lack of air.

  The edges of my vision blurred as I sucked in more air, faster, hotter air. Was I even exhaling anymore, or just taking in all the oxygen left in the room?

  My body shook, and the racing thoughts in my mind ran harder, faster. I flew my head back with my mouth open, gasping for air, wishing it would catch. Hoping my lungs would start working again.

  “Cherise.” I heard my name, but I was staring up at the ceiling.

  “Cherise.” Hands grabbed me, shaking me.

  I lowered my chin and saw him staring at me. His eyebrows were knitted together, and that fierce scowl of his was twisted. He looked…concerned.

  “I need air,” I said.

  “There’s air, just breathe.” His hands moved to my wrists. “Slow breaths, darlin’. Don’t gulp.” His voice was somber, soft.

  I stared at his face then watched him cut through the tape on my wrists. He flipped the blade back into the holder and pocketed it.

  I dropped my hands to my sides. He cradled my chin, pushing my gaze to his.

  “Slow your breathing.” His command was hard, that stoic look back in his eyes. “Do it with me.” He exaggerated his inhale, and I followed suit. Slow breath in, and another out. “That’s good. Again,” he said, his fingers still gripping my chin.

  I continued breathing with him, slow in and another out. Finally, my lungs started to work again; my heart followed his rule and slowed down as well.

  “There, you’re okay now,” he said and wiped the hair from my face. I was sweaty and sticky but still so cold. And tired. So much energy wasted on panic. I glanced at the open door. I’d missed an opportunity to run.

  “I don’t want to die in this room,” I said, moving my focus to the drain. “Please don’t kill me here.”

  He frowned. “Come on. Get up.” He helped pull me to my feet and pushed back the rest of my hair, tucking it behind my ears. “Let’s go.” He laced his fingers through mine and led me from the room.

  He walked me through the garage, to another door. Hesitant to follow, I slowed.

  “It’s okay, Cherise,” he said and tugged harder. I followed him inside.

  It was a house.

  Just a house.

  He led me up a set of stairs to a bathroom where he pointed
to the toilet. I sat on the closed lid and pressed my hands between my knees. Air came easier, and my mind was cleared.

  The water in the sink ran, and a washcloth was handed to me. “Take it.” He pushed it at me again.

  I pressed it to my face, wiping away the drying sweat and tears. I’d made a mess of myself, which added to the embarrassment and fear I was already experiencing.

  “Better?” he asked, taking the cloth from me and laying it on the counter.

  I nodded.

  “Did you find anything out?” I asked.

  “No.” He leaned a hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. His glare ran right through me, heating the cold that had set into my bones.

  “Do I have to go back to that room?” I asked, lowering my gaze to his chin. I tried to stare at his chest, but the expansive size of it, the strength it represented didn’t exactly soothe my nerves.

  “You were having an anxiety attack.” He avoided my question with his observation.

  “Well, you locked me in a small room meant for—well—” I blinked. This man was a killer. He’d had no hesitation in pulling the trigger and taking down Antonio in the alley. Nothing would stop him from doing the same to me.

  I rubbed my jaw. It ached from where he’d punched me, but I hadn’t noticed until then how much it hurt.

  “I needed you in a quiet spot where you weren’t going to get away,” he said. “I still do.”

  “I won’t run,” I promised.

  “I’ve been promised that before,” he said.

  I raised my gaze to his. “Not by me.”

  The side of his lips twitched, like he found me amusing. I was so out of my league with him. I couldn’t read his signals. Was he laughing at me or what I said?

  “You can stay out of the room, but if you give me any reason—and I mean the slightest reason—you’ll go right back in. Anxiety or not. Understand?” He pointed a long finger at me, his jaw tight and his lips thinning as he talked.

  I nodded because I wasn’t a complete idiot. I’d agree to anything so long as I wasn’t being hauled off to be shot and washed down a drainpipe.